Encounter with the Prophet
Who am I, who strides the dirt with dollars on my heels?
Who disregards reality society reveals?
Deriving specious wisdom from the ignorance of night
Amused by shameful mockery the media deems right
Who am I, neglecting hands to aid my crooked spine?
Assume constructive alms are placed to renovate what’s mine
Who am I to tremble ‘fore the thought of redesign,
When notions of my turning point will lead to my decline?
Who am I to stand before a Prophet of the just,
When fleeting, shameful doubt ignites the oil on this rust?
Set aflame by reasoning to prominently live
When all in his returning gaze is power to forgive
Who is he who molds upon conformities of earth?
Who strives with love and confidence to prove what we are worth
Whose pleasure dwells in charity, to cure this wordly cause
Whose hope dwells in humanity, in what I am, or was
What is life, if not a sign to roll up both your sleeves
And struggle to enforce the words his humbleness conceives
And though I cannot touch the hand of wisdom’s mortal cast,
His words imply that “who am I” shall never ‘gain be asked
I’m a fierce endorser of the truths I trust as clear
I’m a voice that’s singing words that everyone will hear
I’m a child born of dawn who ventures to the night
Converting nonbelievers to the innocence of light
I stepped before a Prophet, and I lie awake tonight
And trust that, when the morning breaks, then peace will reunite