The sun beats down on fields of fire,
My land, my blood, this Southern pyre,
The whip cracks loud, it sears the air,
And binds the soul to cruel despair.
I stand above with hardened hand,
A god who claims both man and land,
Their bodies bend beneath my will,
Yet something stirs, uneasy still.
Born of sin, this iron law,
I justify what my fathers saw-
That flesh and bone, though black as night,
Were made to toil, devoid of light.
Their eyes reflect a deeper grief,
A nameless wound beyond belief,
I drink their sweat, I choke their cries,
And turn my back to heaven's skies.
But shadows crawl within my heart,
A festering wound, a poisoned start,
The chains that bind their bodies fast,
Bind me to horrors of the past.
For every lash, each blood-stained tear,
I feel the weight, though I appear
Untouched, unbent by sin's cruel hand-
Yet something falters where I stand.
Do they not bleed as I?
Do they not dream beneath this sky?
Their hearts, their pain, their silent plea,
It echoes back and tortures me.
I cage their flesh, I steal their breath,
But in the end, I share their death.
The lash, the chain, they bind us all,
And in this torment, I too fall.
So, let the fields be rich with woe,
For in this darkness, both must grow,
Slave and master, bound the same,
To guilt, to loss, to endless shame.
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Lurk's Compendium of Dark Poetry (LCDP)
PoetryIn this collection of poetry, the veil is torn away, revealing the undercurrents of darkness that run through the human experience. These poems are raw and relentless, exploring the spaces where light fails to reach, and the truths we fear most come...
