To those freedom fighters who lost their voice

Submerged in

Opaque waters

Drenching the voices 

Vociferously

Speaking out on

Injustice.

But, 

No one 

Can hear

Them beneath

The bodies 

Of liquid hate.

Been buried

To muzzle

Proclamations 

Of racist ideology. 

Enraged faces 

Suppressing truth

To

Absolve their ancestors’ 

Role in the decimation 

Of this country.

Easier to quieten

Tongues 

Than face history’s pattern 

Of muting oppression’s screams

For freedom. 

Social injustice

Murder. 

Protests 

Murder.

Activism 

Murder.

Marches

Murder.

The needle is stuck 

On racism’s record 

Dismissing its 

Indelible scratch

On America.

If it is drowned 

In the murky,

Bloodied 

Fountains of the river,

No one will hear

Its importance.

It will be become

A speck.

Forever 

Forgotten in collective memories

Of evil 

Ones hell bent

On destruction of 

Historical veracity. 

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