The Life Of A Legend Poem by Kevin Deckert

Why is sense so dull,
that it only recognizes close,
the mischief that is done to it
with quite a certain concept?
It doesn’t even think of fending,
nor of conserting with mischief.

They didn’t get out of daily grind,
have only lived in dirty slums.
Lived behind those musty walls,
in degrading circumstances.
They didn’t have something to eat all day
Double standards were applied right there.

Then came the day,
when there lay,
a newborn child,
rights, less than a cow.
It was born as a slave,
but chosen as a liberator.

He got a man
And suddenly,
he was the speaker
of all the felons.
He got the initiator
And also a reformer.

He fought for the „slaves“
And that without all violence.
He marched, protested, argued,
attacked, preached and animated.
He was the winner in many battles,
even though the others didn’t think a lot.

But then came the day when it was too much,
after all he got the target.
Somebody came and shot real gutless,
through all trees right in his chest,
the sequels were horrifying
and his friends were often mopish.