I’m talking to you
Yes, the one who hasn’t said a word
Who hasn’t raised his hand
Hardly given the teacher a glance
No, he’s not here. Not ever.
He’s writing to a girl he hopes to meet
From Ohio. Wisconsin. Or Massachusetts.
Dreaming of a wonderful life together.
Frolicking in the snow, and the passion
Between keeps them warm
He’s rioting on the steps of City Hall
Tears in his eyes he asks for justice
True justice, a calling not for more action
But in silence
Hear the angels in still whispers
And in heaven’s lights take back the night
He wants to see his people free
He’s neither writing nor rioting
Sitting nor standing
Just being himself
A little loud at times
Too shy for others
But the goal is real
And the passion unlike another