They Said

They said I was lost; they needed to take me to therapy to find me sitting in a rocking chair hating the beauteous stretch of miles of God's cotton fields white waiting for me to break my back. They said I was too quiet, that even when the peoples were dying of thirst and ran to the gate to cry for freedom, I stood where my roots were strewn to the earth and dug deep, down down deep until I reached the face of their fear staring straight at me. They called it saboteur, that my eyes were too deep, that what interested me to look beyond what the herd could see? They said I was not loyal. I have been at your feet since before the coming of the pale devils who gave you salt to garnish your brothers’ death. I have held the glory of your name in my index finger, when I squeezed the trigger that fired blood towards our continuity. I killed and died for you, thou fool. I died like the hopelessness of an impotent man. They said I was a good man when I died. They finally spoke a truth. But I am not satisfied. I want justice for my brothers who might die like I did.