for our past is a poem,
murdered by the hand, of death,
and our worth, diminished.
Our hearts were wild,
and free. Royalty!
portrayed as a mere,
fluke; death to them,
they shunted; Pain.
Our spirits broken
when we would defy
being tamed like mere beasts!
we wore shackles,
but stood fearless
when held captive;
not defined by what they called us,
And they taught us
all the things that, they considered
to be harmless!
They despised the very look we had
portrayed on our,
faces. But this...
Cult of personality!
whose presence
were a stench;
they had us thrown,
in the sea.
BEHOLD!
they confiscated all our wealth,
from garments
flock, and
art itself.

©Damiam Vincent Henry