by Michael Finley

so like blind stevie rhythmic words flow out
my voice remains silent as my pen shouts
the noise of my soul aches to dance free
my ancestors dance relentlessly inside me
I fear not of what I may become
400 years of torture, no worse can be done
beaten down spirits, rest they never will
commit to the struggle, swallow the revolutionary pill
surrender, never, until death overtakes the race
my heart remains bitter like a searing stream of mace
that burns my eyes and blinds me to justice's view
and the world is tumbling down, what shall we do?

Angersadness by Michael Finley

© Copyright 1997. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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