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 its amazing democracy. Respecting God given rights is no longer held dear; The whore-mongers of injustice revel in their mockery; Yet with the spirit of our ancestors, we must persevere--- Plodding onward with audacious faith in a greater hierarchy. To the Courts of injustice, let’s not cower and bow; Our Lord did not bring us this far to leave us now.