The Forgotten
The progression of one, who’s least of us,
stands and takes his aim.
Resembles from that, the ones before,
quite nice, then states his claim.
Confusion spouts before the court,
as he clarifies his stance.
But, from him who came to reclaim his rights,
would be scorned, then run aground.
When it rains, it pours, and so our civil liberties, torn.
But, from us that fight for ours, so dear,
can watch it reappear.
Now luck would find, as for the law,
and that is for those who knew,
the courts would fight and pay their dues,
by those who bled for truth.
How be it though, from where it came, would matter least to those, who through all time where bound by they,
that shattered dreams with woes.
2007
