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Song of the South

Freedom is just an illusion

By Denise SheltonPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
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Song of the South
Photo by Michaela Murphy on Unsplash

Early on one frosty morn

I thought of Dixie

The place, not the cup

Dixieland

The idea and not the music

South of the Mason-Dixon line

Where everything changes

As you step over

I thought about her ghosts and

How they still surround us

Her legend, her lies, her cotton

Her slaves, her arrogance

I thought about blood and pain

About lost causes and defiance

Even in defeat

But the war isn’t over

Not really

People are still enslaved

With carrots and sticks

Wielded by others

Wielded by ourselves

We’re a nation of slaves

Given just enough to keep us going

But never enough to break free

Distracted, deluded, misdirected

Getting less and less significant

Less vital

Less “us”

Until we are nothing

And giants feast on our remains

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About the Creator

Denise Shelton

Denise Shelton writes on a variety of topics and in several different genres. Frequent subjects include history, politics, and opinion. She gleefully writes poetry The New Yorker wouldn't dare publish.

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