I was born Proud.
Born indulging my land and what it had for me.
Running and laughing,
My spirit flew with ease on silver wings.
But those wings were torn from me
Left to rot in the dying sun.
I was taken. Shackled. Beaten. Raped.
But worst of all owned.
Owned, and branded to show.
Every crack of the whip,
Every hand to my face,
Each worked their way in and Broke me.
Through my skin,
Through my bone,
The crack extended to my will.
Broken spirit. Broken mind.
It seemed my body was but a corpse
Led only by instinct and hollow commands.
My body moved, but in truth, I was lost.
I was Dead.
The last strike that hit me broke another.
But his body streamed red long before his strength left him.
I cried out. Wanting it to end.
Wishing it could all go back.
And those silvery wings came back to me.
My Broken spirit flew
To new horizons.
It was lifted on unbroken wings.
My soul cried a song of hope,
as the copper sun rose beside me.
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