Credit: diggerfortruth.wordpress.com
Years, times and moments
Flash before his eyes
Things not understood
Like the writings on his palm
Nature loans her shroud of dark covering
As his life, now it seems, it’s concluding
On his lips are tales of time past
Secrets, shared memories of a life he owned
Filled with stories untold
Some he wishes to air, others to the grave he takes
A tale of penury, blood, war, hatred and strife
Of joy, gain, laughter and love
The better of two extreame he had
I was and I am a slave
Not brought by my colour, skin or type
But a slave and a prisoner of my own mind
Hanging on the edge of my existense
Far but close the moment of clearity
Liberation, freedom a state of mind
Wondering, why? Still a crying free man.
