Red Cotton
these pure hearted people slave for masters whose souls are dead rotten
blood dripping from their fingers, filling baskets with red cotton
they sleep on the hard floor of their crowded, torn shed
half of the babies they have are born dead
they wear the same tattered clothes throughout the whole year
frozen on the inside by their soul's tears
being tortured mercilessly, falling down from starvation
it's disturbing to think, this was one of the foundations of our nation
he sees despair in his six year old son's eyes
neither of them know if they'll make it to see the sunrise
none of them know what the next day will bring
yet despite all of their pain they still sing
with tear choked voices they sing through the sorrow
they sing of freedom and hope for tomorrow
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
