Verse VII
Dear God,
I am writing you this letter because obviously you are not hearing me any other way. I sat in the rain for seven days trying to talk to you and as usual, no answer. I have asked you to help me cope with the pain; no answer. I have asked you to soften my heart; no answer. I cried out to you that I am at my wits end; no answer. I begged for you to give me a hint that I was on the right path and I still received no freaking answer! Well, you know what? I am done asking; let me tell you something instead. I am tired of being your slave. You are a plantation master and frankly I am getting sick and tired of the whip. The tears of this boy have dried up and I have realized the answer to my most important question at the moment. Why does God frown upon taking your own life? It is because HE loses control. The lovely ghosts are circling the field like buzzards circling the air and I am standing dead in the middle.
Soul
Tears of a Slave
The saltiness of my tears don’t affect my crying
And while I can’t stand the taste, there is really nothing that I can do
Or say
Right now. At this very moment
Blessed be the day when I am set free
Blessed be the day when I find out why I am set apart
The longing for equality is still there even though I still bear the multitude of scars that have been permanently beat onto me
And into me
The injustice of a life that has ultimately crippled and injured me
The mere thought of staying a slave is a sin to me
But a change seems far off and my situation begins to be
Bleak
I can’t or won’t speak about rainy nights that I’ve just looked out of windows
Or wishing wordlessly that I was a leaf and could be carried away as the wind blows
But where would I go?
The tears that I shed are starting to leave stains upon my skin
Streaking signs that signal my pain notwithstanding, I am human
And even as my dirty face receives the water that it so much needs
The greed sets in and I start to see that as the tears continue to fall
I should have peace
For as the tears form a river, I have the tools to build a bridge and get over it
And as these words touch the paper there will be a child in the future that quoted it
Learning from a slave’s tears
The tears that fall are forming a puddle on the ground
Mud replaces the dirt
Just as joy replaces the hurt
A mist is replaced by rain
Just as trust is replaced by pain
But as a slave, I have to believe that I will be released
Given my freedom papers
Didn’t the cripple receive permission to walk again?
Didn’t the prostitute receive permission to be free and told not to sin again?
Didn’t the deaf and mute receive by their faith the ability to talk?
So why can’t a simple slave like myself be set free from all of my faults
The tears that fall are providing me with the assurance that I can still feel
The tears that fall are letting me know that my heart has not been hardened
The tears that fall are proof that I still have a chance to be set free
Soon
