A SONNET FOR BLOODY BUT UNBOWED HEADS

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.