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The Higher Light’s Troubadour

The Higher Light’s Troubadour

Label: Poems | Author: Stanford Erickson
Jan 24, 2013
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My friend was killed the other day.

A bullet struck his life away.

His heart stopped and his blood turned cold.

He was but thirty-nine years old.

 

He had gone down to Memphis, Tennessee

To lead a march upholding human dignity.

He had done this many times before.

He was quite aware of what could be in store.

 

Bombs had torn his home apart.

Men and media had termed him an upstart.

He had been spit upon and hit.

Those he had helped call him a hypocrite.

 

He believed in militant non-violence.

A warm smile and hand were his defense.

Where others fought and ran, he walked.

When others yelled and screamed, he talked.

 

All, he thought, try to be good.

Most seek after brotherhood.

This he said when they call him a nigger.

This he thought when they pulled the trigger.

 

He was a short, black gentle man.

What some call Negro and others Afro-American.

But oh he was so much, so much more.

He was the higher light’s troubadour.

 

But that’s not all there is to say.

No bullet can strike this man away.

Martin Luther King, Jr. will always live

As long as even one of us

Is willing to forgive.

 

Stanford Erickson

April 4, 1968

 

  • Melissa Fry Beasley
    February 19, 2013 at 1:30 pm

    This is such a good poem!! It is well crafted while at the same time carrying a vital message, one that happens to be timelessas well. This poem will be as relevant in 20 years as it is now. Thanks for sharing!

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