Slave Trade Poem by Francie Lynch
Slave Trade
I've no master
In a lofty mansion
Forgiving wrongs,
Addressing my transgressions,
Throwing my daily sustenance
To be foraged before the dogs;
All-powerful and glory-ridden.
That's reserved for the down-trodden,
Praying from boxes,
Lucky to inherit the wind,
They're told.
But don't bank on it.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: religion,slave trade,slavery
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5/8/2024 1:07:33 AM # 1.0.0.1119
So true and poignant. Don't bank on it for sure. Thanks for sharing.