We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
that in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living,
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness,
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
and the proud back is glad to bend.
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction,
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines.When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear.When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it…
— Maya Angelou —