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Sinopse

I want to share this poem by Alberto Rios because I love it and I have a rooftop from which I can share it.  A House Called Tomorrow You are not fifteen, or twelve, or seventeen— You are a hundred wild centuries And fifteen, bringing with you In every breath and in every step Everyone who has come before you, All the yous that you have been, The mothers of your mother, The fathers of your father. If someone in your family tree was trouble, A hundred were not: The bad do not win—not finally, No matter how loud they are. We simply would not be here If that were so. You are made, fundamentally, from the good. With this knowledge, you never march alone. You are the breaking news of the century. You are the good who has come forward Through it all, even if so many days Feel otherwise.  But think: When you as a child learned to speak, It’s not that you didn’t know words— It’s that, from the centuries, you knew so many, And it’s hard to choose the words that will be your own. From those centuries we human beings bri