The Shackle

(poems go here) As I sit here in this desk,
I wonder will I ever be used again.
Will I be used as an example to keep this Negro pushing?
Will he use it to tell the children to keep pushing to become something better than the past of their ancestors?
I still remember the ankles I was around.
Feeling the blood that poured on me as the slaves were being yanked.
Hearing the slaves sing we shall negro spirituals,
Tears pour down some of their eyes.
Should I be used again?
I feel as though I was use to keep them in hell,
To carry them to their own deaths.
Should I feel guilty at the fact I was doing what I was made for?
Should I be proud I held them together to keep them closer?
Was I made for slaves or was I made for the person who made me?
Will I ever be used again?


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