200 years ago

                                   
A poem in response to Dr. King’s "Letter from Birmingham City Jail," written by Ethan
 
200 years ago, there was a man,
no different than any other living man.
Yet every day, every morning,
he wakes up to the gates of human hell;
he is tied to the curse of a bell.

200 years ago, there was a man,
no different than any other living man.
Yet every day, every afternoon,
He breaks his back for the will of others;
he walks on other’s roads for deathly doom.
 
200 years ago, there was a man,
no different than any other living man.
Yet every day, every dark night,
He dies a painful death for not his fight;
he lays in a dark hole every dark night.
 
50-some years ago, there was a man,
no different than any other living man.
Yet every day, every morning,
he wakes up to the gates of human hell;
he wakes to the gates of man-made hell;
 
50-some years ago there was a man,
no different than any other living man.
Yet every day, every afternoon,
his back is broken by the hands of men;
his soul is shattered by the hands of men.
 
50-some years ago there was a man,
no different than any other living man.
Yet every day, every dark night,
he fears that when he falls asleep
it will be his last night to sleep.
 
Today, not a year from now, there was a man,
no different than any other living man.
Yet every day, every morning,
he wakes up to the gates of human hell;
he wakes to the gates of man-made hell;
 
Today, not a year from now, there was a man,
no different than any other living man.
Yet every day, every afternoon,
his back is broken at the hand of men;
his soul is shattered at the hand of men.
 
Today, not a year from now, there was a man,
no different than any other living man.
Yet every day, every dark night,
he fears that when he falls asleep
it will be his last night to sleep.
 
200 years ago, there was a man;
50-some years ago, there was a man;
Today, not a year from now, there was a man.
All of them no different than any living man.
Every day, every morning,
they wake to the hatred of others' minds.
Every day, every afternoon,
their bones and souls are broken by others’ hands.
Every day, every dark night,
they live in fear of the hatred of others.

"Father, why must white people
treat colored people so mean?"
Why must one, no different than another,
treat their brothers and sisters so mean?
Why have white people always
treated colored people so mean?
 
There are a thousand gates to brotherly peace,
but a gate needs to open both ways, doesn’t it?
Why can’t we all just open one and start there?