The Running Slave

I can see him running sweat meandering down his back

With a smile enigmatic and wide,

His eyes frame the fire ablaze in his shack

Yet nothing would stutter his stride.

His breaths were short but provided him strength

As this mesomorph sprinted from hell,

Chasing a dream of an unknowing length

But his mind was free from its cell.

The plains he had worked in for years

That chiseled his body physically

Where Daphane died and he had shed tears

Was the beginning of his epiphany.

Where it all began it was all to end

If only he kept up the pace,

Chased for his tan, chased by men

He ran for the love of his race.

The terrain cut holes in his feet

But a slave he was not today,

He had seen this place in his dreams

A place where he had a say.

Relentless pursuit of his truth

Though little evidence instructed him there,

Surely he would arrive soon

Yet he did not know when, how or where.

So this one slave kept on running

Defying a life that he knew,

To a place of which he knew nothing

To a life he knew must be true.

The sunrise empowered him more

Like God had given a sign,

He wiped the sweat from his jaw

And stopped and smiled for a time.

He searched the plains and saw nothing but beauty

Through unused puerile eyes,

And the day it seemed to brighten unusually

As a shadow appeared from behind.

He did not hear the nearing of feet

Nor the gunshot as he passed,

He did not feel the bullets heat

Nor the spit on his face as he passed.

Instead he died with a smile

Incongruous as he leaves,

His eyes wide open looked for a while

As if he was a Black Man that died Free....

And nothing will take that from He...