I am tired and I am broken. I have been for a very long time.
Every day, I come home from the burning heat or freezing cold and have no time to waste.
I spend my afternoons and evenings reading notes and writing papers,
Plenty of times I forget to eat.
I wake up every morning in a big empty house,
I down vitamins, put my breakfast in my pocket, and start another long day.
I dream of a chance to disconnect the wiring,
to see the world as something other than facts, figures, and formulas.
I wish to lie back and watch as the world swivels and spins around its inferno .
But then one day, watching the last speech of Dr. King, I see a crime.
Heads lowered, eyelids shut, and interest lost.
How is this possible? To hear the parting words of a great man and martyr
and stare at the phone in your crotch instead?
When Robert Kennedy talks, even more heads go down.
His speech to soothe the hatred of a leader’s death is met with apathetic ears
It is a landscape of large abandoned shells.
If I rapped my knuckles, the echo would last till doomsday.
I am tired and I am broken, yet the voices of these men grant me new strength.
I rise above my fatigue and hunger and pain to hear them speak.
Their faith in a world where all men are truly created equal lifts my spirits but lowers their heads.
According to Aeschylus, children are meant to preserve the fame of men after their deaths,
They leave it to crumble.