Down in Mississippi
the souls of slavery run free...
dark colors give highlights
to the old oak tree...
rooted in earth's blanket
rain showers her skin...
washing away the scared-split
stench of slave masters' whip...
Winds comb her hair
giving shelter to the lost
along the
bark of her feet...
that run in darkness...
fighting to be free...
from the sounds in the night
of colorless skin
black eyes
and sharp teeth...
Down in Mississippi
where the weary souls' of thy brothers are free
freed from the black bodies hanging...
on the limbs of the Slave Tree...
Standing amidst the smell of agony...
whistling the tunes of the negro song...
of blood stained tears
fertilizing her throne...
pity the slave
that tries to escape...
tighter and tighter
the ropes around his neck...
left to hang in a lifeless stance
mothers...
daughters...
worship her mercy
for the sacrifices of their
brothers...
sons...
and husbands...
Down in Mississippi
standing amidst the smell of agony...
in the dark forest of
the old oak trees...
weary souls' of thy brothers are free...
freed from the black bodies hanging...
on the limbs of the Slave Tree
(c) 2005 Lacretia Johnson