He walked with thunder in his tread,
A preacher’s voice, a dreamer’s thread.
In every step, a nation's plea—
To break the chains, to set hearts free.
Born not to silence, but to say
That love must light the darker way,
He stood where hatred drew its line
And answered rage with faith divine.
A dream he held—not gold, nor fame,
But that each soul be called by name.
Not colored first, but human whole,
A justice rooted in the soul.
In Selma’s dust, in Birmingham’s cell,
He bore the weight, he knew it well.
He met the night with steady flame
And never once forgot the name—
The name of peace, the name of grace,
The power of truth in a broken place.
He taught us still how courage sings
With empty hands, yet mighty wings.
Though bullets sought to end his climb,
They could not kill what stands through time.
His dream still walks in every street
Where voices rise and brave hearts meet.
So let us walk, and let us be
The dream he saw, the world made free.
Not just in speech, but in our stride—
With justice marching by our side.
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