Thursday, June 5, 2014


The guided hand strikes across the face.
Action will come
Present and full
Because the massa' and overseer have been bitten.

The field niggers whisper
Some with a touch of glee
All with a tinge of fear;
It's getting harder to camouflage this plantation's crimes.
The world is changing
Has changed
And the fruit of those sewn seeds
Has come to a fruition;
The deal with the devil
For a sense of control
Has the belles in a sweat they all thought they'd escaped when they first sat at the big table and haughtily voiced 'come! You there! Bring unto me my desires.'

The house niggers wait.
Closer to the fallout
They feel a sense of security, having laid with the family at their feet.
'The floor of missus' room
Is better than the entire shack' says their faces.

Whispers echo at who will be next.
I see the new offenders honing their skills of escape and pleading
Watch them observe
Ingesting their elders trials and triumphs,
Gunning for the HNIC
Because that's the one who wields
Brings the operation to a stop,
Even if momentarily,
Becomes hero to that mass of diluted faces
Too watching
Too waiting
Too learning
In this regurgitation of history.

Yes indeed,

No comments: