They sat at the table
Casting lots for my demise
Totally unaware of my Master
With many connections and many eyes
He had already sent agents
To observe and make reports
Gathering the TRUTH
About what the deceived purport
They accepted her presence
But their plan was to use and pay
Obligation would run her legs
But the bit of money would make her stay
They had no idea she was bought
Paid for by the sacrifice of LOVE
All of her work on territory
Is never what the user is thinking of
"She's here to do our bidding
We say move and there she goes
Poor little slave girl with no money
Tossed about with every wind that blows"
In the midst of the brewing storm
A tornado of dust arose
The little slave girl, safe in the closet
While the fear kings perish in what LOVE knows
...TRUTH stands
as a little slave girl
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-21-2026
I rented a child's inflatable watercraft
(in other words, a rubber raft)
and ran 'cross rocks broken by God's hand
(in other words, the sand)
to catch the moon's ocean tidal slave
(in other words, a wave).
That's the end of my metaphorical allegory
(in other words, my story).
You can’t see the real me
Cos I’m preconceived all through
I’m a slave and you are free
Though you speak as if subdued
Cos you serve the cult of Themis
So your words come out managed
Freedom’s your romantic thesis
You’re a usual kind of savage
Double minded, weighed and measured
Multiplied and taught to pay
And we share the same pleasures
In details and every day
What’s the difference, if there’s one?
Slaves are saboteurs, you say
While you spoke this, slaves all gone
And you’ve got to work all day.
Free Housing
Free food
Free medical
Free Education
Free Transportation
Free money
Slave Breeder
Hell Is Waiting
The stench of freedom gone,
Trapped in a cage on water,
Chained to mirrors of their own fate,
Condemned to a slow death - with their own neighbours
Slowly roasting in a human sized oven,
Contrasting to the cold waters beneath -
A new home for those who choose to rest in peace
Trapped like sardines packed in a can,
No hope, no oxygen, no way out,
Bodies become one,
As their flesh seek help,
As their blood leaks out,
Their mouths a drought,
Voices caught by deathly sounds,
Echoes of whips travel around,
A warning - a preview of what is to come when they reach land
Poor Education
Slave Quarters
Slave Wages
POOR Healthcare
Breeding Children
Police Brutality
Training A Slave
I am yours Lord forever Yours
She is the one I pray for the most
She taught me through her silence that I needed God
I must now be silent to her now
Jesus Happy Easter Rising Lord
I am sorry I am so sorry
He drew the sktech
with parmanent markers
Palaces for mighty king
Slums for the poor and fakirs.
Sky and earth he left undivided,
Only hearts he split between mine and yours.
Even the king's hatred he poured
into the beggar 's share.
What kind of pen, what kind of ink
does this writer use?
No language, no script -
yet he reads and writes it all.
The same old story of you and me
he keeps rewriting, page after page:
a crown of victory on your head,
defeat carved into mine.
Neither prayer nor curse can move him
Drunk on his own power,he writes -
the sorrows we both share
he seals into the fate of mine.
I
Desire
To
Do
Good
But
I
Do
Evil
Poor Neighborhood
Poor Food
POOR Education
POOR Rights
POOR Healthcare
STILL A SLAVE
Irish slave got forced to obey, to sign, to comply with things that were so NOT okay.
Irish slave, was forced to go many places, to work, to slave, to produce, to have children, to preform acts that are still being learned of today.
Irish slave was called indentured, this was a way to make it sound like they agreed to be a slave.
Irish slave did not agree to get treated like a piece of commodity.
Irish worked hard for America and loved and will always be remembered for many things.
Irish will celebrate America's 250th anniversary, and will recall all of the many acts and inactions of others to remember the Irish today and forever in history.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
When I’m at my greatest
then only will I be
less than the least
in the Kingdom of the free.
Poor Housing
POOR CLOTHING
POOR Food
POOR Healthcare
POOR Transportation
POOR Family
POOR Education
POOR Life
Slave Wages
Your soul lives upon the hill,
Whoso shall the sparrow sing with?
Your soul avoids the forest,
Whoso shall the doe weep upon?
So don’t gaze upon the stars, you Pharisee!
For if you were a mossen crevice,
You would please the Lord in beauty –
So die upon his rotting cross;
Not the slave you weep upon.
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