Migration

When gold ran out the merchants turned to hate
Design delivered a heartless birth right
Through many years they bore this twist of fate
That now had lifted to shine a stained light

Exalt on high for this day sing sweet praise
Perspired in fields to till cotton and cane
Where only choice was to live out your days
Press on through bled to the bone once again

Yet still from such a hopeless place hope grew
And rose each day to meet first ray steadfast
Enrage gave way to peace of mind and blues
And rhythm gave back a language of past

Migration came and northbound routes were paved
But ghetto streets can also make a slave

Author's Note

My first attempt at a proper Sonnet, following the rules for iambic pentameter and the rhyme scheme of:

a b a b
c d c d
e f e f
g g