To Be A Slave.
To Be Owned By Another Person As A Car, House, Or Table Is Owned.
To Live As A Piece Of Property That Could Be Sold -A Child From Its Mother, A Husbad From His Wife-
They Wished They Could Take Thier Own Life.
To Be A Slave.
To Be Considered Not Human, But A Beast.
To Know, Despite The Deprivation And Suffering That You WERE Human.
To Know Joy, Laughter, Sorrow And Tears And Yet Be Considered Only The Equal Of A Table.
To Be A Slave Was To Be A Human Under Conditions That Were Inhumane.
Was The Masters Going Crazy Or Insane?
They Were NOT Slaves, They Were People, Deprived Of Thier Humanity.
Thier Conditions Were Slavery, They Lived In Unsanity.
They Were People.
They Looked Upon Themselves And The Servitude In Which They Found Themsleves With The Eyes And Minds Of Human Beings, Concious Of Everything That Happened To Them, Concious Of All That Went On Arounnd Them.
But Yet, Slaves Are Often Pictured As Little More Than Dumb, Brute Animals Whose Sole Attributes Were Found In Working, Singing, And Dancing.
To Be A Slave.
This Is My Most Powerful Poem, I Put So Much Emotion Into It. I Wrote This Poem, July 19th, 2016. Enjoy.
