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The Whips Of History - 4
Injustice is just an inconvenience until it is proven... When the sun hit their helmets it startled the very souls of the natives a signal upon their eyes that spoke like a siren of ill prophecy to the bone, the armaments of a hell that hushed any hope of mythical tribal ties, steel and steeds struck and trampled stone age traditions and the Cross and Crown crushed the crowds that gathered for the Conquistadors, arquebus bursts blew away bodies like brittle straw bundles crossbows crippling the courage of Indians with crosscut arrows, Spanish war dogs demonic in pursuit of pagan bowels tearing into Incan and Aztec flesh with furious fangs, Virococha and Quetzalcoatl were not to be found in the battles but in the temple plazas the hot blood did spill into a new calander of rites, the mita of a hundred generations meted out for an ecomienda of ceaseless serfdom, men and women converted, not to a new class of faith, but a new caste of animal kingdom, Men and women converted, not to a new class of faith, but a new caste of animal kingdom, Captain we've lost three more this morning, the flux fever has finished their fight, that's thirteen total since we disembarked from the Ivory Coast ladden like a whale with 375 of them... The Dahomey warlords do not believe in the blood of their captives, nor pity their plight the Portuguese, French and English store them like wet wood in the beach barracks and here on the Sea Lion we lie them down like sweating corpses, Toby, I've been shipping in this trade triangle for 18 years, pretending that its just business, the stink and screams of human cargo are spoiling my soul, forcing slow tears, the ocean used to look so blue to me, now it's just a rolling swell of suffering, ring the bell three times for Neptune, before tossing them into the deep tide at twilight, tell Jenson that I value his sea smarts, but that if I see him torment another human being I will burn a hole through his throat with a fire iron and hang him from the front mast, my conscience won't allow me to be a courier of insanity anymore, every voyage begins with innocence, and all must end with admitting who and what you are... Every voyage begins with innocence, and all must end with admitting who and what you are... Today a man was freed who's back has the scars of a thousand cruelties, abolition freed his will to the labor of liberty yet his soul cannot escape the field master, blood stains upon unrefined cotton he has not forgotten in his sleeping cries, his great grandmother spoke of stars in an African sky his grandfather revealed traditions told quietly about ancient spirits, when his Mother died under the sun he didn't ask why and as his Father fought the overseer he knew what honor is, by 1810 Denmark, Britain, and the United States of America had banned transatlantic slave trading, Sierra Leone had become an industrious colony of former slaves, by 1865 civil war in the United States dismantled slavery, the 13th and 14th Amendments became the pillars of a new nation's days, oh how fast the fields have grown, so much more for our future to fathom, I will beat you with it, choke you with it, and love you with it, your beauty Avia, will survive in the legend of Goshen's price, brutality is in the very bedrock here, within the law insanity kept, yet it are the truly noble whom rise to death with confidence, slay the symbols of captivity and you'll be set free, Gentlemen, behold, the wild yet curious Laurentia, an unexplored beauty, wonder not what good your purpose is, the soul knows what must be, we will escape to the frontier where our love and independence have priority, We will be the trustees of life's passions... the world has awoken to our march, to our lightning it will listen, Captivity can be the catalyst for self empowering revelations... Injustice is just an inconvenience until it is proven... men and women converted, not to a new class of faith, but to a new caste of animal kingdom, Every voyage begins with innocence, and all must end by admitting who and what you are... so much more for our future to fathom, this whip is a relic of war - J.A.B. I began composing this epic on July 3rd, and completed the work on August 7th, investing approximately 135 hours of intellect. Also, I did not compose the 15th sonnet prior to writing the preceeding 14 sonnets...Justin A. Bordner
Copyright © 2021 Justin Bordner. All Rights Reserved