Let Freedom Ring
© Surazeus
2018 04 04
The cypress grows tall from swamp of our hearts
where serpents glide under mirror-still waters,
curling roots to connect us in one mind
while frogs sing in the gold moonlight of hope.
Standing before Lincoln Memorial,
where Zeus watches over the evening land,
Martin declares before enormous crowd
of two hundred and fifty thousand souls,
"I still have a dream, a dream deeply rooted
in the American dream that one day
this great nation will rise up from the swamp
of racism, white nationalism, and greed,
and live up to its noble creed that claims
we hold these truths to be self evident,
that all people on Earth are created equal."
Sun shimmers on red hills of cotton plants
where people pick puffs of clouds with dark hands
to fill bags they dump in the large wire truck,
and sing their aching hope for Liberty.
Before the statue of Abraham Lincoln,
Martin gazes at small faces that bloom
like flower petals on the wet black bough,
and proclaims with bold voice that booms in thunder,
"I have a dream that one day on red hills
of this ancient land, sea to shining sea,
the sons of former slaves with blistered hands
and the sons of former slave-owners, pale
as the shadow of sunlight on the river,
will all be able to sit down together
at the table of brotherhood to feast
and sing hymns to justice of Liberty."
Thousands of people march across the bridge
where police blast water from thick firehouses
to wash them off the Earth, but still they rise
and march onward toward the rainbow of freedom.
Pointing his finger across teeming land
at Statue of Liberty, Martin shouts,
"I have a dream that one day the swamp state,
sweltering with the brutal heat of injustice
and oppression to exploit men for labor,
will be transformed into the lush oasis
of freedom for every man to get paid
a fair wage for the hard work of his hands,
with justice of rewards for honest deeds
and punishments for crimes against good souls."
Young men and women enter the restaurant
and sit along the counter to each lunch,
but the waiters refuse to take their orders
because their dark-skinned fathers were once slaves
brought over the ocean in iron chains
and forced to work without remuneration.
Pointing to clouds blazing in the vast sky
of the boundless void, Martin preaches boldly,
"I have a dream that my innocent children
will one day live in a nation of love
and honesty, where they will not be judged
by the color of their skin, black or white,
but by the content of their character
where their actions create more than destroy."
Entering the bus after working all day,
Rosa Parks sits at the front of the bus
to relax and enjoy the slow ride home.
The bus driver shouts, "Go sit in the back,
because only whites can sit in the front."
Rosa refuses to move from her seat,
and waits with her hands folded in her lap
till the pale policeman grabs her arm tight,
clicks handcuffs on her wrists, and drags her down
stairs of jeering laughter to the white car,
then drives through town to the police station
where he locks her in the jail cell of justice.
Pointing to green schoolyards across the land
where children play hide and seek, Martin cries,
"I have a dream that one day in America
all little black boys and little black girls
will be able to join hands in friendship
with little white boys and little white girls
as sisters and brothers of our great nation."
Four young girls wearing white dresses and gloves
sit together in the church in the woods,
whispering about friends and giggling amused,
then open Bibles when the preacher prays.
Harsh bomb explodes in ball of yellow fire
that burns all four girls to ashes and bones.
Raising both hands open to the bright sun,
Martin exclaims grand vision of his heart,
"I have a dream that one day every valley
shall be exalted, every hill and mountain
shall be made low, rough places shall be smoothed,
and the crooked places shall be made straight,
and the glory of Liberty and Justice
shall be revealed in actions of our laws,
and all souls of flesh shall see it together.
This will be the day of sweet Liberty
when all the children of America
will be able to sing with a new meaning
song of liberty that rings in our hearts.
My great country, sweet land of liberty,
of you I sing the vision of my heart,
land where my fathers and mothers worked hard
to care for all the children of their love,
from every high mountain let freedom ring."
Three hundred million people of this land
hold hands together, sea to shining sea,
and sing with Martin as he preaches truth.
"If America is to be a great nation,
then freedom must ring with equality
for every man and woman in this land.
Let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops.
Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains.
Let freedom ring from the safe sunlit heights.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks.
Let freedom ring from the bloody Stone Mountain.
Let freedom ring from the dark Lookout Mountain.
Let freedom ring from every towering hill
and every molehill of our fertile land.
Let freedom ring from all states of the union.
Let freedom ring from every human heart.
Let freedom ring from mouth of every soul
that we are free at last from tyranny.
Free at last, we shall sing, we are free at last,
for freedom rings in the song of our hearts."
After working all day for Liberty,
organizing good people who protest
cruel injustice of racial segregation,
Martin steps out onto the balcony
of a small hotel in Memphis, Tennessee,
to breathe fresh air and plot new strategy.
Peeking through curtain of the rooming house,
James Earl aims the Remington rifle straight,
focusing on the dark face of the preacher,
and fires the bullet that pierces his throat.
Martin Luther King Junior gasps in shock,
and clutches his shattered throat as he falls
and lies bleeding on breast of America.
His words bleed into the soil of the land
and blossom into the fruit of our hands.
The cypress still stands tall in the dark swamp
of our hearts where serpents glide in deep waters
fifty years after Martin was shot down
by hatred and fear of equality.
Yet freedom rings from every mountain top
across our land from sea to shining sea,
for mature black boys and mature black girls
join hands in friendship, romance, and marriage
with mature white boys and mature white girls
as siblings and lovers of our great nation.
We sit together at the table of love
to share the feast of Liberty and Justice.
Let freedom ring from the song of your heart.
