PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Love and respect for the bended black backs,
who boiled in the heat and took the attack,
who quietly tended their scabs and their wounds,
while their children were dreaming sound safe in their rooms,

who cried in their passion and toiled in their pain,
who managed to laugh though all that remained
was the fear of tomorrow, and the fate that awaits
when their kids would be chained and then taken away,

who conspired a plan by the light of a wick,
in the dead of the night while beaten and sick,
with a clarity only despair can afford,
to rescue their children, where children were hoard,

Who died in the dirt while making the trip,
who died in the dirt by the gun and the whip,
who died in the dirt while kids watched and they cried,
though were happy to die because they had tried,

Love and respect for the tall and straight backs,
who remember the fight and what it is to be black.