where the writers are
Death Ships

In the dim first light of a tranquil dawn
Aching souls through rain cry a river once more.
Its distance in time my only consolation;
Seeking answers, I’m lost as I’m swept to the shore.

The languished voices of oppression, an incessant drone,
Become a colossal weight on my frail heart.
Those quick eyes burn with hatred and despair...
Lost identities from cultures torn apart.

To reach back through the centuries
And delve into the past,
Is to exhume the shattered remains
Of society’s barbaric acts.

For centuries death-ships upon African shores
Ravaged and brutalized these nations.
Lost within the swirling madness of evil
Are the youthful dreams of a vanquished civilization.

Cargos of human flesh-empty human vessels-
Crimson chains and whips, flesh and spirit parting,
Severing heads, hands, hearts and hopes.
A holocaust of monumental proportions.

Some heroes stood and fought alone
With unshakeable determination.
See a martyr’s death nourish our minds
and foster euphoric realizations.

Those who would condone bondage as “a necessary evil,”
Represent humanity at its very worst.
Terms like “three-fifths of a human”
Is a description that transcends hurt.

Knowledge alone is useless,
For it is through its application
That many lives are saved-
Yet many lives are taken.

And now, dawning through contemplative silence,
As I listen to the earth:
Separation numbs the mind;
Servitude’s indignation hardens the heart.