Tha-Emissary

The lil boy sitting on the sofa in front of the camera
I hear him say,
“I’m upset for his kids, for the things they’ve did.”
I hear him state,
“I think of him, when I wake up, going to sleep at night.
I see him in my head,
This man they call dead.”
Again he says,
“I’m upset for his kids.
Because they will ask,
“Where’s our Father?”
While a mother sits silent to grieve the reality of a corpse,
The good husband, the good father, the newly stiff martyr.
She will ever remember this date, this story, all of his glory.
A dark dusk setting in a foreign territory.
When one human walked into darkness offering peace and surrender,
The gate guards declining, their bullets uncompromising
Screaming Sir, Render!
Your kids,
Your wife,
And finally your life!
As they married his neck
Death laid kiss upon his spinal cord.
While the conductor raises his stick
Angelic bands follow in accord.
To play as his decrescendo began,
When his white light, white flag and body did fall
The sounds of another great martyr was heard receiving the call
It was Lincoln, King, Malcolm X, and now James
Seems time passes on, but rules never change
Hate firmly on the trigger,
Blinks, takes aim.
Shoots through their necks and blows out their brains.
Killing the president, preacher, fighter, and writer,
Extinguishing a flame,
But never the lighter.