The Slave Poem by Timothy Long

So great is he, breaking away every day, in the fields from dusk till dawn, whipping and sold to anyone any day, racism everywhere, that's the slave despair, never doing what you want, only told of others needs that weren't your own, learning by far, or by none at all we couldn't choose, is it better to be dead than to be a dreadful slave, both kill him inside, where's his savior or this god they speak of? they beat us and work us dawn till dawn the bones ache while the soul's crushed, being a slave is to much to bear they swear as do I, everyone loved sold away never to be seen again, we I or even we ever be free? nothing to live for he questions in kind hindsight, is there any escape? he'd find one someday, his freedom is dying as if a simple calling, he'll get there someday with the north star.