The years have passed,
Elongated by the weary fingers of Time.
The phoenix has risen from ash,
His song, vibrating regally through the thin walls of homes.
The time has come.
The children of the past remember those stories,
Those stories of hatred and fear.
The blank walls are now covered in ancient layers
Of graffiti and tears that have been spilt.
The time has come.
The bloodstained shirts lay pressed gently
Upon the wearer that committed his act of passive resistance.
The crowd cheers, as the voice of a man rings through the streets
Like the phoenix song,
Reverberating off of the marked walls,
Begging the beaten to change their shirts and step proudly into the streets.
“I have a dream . . . ”

Now, the time has come for your dream to become as clear as the sky,
Shining like the sun and illuminating the hearts of all.