Dr. King, Your Dream, I Fear, is Not Deferred; I Feel it's Deemed Unworthy

Let Freedom Ring, you said, but rancor rose --- uncertain what exactly freedom meant. In 1965, a free man had a right to choose his course, his dream, his whole ID --- but since your brothers lingered a full century beyond the proclamation, remained bereft of franchise, status, opportunity, inasmuch as others layered limits on where, and when, and how much, and how soon - and still today another fifty years beyond - draws great attention to these racial firsts first congressman, first honoree, first president as well, because of all of this, your people were not free... and some say freedom still eludes the folks who ask their chance to navigate the Dream. But Dr. King, I think for some the wait has cost the game, stymied are they who built the content of their character, earned their way and touched the Ring of Freedom, high held their heads very so but their own people, those they'd hoped to show a gainful way to earn their rightful place at the board table or the office or in the operating room those same people slapped the faces of the boldest dismissing them - addressing coldly - with a sneer, you Uncle Toms, "too white" they say. This vocal group, comprised of volume more than mass went further, not deferring any dream, instead they disavowed the very notion that the dream which you held up as something of a pinnacle, a brass ring, if you will, was worthy. And after reassessment told them even the Pursuit of Happiness as constituted by the Founder's Frame - was fraudulent for them, beneath them, just a ruse by which they'd never gain a solid stance. At this point, after too prolonged a wait, the culture leaned; some proud and vocal few declared the Great Experiment was compromised. The Dream had betrayed them, they said; they'd not betrayed the Dream. Early on the clear dynamic held: "Here the rewards of Industry follow with equal steps the progress of his labor" Except the deck was stacked and even after Dr. King was laid low by some cracker sadly morphed by craven hate, Your brethren, Dr. King, (not all, but yes, an influential few) embarked upon a path that made them victims once again. Not Colored, Black, Nor Negro - in the intervening years the people somehow shackled to a hyphen - Or maybe, against their will, we shackled them. Whether African-American, or Black-American - the hyphen acted like a wall that barred them even more from being all American, first and yet foremost. But Dr. King, I think your living message resonates, for myriad descendants of the March to Liberty, but those who feel they're swindled exercise a power too: The voices heard most widely, loudly - culturally clear - Within their raps, and rants, and songs - disdaining what have been, the archetypes, the icons: Picket fences all be damned, and even moreso painted white. The little patch of land, and just forget about the mule - Equality is not the aim; yes, preference is king. The danger of the neighborhood is held to scrutiny, as lawlessness is celebrated, talk of moving up, is muted or abandoned altogether, mutiny in several forms is venerated, Inalienable rights are redefined - though many groups have come before, and many still arrive with little more than grit and hope and dream, a faction counts the fruits of labor in the litany of those entitlements that one must have if he be free: No longer shelter makes the grade, A free man needs a home, and if he hasn't head nor heart to him a house needs be conferred. Likewise, a loyal pension after working years have waned, enough to keep in comfort me and mine, and you and yours, regardless of the weight or scope of contribution saved through weeks and month and years --- Less this ---- we all remain enslaved. Good health is also innate right, our care is guaranteed regardless of the energy we gave to our well being. "The country's rich," the clarion call. All care, by right, is free. They've pulled their weight for heavy years so now, their recompense in tangible and concrete forms must be delivered hence. Some see a set of rights long-forged in furnaces of hate, in being then withheld, they claim a stolen legacy. Yet, those who paid the hardest price can never be repaid, except by their assigns and heirs in earning tooth and nail the spoils of commitment to a life of Industry. At this, a segment scoffs, I think they hang, in effigy, Your dream, our dream, their dream --- in laying waste and rioting. Destroying their own handiwork. How many yearning to be free found sustenance in businesses They nurtured into being. "Burn this Bitch Down!" Despair cries out, and thoughtlessness complies. Then Outrage flames like kerosene, creates diversions, shields the scene Disguises truth with violence so no one sees the cool pretense. They do not grieve for Michael Brown; they will not leave til they burn down the shops of those who chase the dream, the ones who chose, who might redeem themselves and your enduring hope to find the cure and learn the scope that leads to full participation become a tool for this great nation - Ordering that with all due speed At last, at last, live out the Creed. That all men are created equal, endowed by their Creator /// Oh, Lord - the dream has withered like a raisin in the sun, it has festered, and now it has exploded. It matters not that all across the land black children do walk hand in hand with white children. No need to point for emphasis at those who do indeed face judgment solely on the basis of their character. Your dream, I fear, has become symbol, Ferguson is held up to account and set aflame by those who deem the Dream - the Dream - Unworthy.