A tribute to Black History Month

The Ghost of Martin Luther King


Wak'ning in the night, eternity
where only the morrow
can sooth the shadows away
captured my spirit

When all that fell divided
blood from oil inside me
I realized the weight, blood is stronger
than the slimy drudge that falls away

Surreal to a time before this present
I stood next to him in a summer scheme
hundreds of miles from mine home
Montgomery was revealed.

Unfold the summer of youth
on hot city streets
this story line a simple thread
where no gale or tattletale wind
would forsake the future in years to come

Marching in the streets
for the taste of freedom and equality
they chanted, their voices
lifted in the rising mist
swirling high above the bell tower
when the sun broke through the clouds

Idle hands with jaded hearts
could not be stilled
unsettled was the beckoning
pulling fire hoses that turned on the marchers.

Serenity and fears of their children
fell to the ground below,
wooden batons poured from the alleyway.

The bitter hatred that lives in you and I
came rock hard to the surface
to breathe in the screams of innocence,
tasting blood on the gnashing teeth of armored shepherds
in the sticky hot sweet of the afternoon

I turned to him and pleaded with sorrow
I found myself crawling and reaching
in a bitter fear so caught up
only to close my eyes

Over cotton fields under starry skies
fireflies lit up the night
on a summer breeze the sound of gospel harmony
came from the door of a small chapel

I stood, refusing to move
filling this soul with the sounds of hope
A spirit awakened
foretold in the life of one mans dream.

To rest my head
as if every American could slumber at ease
to wake naked in the rain that sees no color
drenching everyone just the same