The Struggle for Equality

The march goes on for miles, feet blistered, signs held high,
Voices hoarse from chanting truths beneath an indifferent sky.
Hands that clutch each other tight against the pepper spray and shields,
Bodies standing at the line where justice kneels.

They’ve been fighting for a century, longer if you count the chains,
The blood dried into pavement, the graves without the names.
Every generation thinks they’ll be the last to have to scream,
Every generation wakes up to the same unfinished dream.

The statues come down slow, the laws come slower still,
And somewhere in a courtroom, someone’s writing with a quill
That says your rights are pending, that your freedom’s under review,
That equality’s a process, not a promise overdue.