James Lewis Poet Rhyme

Death Is Nothing: the True Story of Nat Turner - Part 1

The original version of this piece is too long for me 
to post in its entirety, so it had to be sectioned off. Of 
all that I've written, I am most proud of this work due 
to its historical accuracy. I hope you enjoy it as well. It 
was an honor to write this.


Lying in this shallow ditch I hear as they arrive, the 
miracle of God is all that's keeping me alive,

and it is that belief in God to which each day I strive, 
surprised at this much faith? Just simply gaze into 
my life.

Was born in 1800, month October 2nd day, and knee 
high to a hopper when my daddy ran away,

before you climb your soapbox and begin to think 
that way, remember these are times when all the 
black folk here are slaves.

Imagine being sold like stock, to work when cold or 
hot, the overseers beatin people if they're old or not,

do not defy the owner, best believe you will be sick, 
of getting 10 to 20 lashes from the master's whip.

My last name wasn't given at my birth and that's a 
fact, my given name's Nathaniel but they choose to 
call me Nat,

the surname of my owner Samuel is what I claim, 
you put it all together yes, Nat Turner is my name.

I think about Old Bridget, that's my grandmother you 
know, they snatched her out of Ghana, brought her 
here to freezing cold,

she ran the Coromantee who were known for slave 
revolts, she watched the seeds get planted in me 
grow and take a hold.

I thought myself the lucky one for I could read and 
write, it brought me to The Bible and I learned to 
read it right,

then spent my childhood years admidst the Spirit up 
above, it fit my needy soul just like a mitten or a glove.

I ran away at first when I was only 22, I should've 
stayed away because I really wanted to,

but 1 month later, picture this it's me a black man 
free, a vision told me that I should go back and that 
was key.

The visions I receive I know are messages from 
God, Old Bridget had religion shining deep within my 
heart,

I will inform the brethren and won't stop until they're 
saved, The Prophet is the name that I was called by 
fellow slaves.

As 6 years pass of this I know it never is too late, the 
hands of the Almighty have me primed for 
something great,

I carry heavy shoulders for a man of 28, until I 
worked the master's field one faithful day in May........

To Be Continued

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