The field beckons no cries that a whip hasn’t already heard
Life and death on the brink, summer heat uttered not word
Blissful humming in one voice heard throughout the land
On the backs of broken dreams with thistles in their hands
Master’s porch holds children’s comfort, lemonade and smiles
Children to slaves dig their own graves in fields that grow for miles
Created food and comfort for the soul as family gathered around
Labored through the bitter day and in a family comfort found
Moments of peace in heartfelt joy in her sleeping quarters lie
Master visits without reprieve where a woman’s body will die
Her house a vessel of pain and her husband’s pride dissolved
The child born of lightened complexions and a mystery resolved
Her love not lessened for her child or by victim of circumstance
A child born under this slavery’s curse never stood a chance
The lineage of the slave’s blood only requires one single drop
Through centuries of prejudice that still never cease to stop
Taught to shame the hue of a whips detaching and broken skin
Forced to fight for freedoms sake a war we’ll never win
The master’s house hidden now, the sheets remaining white
The burning cross still cries of loss while they hate into the night
The years of past still holding fast and slavery yet abound
Where presidents dwell and shadows fell this prejudice still found
Held by man as less than human, now the future of a nation
Ignorance lies where evil hides but we are all of God’s creations