There Lies A Stain
The continuous noise of a rock being struck,
Multiplying hundreds of times.
The pick on stone, like the hammer that strikes,
on a clock that forever chimes.
The well muscled arms, and the sweating backs,
toiled onwards with not a thirst slaked.
These stolen men, harshly chained to a line,
Oh, how their shattered bodies ached.
White dust seeped into each eye and dry mouth,
beneath that cruel blistering heat.
From sunrise they‘d work until past sunset,
with barely a moment to eat.
For wealth they were seized, captive they’d remain,
No status within our country.
And in history books, lies a huge stain,
of the evil of slavery.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Added by Poetry Lover
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