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Page 2

With the force of a thousand storms,  I turned to face you.
When they dragged our beloved off I thought that I would lose my mind.
I shouted loud enough to stir the crows.
You caused this to happen with your radical cries and marches for equality.
Teaching our only beloved to help in stirring the pot.
What do I care about freedom now?
I speak through my wounded heart when I tell you that my pain is too deep for me to see the righteousness of your cause.
Never will my mood be of a jocund one without our sweet beloved.
I will remain fray of heart and spirit until you bring our beloved back home.
There will not be a homecoming for you without our beloved.
I refuse to surrender my mind to the thought of never seeing our beloved again, never setting my hungry eyes on his soft golden face with prune color eyes, and soft peach lips, never to hear his rich voice with worldly questions, and solutions.
What do I care about freedom now?
My soul will be burden with grief for an eternity.
I will never walk equally contented with any soul.

I sent you away from me to look for our beloved.
Now the fragments of time tears into the year.
As I watch from my doorway with eyes captived by the dusty road in search of the impressions of the soles of your feet before the coming of the seasons.
My mind is whirling into a maddening coil as the days drop from the sky and the nights went scurrying by and the sun scuffed at my stubborness.
And the moon hid behind the gray clouds.
 I died a thousand deaths in awake of your return with our beloved.
My seasons will soon end and my curtain shall drop, it will be then that I will rise from this cursed state of misery.

copyright@ Library Of Congress under Looking At The Light From The Bottom Of The Lake.

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