So what we be but naked?
prostrate
before flagellating barbs of circumstance.
Expectation’s chained.
Destiny.
Preordained.
Clairvoyance etched in places determined by (s)he.
Predispositions.
The feeble crouch and seek and find lowly fates
A young man reaches out,
dusts the encumbrances from his person’s garb
trails toward the light
Behind, bodies crooked, tortured
routines,
shed scheduled shrouds
STOP!
We be petrified
thoughts of advance
we tremble beneath massa blows
bellows. Threats. Censures there be
Around the semi-dead begin to wail.
The young man begins to weep also,
recall he those insomniac nights
for another to toil
his eyes, bloodshot eyes.
Years wasted, relations lost
looking at years gone.
Lost,
once more he weeps,
he weeps once more
a hand illuminated shows his taken path
tortuous years betwix the slaver’s grasp
Recalling.
He weeps once more.
Recalled he those binds.
A straight laced life.
Routine lashing his freedom away.
Rise,
defy
A voice from the dark.
A call to turn
a man advancing
a blur
clothed in the light,
returning from whence he came.
To be him,
to be free,
to break the shackles of destiny.
Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of the image(s) in this post.
