I am happy to join with you today in what will go down as
the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
There was a story of a King
who lead the Great March on Washington, with an army of over 300,000 civil soldiers.
600,000 irises fixated
3,000,000 fingers either spread to invite applause or clinched to offer rebellion.
What was he thinking?
That this dream, this illustrious and renowned dream,
Would submit itself to be injected into the veins and muscles of this body we call America.
No, that is not. No, it cannot be.
Why would any king, let alone this one, allow us to believe
that this nation can live up to the true meaning of its creed,
while the reality spits blood into our faces
with the news coverage of black faces destroyed by black guns.
Are we still dreaming?
Bullets dribble on the pavement like a basketball,
spreading through the hollows of their tips,
knowing that there is no reason as to why
they are being propelled into the bodies of the innocent.
Death creeps on corners like words leaving the roofs of our mouths,
we roar and we rage about the lies of the beautiful reason,
so we spread our shoulders like faith
to lift us off our nimble feet, because our wings are to tired to carry us up.
Five decades have passed, and we are nowhere near that mountaintop.
Because this mountain is impossible, right?
No way can we let freedom ring across this nation,
because we solve arguments the way we solve tactical warfare.
We've turned his dream and made it into our nightmare,
We took his words of action and turned them into questionable ones,
so while some of us may question and criticize how far we've come after fifty years,
others turn the other way, supporting the idea that we're at a post-racist era.
How did we get here? How do we get there? Are we going anywhere at all?
It's easy to see this as a dream,
because we can always change the channel and find something else to watch.
But fifty years is long enough for this coma. It's time to wake up.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down as
the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
There was a story of a King
who lead the Great March on Washington, with an army of over 300,000 civil soldiers.
600,000 irises fixated
3,000,000 fingers either spread to invite applause or clinched to offer rebellion.
What was he thinking?
That this dream, this illustrious and renowned dream,
Would submit itself to be injected into the veins and muscles of this body we call America.
No, that is not. No, it cannot be.
Why would any king, let alone this one, allow us to believe
that this nation can live up to the true meaning of its creed,
while the reality spits blood into our faces
with the news coverage of black faces destroyed by black guns.
Are we still dreaming?
Bullets dribble on the pavement like a basketball,
spreading through the hollows of their tips,
knowing that there is no reason as to why
they are being propelled into the bodies of the innocent.
Death creeps on corners like words leaving the roofs of our mouths,
we roar and we rage about the lies of the beautiful reason,
so we spread our shoulders like faith
to lift us off our nimble feet, because our wings are to tired to carry us up.
Five decades have passed, and we are nowhere near that mountaintop.
Because this mountain is impossible, right?
No way can we let freedom ring across this nation,
because we solve arguments the way we solve tactical warfare.
We've turned his dream and made it into our nightmare,
We took his words of action and turned them into questionable ones,
so while some of us may question and criticize how far we've come after fifty years,
others turn the other way, supporting the idea that we're at a post-racist era.
How did we get here? How do we get there? Are we going anywhere at all?
It's easy to see this as a dream,
because we can always change the channel and find something else to watch.
But fifty years is long enough for this coma. It's time to wake up.
Request permission to use this poem