We who believe in freedom cannot rest…the song goes. We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it's done. The struggle has not ended it has only just begun.
A woman whose voice must be heard.
A woman whose cry is a silent scream.
Hear me now, she is tired of looking at a tear stained face with eyes that tell the tale of giving up….or giving in. That was somebody’s child that died over in the avenues last night. That was somebody’s potential that lay in the streets for hours as the police tape was strung and the memorial of teddy bears and candles and flowers was sprung.
We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it’s done.
Black woman, mother, daughter once strong and proud now weary of the cold and bitter place. That child slipped from your grasp….lost under the veil of darkness the senseless hatred and anger and lost hope.
Promises unfulfilled.
Black on black crime.
Youth versus youth.
The slavery of the times.
We who believe in freedom are fighting the real civil war on these streets that breed a spirit of tragedy.
Babies are still being born to babies…
Mothers ill equipped and unprepared for what life brings today.
Hunger, poverty unchurched-ness.
Mothers ill equipped and unprepared for what life brings today.
Hunger, poverty unchurched-ness.
The spirit of lack and want.
Where once was the crack house is now the meeting corner -
Standing at attention in the uniform of the day….
Standing waiting for something to happen…
Shoot now question later.
Learning the sweet talk at an early age.
But Jesus she is only 13!
Waiting for that baby daddy to show up with a 50 count diaper pack to fulfill his commitment until his memorial is sprung.
We who believe in freedom cannot rest until its done.
