Civility In Captivity

Shh! Here comes the Civilian general My black-master to a black-master On whom my boney back bent On a twenty four hour daily chore. Planting happiness on Masters vegetation mind Reaping sorrows in my vegetable mind Commands he always bark not shout Where be this boy, this orphan, this ill-fed scoundrel? Me and my orphaned enslaved soul, he referred to us You wallow in the fat brewies of my bounties Centuries of your worked pennies cant buy And licked up crumbs off my silvered table Yet will not rise to see my works glister Though pennies and cents be wasted as wages? Me think and my battered orphaned soul Deep down my battered breast aloud Else Master is of Femme-fatales offspring When his tobacco temper cunningly flares In a venomous rage of hurricane Threatening my dual starving slumbering soul Whom fear shadowed in my weak ribs Master always come snorting, swearing Under clenched, stenched breath At one weary, boney, pitiable carcass Peacefully snoring his sorrows away Only Master wouldn't take that labor break Else, my crumbs be forfeited by half Rest comes to clothe my dual naked soul Only under white scorching sun The only shelter Master ceded to me.