Silent Prayer For Her Son

Her words had meant a thousand meanings but still i felt no self healing for i had hurt her, done her wrong, called her a slave and nothing beyond she was african but i be white, does that make us different to see through the eyes of life and feel the nature hell bent So many days had i been white, to insult the african woman who worked so hard her skin, dry from the planting seasons, her hair so ratted from the water loss outside but that same night i had called her worthless and slave she bowed her head and i as well for it was her last wish, and that made it sacred "Dear Lord" she said as she began her prayer and her eyes filled with tears her silent stature, blissed with love and pure confinement, shone though she was african but i be white, does that make us not afraid to die to fear the darkness of the night and worship all who makes light no questions no why "May all who recieve thy lord's love, cry to the bloodshed moon for if man and woman be forgotten the balance of evil and good will perish and i have seen this for my eyes turned blind by work but here i sit with the same girl who did so and wish her no harm" To stand up felt wrong but as she did so i followed out into the pasture looking about i noticed the cows this african had milked 'um so many but she was confident and bent down to the dirt that had one blue rose i bent also not knowing if what i did was because i felt anything that arose "And dear lord let her memories have soem of my son's let the very feet he walked with be hers for i know they were strong fast and smart he was but none know of he except me but this girl right here will now know of his eternity" And with that silent prayer sent to the heavens, i too began to cry our shoulders shaked and our heads bobbed as the night engulfed us once more she be african but i be white, does that make us sisters yes, for we have both suffered and lost, loved and cherished, stood and cowered, worked till death with blisters