Freedom Hymn

People of my blood bondage stories are fresh

End of the production line new

But the multipurpose result are old

From them doing themselves to others having their fill

Leaving gaps to the landscape as outsiders paint portraits

What a shame if they’ve reaped what they sowed

Chains locked around necks, ankles, wrist

And hauled off like livestock

Ships await like replicas of Noah

To spread that milk chocolate amongst foreign lands

Their will washed away as the water recedes

~To be continued