Bet not be late
Freedom rang
The soldiers are returning
Celebrations seen
White folks dancing
Confusing obscene
dinner bell rings
did my freedom ring
hands in the garden
kids in the bayou
cant buy you freedom things
imagine if Susan be Ida
what a righteous sting
supremacy was her property
burned bra straps
mean nothing to me
dinner bell rings
massa say he want collards
all I can see is the streams
fireworks in distance
did my freedom ring
Im tired so soiled
my breast lend
life to another
not my offspring
didn't even birth em
skin light as cotton
waiting for my son
he fighting for freedom see
that word a strange one
means more to you not me
About the Creator
Greg B.
Black Man. Writer.
Now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.”
“I sit with Shakespeare and he winced not.”
Just Sixty Seconds
Oliver sat at a cold, grey steel-covered table. He knew he was next. The longer he sat here, the more confident he knew he wouldn’t make it. His hands were tied to the chair he was sitting on, pushed up against the steel table. A small camera in the corner of the ceiling with a tiny red flashing light was the only thing he was focused on. He felt sick to the stomach. He knew he didn’t have long.
By Joshua Maggs8 days ago in Fiction
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