Thirty-five

This is a slavery poem.

My screams pierce the charred night sky 

Like a blazing dagger coated in the blood of my being

So long I have lingered on the hope of flying

But I am still mortified, ashamed, and kneeling

My terror has no rival, no excuses of survival

My anguish has no stopping, no halting my body from dropping

Thirty-five links between my feet, thirty-five cries I shriek as you beat

Oh, what freedom I long for!

Oh, what freedom I will have no more!

Oh, freedom come to me! What land of “liberty”?

I weep in conviction. Why must I bear this affliction? 

How can I endure existence, with no one to bestow assistance?

Just make it cease I plead!  Quicken death to a glorious speed!

Yet the lashes carry onwards, is it not enough to have my throat in cords?

The blood that crowns my head, has longed to cling to the damp night air and spread

Oh, spread it shall on the whip and earth, to be free of pain, it is in mirth!

Cool metal pressed against my limbs, I am under the power of my captor’s whims

But there is something they can never have! My mind and my soul

For those are mine! And they will not attain them!

For my mind is stronger than my body 

My spirit greater than the whip 

I know now passing into the void of death, to heave out one last sobbing breath

That I know more about life even in death than he, about pleasure, despair, pain, anger, zest, shame, dread, and envy

But he will never understand the peace of love, that rains down on me from a pure white dove

Or know the song of a broken heart, those that tear the living soul apart

So now I watch my tears role down, as I am whisked into heaven wrapped in a brilliant white gown

And now I have the tranquility of dying, the one I never acquired on Earth while complying