The Mystical King

Boxcars lumber
from my bed
carrying the bones of memories
towards nighttime coal shoots
in homes across America

I was no gambler, but
a dreamer
a million miles from home
yearning to know
to challenge, to change
as much as I could

A heart moved
lives inspired
communities changed
souls shaken
I stood in the doorway
of America’s youth
and shouted,
“Wake up all of you!”

Crowds retorted
policemen mustered
riot shields and batons
fire hoses and dogs barking
my troops
stood strong
in the face of opposition

not to the mountaintop
but an eternal flame
lights my sleep of a thousand sleeps
There’s no prediction
of resurrection
But popular predilections
toward saintliness stain my honesty

A family man
life on the road challenged me
My babies mattered most
They grew up without a father
They became adults
without me
Never saw their weddings
Never saw their jobs

Difficult days arrived
I did not live a long life
for me, longevity did not have its place
I did God’s will, and He allowed me to go up to the mountain
I looked over and I saw the promised land

Tonight I stand in your doorway
My arms folded
eyes assured
It is time to wake up
All of you:
We are going to the promised land.

Published by Adam F.C. Fletcher

I'm a speaker and writer who researches, writes and shares about youth, education, and history. Learn more about me at

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