I Have A Dream

“Let freedom ring,” he’d say,
From perturbed rubies, that were his lips,
Bent below aborted, disturbing eyes.
 
The russet sunsets of Manhattan
And breaking cornfields of Louisiana,
Each bereaved of their Messiah, now gone.
 
He had a hope,  
He had a prayer,
And he had a dream.
 
Resurrected in the tears and aspirations
Of those few, who weren’t piercing  
The blood and water from out of his side.
 
His faith folded in eroding rocks, unflinching,
Furnishing the Atlantic with a shoulder,
To batter its aquamarine lamentations against.
 
He had a hope,
He had a prayer,  
And he had a dream.
 
For those profaned in wretched ghettos,
Where children slumber with rats, instead of teddy bears,
Whose stool they have for breakfast the next morning.
 
For those tormented by whipping iniquity
That chants Lincoln’s words,
With a clause excluding so many from the Promise.
 
He had a hope,
He had a prayer,
And he had a dream.
 
But for Nixon?  Where was he?
Who was he?
The Antichrist, who took us to the moon and back.
 
While the earth has become likened to Saturn,
Whose many splendid colors are a smothering glow,
Without the ring of freedom.
 
He had a hope,
He had a prayer,
And he had a dream, until he was checkmated by a White nightmare.