“I have a dream,” he said,

It was a dream that he believed so steadfastly in,

That he would face the fires of hell to see that it come to fruition. 

A dream he believed in so entirely that he would suffer the pain of death. 

“When I took up the cross I recognized its meaning . . . The cross is something that you bear and ultimately that you die on,” he said.  

He knew preaching equality for the African-American community,

Would likely cause him to experience a premature death. 

But he so strongly believed in the cause,

Believed that it was worth fighting for. 

“… I’ve been to the mountaintop. … He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain.  And I’ve looked over.  And I’ve seen the Promised Land.  I may not get there with you.  But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land!” he said.  

He believed that he was doing the Lord’s work. 

He preached to the masses that all were equal,

That no man was better than the next.  

He hoped to see the day that a white man and black man,

Could go to the same schools without being threatened.  

But he was shot,

His life was cut short, 

And he never saw the difference he made in the end.