Slave Pens—The Houses that Hatred Built
I tried to brace myself as I entered into the wooden oversized coffin that held at any given time seventy-five devalued souls. But I couldn’t prevent the tears; I couldn’t deny the voices that still screamed from those walls. Whose feet had touched those cold floors, whose sweat and tears had stained those benches? I sat there and I wept--I wept for their souls long since gone. I wept for myself for sometimes I’m not mindful. I mourned those who had been stripped from their country to die daily in a strange land only to have no final resting place, no sacred burial ground.
Haunted, their ghosts still roam. I heard the cries of mothers for their children. I saw men crowded laying on the beams above and across from them the name of the demonic soul who had enslaved them there, Anderson. I wanted to hate him! And I wanted to hate my white brother whom I love. Somehow sitting in that house that was built from hatred love still reigned in mine. I believe it came from the strength of those souls who left their broken hearts on the floor of this slave pen.
I tried to brace myself as I entered into the wooden oversized coffin that held at any given time seventy-five devalued souls. But I couldn’t prevent the tears; I couldn’t deny the voices that still screamed from those walls. Whose feet had touched those cold floors, whose sweat and tears had stained those benches? I sat there and I wept--I wept for their souls long since gone. I wept for myself for sometimes I’m not mindful. I mourned those who had been stripped from their country to die daily in a strange land only to have no final resting place, no sacred burial ground.
Haunted, their ghosts still roam. I heard the cries of mothers for their children. I saw men crowded laying on the beams above and across from them the name of the demonic soul who had enslaved them there, Anderson. I wanted to hate him! And I wanted to hate my white brother whom I love. Somehow sitting in that house that was built from hatred love still reigned in mine. I believe it came from the strength of those souls who left their broken hearts on the floor of this slave pen.
Pamela,
ReplyDeleteI read some of your poetry and it truly is remarkable! Professor Frost was not lying when he told you that you should publish these! There is a website, www.blurb.com, where you can download an application and make your own book, then after you make it, you can have them print it and you are also able to sell it online for a profit. The process is simple and explained in detail on the site. I had all of my photography made into a portfolio book, it looks great and I have my photos copy written without all the cost! All books are copy written so you don't have to pay extra for that. I hope this info helps and I hope to see your poetry, along with your interior design, in the future! It is amazing, you should be proud!
-God Bless, Amanda Roosa
Thank you Amanda, I really appreciate the encouragement. I will check out the website and I would love to see your photography and your interior design work. Best wishes!
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