The Gift of Song

We are all prisoners at one time or another in our lives-Imprisoned in our minds imprisoned by the dictates of our environment; by the expectations of our society, etc. Yet, we survive. Through it all, hope and our deep, enduring faith in our God keeps us alive from generation to generation. It’s the year 1835, and there she stands on a rickety wooden platform Where countless before her had stood desolate and dejected She looked disheveled in an old cotton dress Two sizes too big for her tiny frame Her tattered boots caked with mud from the stall Where livestock was kept for the market A large crowd of men and women had gathered A river of faces were in view yet not one was familiar None similar to hers in sight except for the lonely Carriage driver sitting upright and seemingly unconcerned with The situation playing out less than ten feet away from him At the age of twelve when girls her age were at play Here she was stands on an auction block Awaiting her fate, to be re-sold for a purse full of coins These faces in the crowd leer at her and she feels like a freak Hunger and pain gnaw at her belly and mind Her body trembles in fear and she feels a chill though it’s summer Hot tears stream down her smooth black cheeks Wishing her Mama was here. “Where are you, Mama?” In silence she cries deep within, and her thoughts are interrupted By the crack of the whip that cuts body and soul! Pt. II contn’d