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This is a poem I wrote for black history month when I was 14 and I'd like share it with you guys here on NB. Give me some feed back and tell me what you think.
Our Ancestor's Cries
In a hidden time and grand lands unseen
Majestic palaces housed mighty kings and lovely ebony queens
A powerful people of a lost age; men of renown and warriors of old
Deep inside we harbor rage for those flaming spirit's who now wax cold
A race of great pride royal panthers of long ago
Black diamonds under the sun whose glory we no longer show
Though we continue to grieve we're hard hearted and don't pay heed
To the echoes of past wise men who no longer breathe
Beseeching us from their graves as they witness their descendants enslaved
To the ways of their oppressors who reeked havoc and shortened their days
Watching in horror as we lay our crowns at the oppressor's feet
Turning over in their graves as the fruit of their loins welcome defeat
For too many centuries these cold spirit's have bereaved
knowing their culture's destroyed and their children are deceived
Unable to perceive how these withered leaves
That have fallen from their family tree can believe that they are free
Seeing their children walk the dirt road of life without shoes
Ankles and wrist bruised from the shackles and chains the oppressors use
Not only to bind the flesh but to bind the mind and soul also in lonely solitude
Nobility and Pride have fallen by the way side
So bloodstained tears cloud their spiritual eyes
Watching in despair at our culture's demise
These are the echoes of our ancestor's cries.
Our Ancestor's Cries
In a hidden time and grand lands unseen
Majestic palaces housed mighty kings and lovely ebony queens
A powerful people of a lost age; men of renown and warriors of old
Deep inside we harbor rage for those flaming spirit's who now wax cold
A race of great pride royal panthers of long ago
Black diamonds under the sun whose glory we no longer show
Though we continue to grieve we're hard hearted and don't pay heed
To the echoes of past wise men who no longer breathe
Beseeching us from their graves as they witness their descendants enslaved
To the ways of their oppressors who reeked havoc and shortened their days
Watching in horror as we lay our crowns at the oppressor's feet
Turning over in their graves as the fruit of their loins welcome defeat
For too many centuries these cold spirit's have bereaved
knowing their culture's destroyed and their children are deceived
Unable to perceive how these withered leaves
That have fallen from their family tree can believe that they are free
Seeing their children walk the dirt road of life without shoes
Ankles and wrist bruised from the shackles and chains the oppressors use
Not only to bind the flesh but to bind the mind and soul also in lonely solitude
Nobility and Pride have fallen by the way side
So bloodstained tears cloud their spiritual eyes
Watching in despair at our culture's demise
These are the echoes of our ancestor's cries.
