30 Poems/30 Days Day 3 12 Years A Slave I am his precious commodity for him to do as he please I am his property bought for the highest dollar for him to strip me from Goddess to servant..no...bedwench...no SLAVE Fresh morning dew bursting Sunshine country air Swine troughs, whips and stringy blonde hair dangling cross my breasts chains that choke my ankles every step a hesitation for what lies ahead is a disconnected freedom conjoined to days of misery I live Not physical shell stilled dead emotional-less empty and voiceless lieing on an infested plank watching away as he rapes my soul outta me massa blood swimming inside mixing heritages my blood...dripping down shivering legs like a broken faucet I. Become. The. Devils. Whore. And they stand and witness in the grassy pastures trapped by fear it has conditioned him..to be immune to my suffering My once Warrior..now walks on by i would..rather die a millenia of deaths than to remain broken The cool of Augusts thunder breaks through the clouds Poplar tree...waving honeysuckle breeze distance muddy swamps quiet waters filled with screams of horror drenched with hanged corpses As the seasons pass so does the mercy of hope to be released from this agony Where...was God when the lashings ripped through my back Where...was God when fingers clawed through my flesh to the marrow...the marrow of nothingness The breaking...the pure wickedness Heartless beasts joyously suffocating every sweat and tear duct paralyzing freedom...no..stealing Freedom At what price must our dawtas pay when they are torn from our arms and sold to Satans sons Rewinding that memory...ive already perished whats left are the renmants of a depleted spirit Bury me in the heavens that dont exist burn the remembrance alive I am his precious commodity and in 2014...we have still not learned copyright 2014 Precise Wisdom all rights reserved
Posted on: Fri, 04 Apr 2014 16:12:55 +0000
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