A SONNET FOR BLOODY BUT UNBOWED HEADS
The hands of my children's raised arms
have become like released skeets;
Their ebony hued bodies, a circled bull's eye.
Their blood flows down the guttered streets---
Clotting here and there like a red stained dye;
As justice stands by balancing her scheming charms.
Liberty and equality have become moaning echoes here;
Even death has been denied it's amazing democracy.
Respecting God given rights is no longer held dear;
The whoremongers of injustice revel in their mocker;
Yet, with the spirit of our ancestors, we must perservere---
Plodding onward with an audacious faith in a greater hierarchy.
To the courts of injustice, let us not cower and bow;
Our Lord did not bring us this far to leave us now.