Make of me
a hero, but I was
A failure in what mattered most to me.
Remember well the ill that sainthood does,
Taking holiness for victory.
I think we are as far away as ever,
Not from equal laws but equal lives.
Little has been done to make life better,
Unless you like the shift to guns from knives.
The icon of my face is now a mask
Hiding the destruction of the poor.
Each day is worse for millions than the last.
Raging unregarded is a war.
Know, then, though our president might be black,
I would march again, could I come back,
No icon, but a loving, peaceful scourge,
Gathering strength where race and class
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.