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Poem

We are all prisoners at one time or another in our lives-Imprisoned in our minds imprisoned 
by the dictates of our environment; by the expectations of our society, etc.
Yet, we survive. Through it all, hope and our deep, enduring faith in our God keeps us alive 
from generation to generation.

It’s the year 1835, and there she stands on a rickety wooden platform
Where countless before her had stood desolate and dejected
She looked disheveled in an old cotton dress
Two sizes too big for her tiny frame
Her tattered boots caked with mud from the stall
Where livestock was kept for the market 
A large crowd of men and women had gathered

A river of faces were in view yet not one was familiar 
None similar to hers in sight except for the lonely
Carriage driver sitting upright and seemingly unconcerned with 
The situation playing out less than ten feet away from him
At the age of twelve when girls her age were at play
Here she was stands on an auction block
Awaiting her fate, to be re-sold for a purse full of coins

These faces in the crowd leer at her and she feels like a freak
Hunger and pain gnaw at her belly and mind
Her body trembles in fear and she feels a chill though it’s summer
Hot tears stream down her smooth black cheeks
Wishing her Mama was here. “Where are you, Mama?” 
In silence she cries deep within, and her thoughts are interrupted 
By the crack of the whip that cuts body and soul!

Pt. II contn’d

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