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Jun 2014
So bold in fields of cotton
Clad in trousers of a poor man
It's those times
Fire on his back
Hands callused with toil

He bends like a bow
Pulled tight across the horizon
The sun sets low
No dinner tonight

Hunger the diamond motive
Freedom the faintest dream
Awareness frightens him

Hope beaten out
Long ago
I got these scars
But they still burn

Marks to wear until death
Take me soon

*Freedom came at that price
Segregation and slavery are horrible things. It sickens me to believe this was a custom.
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