© Surazeus
2018 04 04
The cypress grows tall from swamp of our hearts
where serpents glide under mirror-still waters,
curling roots to connect us in one mind
while frogs sing in the gold moonlight of hope.
Standing before Lincoln Memorial,
where Zeus watches over the evening land,
Martin declares before enormous crowd
of two hundred and fifty thousand souls,
"I still have a dream, a dream deeply rooted
in the American dream that one day
this great nation will rise up from the swamp
of racism, white nationalism, and greed,
and live up to its noble creed that claims
we hold these truths to be self evident,
that all people on Earth are created equal."
Sun shimmers on red hills of cotton plants
where people pick puffs of clouds with dark hands
to fill bags they dump in the large wire truck,
and sing their aching hope for Liberty.
Before the statue of Abraham Lincoln,
Martin gazes at small faces that bloom
like flower petals on the wet black bough,
and proclaims with bold voice that booms in thunder,
"I have a dream that one day on red hills
of this ancient land, sea to shining sea,
the sons of former slaves with blistered hands
and the sons of former slave-owners, pale
as the shadow of sunlight on the river,
will all be able to sit down together
at the table of brotherhood to feast
and sing hymns to justice of Liberty."
Thousands of people march across the bridge
where police blast water from thick firehouses
to wash them off the Earth, but still they rise
and march onward toward the rainbow of freedom.
Pointing his finger across teeming land
at Statue of Liberty, Martin shouts,
"I have a dream that one day the swamp state,
sweltering with the brutal heat of injustice
and oppression to exploit men for labor,
will be transformed into the lush oasis
of freedom for every man to get paid
a fair wage for the hard work of his hands,
with justice of rewards for honest deeds
and punishments for crimes against good souls."
Young men and women enter the restaurant
and sit along the counter to each lunch,
but the waiters refuse to take their orders
because their dark-skinned fathers were once slaves
brought over the ocean in iron chains
and forced to work without remuneration.
Pointing to clouds blazing in the vast sky
of the boundless void, Martin preaches boldly,
"I have a dream that my innocent children
will one day live in a nation of love
and honesty, where they will not be judged
by the color of their skin, black or white,
but by the content of their character
where their actions create more than destroy."
Entering the bus after working all day,
Rosa Parks sits at the front of the bus
to relax and enjoy the slow ride home.
The bus driver shouts, "Go sit in the back,
because only whites can sit in the front."
Rosa refuses to move from her seat,
and waits with her hands folded in her lap
till the pale policeman grabs her arm tight,
clicks handcuffs on her wrists, and drags her down
stairs of jeering laughter to the white car,
then drives through town to the police station
where he locks her in the jail cell of justice.
Pointing to green schoolyards across the land
where children play hide and seek, Martin cries,
"I have a dream that one day in America
all little black boys and little black girls
will be able to join hands in friendship
with little white boys and little white girls
as sisters and brothers of our great nation."
Four young girls wearing white dresses and gloves
sit together in the church in the woods,
whispering about friends and giggling amused,
then open Bibles when the preacher prays.
Harsh bomb explodes in ball of yellow fire
that burns all four girls to ashes and bones.
Raising both hands open to the bright sun,
Martin exclaims grand vision of his heart,
"I have a dream that one day every valley
shall be exalted, every hill and mountain
shall be made low, rough places shall be smoothed,
and the crooked places shall be made straight,
and the glory of Liberty and Justice
shall be revealed in actions of our laws,
and all souls of flesh shall see it together.
This will be the day of sweet Liberty
when all the children of America
will be able to sing with a new meaning
song of liberty that rings in our hearts.
My great country, sweet land of liberty,
of you I sing the vision of my heart,
land where my fathers and mothers worked hard
to care for all the children of their love,
from every high mountain let freedom ring."
Three hundred million people of this land
hold hands together, sea to shining sea,
and sing with Martin as he preaches truth.
"If America is to be a great nation,
then freedom must ring with equality
for every man and woman in this land.
Let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops.
Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains.
Let freedom ring from the safe sunlit heights.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks.
Let freedom ring from the bloody Stone Mountain.
Let freedom ring from the dark Lookout Mountain.
Let freedom ring from every towering hill
and every molehill of our fertile land.
Let freedom ring from all states of the union.
Let freedom ring from every human heart.
Let freedom ring from mouth of every soul
that we are free at last from tyranny.
Free at last, we shall sing, we are free at last,
for freedom rings in the song of our hearts."
After working all day for Liberty,
organizing good people who protest
cruel injustice of racial segregation,
Martin steps out onto the balcony
of a small hotel in Memphis, Tennessee,
to breathe fresh air and plot new strategy.
Peeking through curtain of the rooming house,
James Earl aims the Remington rifle straight,
focusing on the dark face of the preacher,
and fires the bullet that pierces his throat.
Martin Luther King Junior gasps in shock,
and clutches his shattered throat as he falls
and lies bleeding on breast of America.
His words bleed into the soil of the land
and blossom into the fruit of our hands.
The cypress still stands tall in the dark swamp
of our hearts where serpents glide in deep waters
fifty years after Martin was shot down
by hatred and fear of equality.
Yet freedom rings from every mountain top
across our land from sea to shining sea,
for mature black boys and mature black girls
join hands in friendship, romance, and marriage
with mature white boys and mature white girls
as siblings and lovers of our great nation.
We sit together at the table of love
to share the feast of Liberty and Justice.
Let freedom ring from the song of your heart.
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