With Patrick Henry vigor, I screamed out,
No victory! No peace!
Ironically, my fate, like Patrick Henry’s, was
Equally matched;
The victory I sought died; bleeding breathless
In the streets;
And the peace I hopefully craved didn’t see
The next day’s light.
But there is a new dawn on the horizon—hidden
By a hued cloud;
Whose rain is metamorphosing into the hailing of
Balls of liberation:
Remember Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego
In the fiery furnish
And don’t forget Daniel with the shield of hope;
And the sword of faith!
We’ve been outed on the bases of freedom with
Throws to home plate;
We’ve been blocked, caught in double dribbles and
Slammed dunked with injustices;
But I’m a kicker they can’t block; for they’re watching
My feet and not my head;
My eyes are on the prize; my feet running the field;
My head punting to the goal!