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January 9, 2006 - Monday 

Category: Writing and Poetry

The Blood of a Slave
"Quod nos non occidit nos fortiores facit"

 

On a plantation in Georgia
Two hundred years ago,
The morning was young
Not a cloud in the sky
No one knew what we'd never know
We had much more living to do before we'd die
While up at dawn, they're singing songs
In a language not their own
They've forgotten theirs throughout the years
But still they're singing strong
Slavery is wavering
But still is lasting long
They sing and sing of many things
On the fields they work upon
To pass the time but in his mind
No one knows just what he's got
He can't speak the words,
So he thinks the words
The words he's never taught
Within his mind, we would find
He has the wisest thoughts
Thoughts that strike
Like lightning does
On the stormiest of nights
And ideas that roar
As thunder does
When echoing our fright
On the warmest day, while looking they
Know he's got 'em both
As it starts to rain, they think in vane
Which one scares them most?

And so they pass, the years at last
But all is still the same
Or so it seems within a dream
But in reality it rains
In reality I've made it, I've run so very far
Others running with me through all the bleeding dark
I lived to see a runaway on the edge of certain death
Live to breathe his final words
I lived to hear his breath
He looked directly in my eyes, I lived to hear him say
"I'd love to live a life, but I'm too brave to be a slave."

The pricken'd bleed, the pricken'd bled,
The sickened need are fed,
When stricken'd he's not tickled red,
When dying he
too winds up dead…
He hath eyes and he hath hands, but still that does no good
He bleeds to make them understand but still misunderstood
And so the man is forced to stand
In the rain he screams again,
The pricken'd bled, the pricken'd said
"Am I not a man!"?

And years all pass, till at last
I saw it yesterday
We're so far from the past
It comes back here to stay
A window breaks, a child wakes
A rock in anger thrown again
The child's "why?" within a cry
Her tears on mother's skin
The child asks with no answer back
So she asks her mom again
The child asks,
"Why're we're Black?"
Like being Black was a sin
Why's our skin
Blackened when
All of theirs is white?
All of this
She's questioning
But no answer's ever right
And looking out
The window they
Look upon the night
Before the rain
Would ever pour
Before the dawn would ever light

But she falls asleep as on the roof
Cadence rains its fallen drops
She's hearing songs from the past
In the language she was taught
She's also learned to not be weak
For her Heaven's sake
And so she sleeps without a weep
For she's too brave to stay awake

 

Previous Post: Mission Statement | Back to Blog List | Next Post: My Eyes Whispered
Jon Sanders

 

“Quod nos non occidit nos fortiores facit”

This is Latin for "That which does not kill us, makes us stronger". Adversity crushes some while it lifts others to the highest heights. And in the 3rd stanza, I'm referring to the Jew's speech in Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice".


 
Posted by Jon Sanders on January 9, 2006 - Monday - 2:23 PM
[Reply to this
Christa

 
Wow, I read so much poetry in my english and spanish classes at St. Mary's, but none of them really touch me like yours do. It's really nice to read from one of my peers. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and congratulations on the book. You inspire me to write my own. Keep it goin Jon.
 
Posted by Christa on March 24, 2007 - Saturday - 8:58 AM
[Reply to this
Jennifer

 
You have a beautiful way with words.  Poetry isn't just something you read it's something you feel and your poetry evokes feeling, so well done.
 
Posted by Jennifer on February 22, 2007 - Thursday - 4:46 AM
[Reply to this
*Kimberly*

 
"he can't speak the words...so he'll think the words...the words he's never taught"...i love those lines.  something those who are taught have forever taken for granted.  very nicely done!

 
Posted by *Kimberly* on January 9, 2006 - Monday - 5:36 PM
[Reply to this
TiaLola

 
lovely symmetry and reality broken down so beautifully.  I enjoyed this immeasurably.
 
Posted by TiaLola on January 9, 2006 - Monday - 5:52 PM
[Reply to this
The Book Of The Living
Oliver Oyanadel

 

Holy shit, that was freakin' AWESOME!!! The Blood Of A Slave is perfect! Please don't hate me, but there IS one little bit I would delete. Trust me this is not an arrogant critisism. It really is constructive:

"He can’t speak the words,
So he thinks the words
The words he’s never taught"

 

Read it once without those lines and really consider it with an fresh new mind. I know those lines have grown on you by now, but it really does work without them. Try it.


 
Posted by The Book Of The Living on January 9, 2006 - Monday - 8:14 PM
[Reply to this
MY MAN'S PASSENGER

 

interesting and unusual subject!

 


 
Posted by MY MAN'S PASSENGER on January 9, 2006 - Monday - 10:15 PM
[Reply to this
jackie

 

I lived to see a runaway on the edge of certain death

very strong line.


 
Posted by jackie on January 9, 2006 - Monday - 11:23 PM
[Reply to this
Puna
Puna Theisen

 

Beautifully written Jon.  I love the little girl's question 'why,' and her mother's inability to answer to because their is no explaination for ignorance, injustice, oppression, racisum, and utter lack of reason.  The lines "He can't speak the words, So he thinks the words, The words he's never taught," this piece would lack humanity without them.  The human spirit is universal, as is self, therefore it is the language of the soul that all already know.  Very good write.  Please let me know if I have misunderstood any part of your poem.  PS.....thank you for strength.  You inspire greatness with your simple words.


 
Posted by Puna on January 10, 2006 - Tuesday - 2:51 AM
[Reply to this
Armour
Dustin Armour

 

there really aren't very many words in the english laguage to describe this poem.

but i'll try...

 

beyond extra-ordinary.


 
Posted by Armour on January 22, 2007 - Monday - 3:26 PM
[Reply to this
Skyyhook

 

My friend you have done it with this one! This is so amazing!!! Proud of ya sir! Very Proud!

 

Love to ya kid,

 

Skye


 
Posted by Skyyhook on March 11, 2007 - Sunday - 5:06 PM
[Reply to this
Who can it be, now? (in California)

 
One of the finest pieces of writing I have ever read. Heartwrenching and thought provoking. Great rhythm, moves right along~ Sabrina
 
Posted by Who can it be, now? (in California) on December 17, 2007 - Monday - 3:52 AM
[Reply to this
Previous Post: Mission Statement | Back to Blog List | Next Post: My Eyes Whispered
Jon Sanders



Last Updated: 11/18/2009

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