Freedom
Walk the wooden deck
of the boat I was tied and shackled to.
Feel the sun as it reaches down to
the cotton fields I have picked, burns the ground and singes
the skin dark as the night that
calls for us all to find our freedom.
Hold the chains that weigh on my soul
and bind me to the man we are forced to call master.
Trace the scars on my back that tell
the story of how my will was broken,
stepped on and left to die in a place
only my ancestors can call their home, which I
can only describe as a long story
forgotten, and the tellers too far
gone for their words to be heard.
Look through my tired weary eyes that have
seen too many scenes of red tears, last breaths
and grave diggers to last one too many generations.
Come sit, turn on the oil lamp who is
too weak to even give off the illusion of something bright
squint your eyes and sound out the letters
connect each word, form each sentence
that read out the directions to finding our freedom.
Copyright © Trina Aiken | Year Posted 2014
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