Читать книгу The Storyteller - J. Michaels - Страница 8

Born a man, a proud African citizen

Taken from his home by greed and stealth

Leaving a family broken and fatherless

For money, ignorance, and greed

John Henry was strong and black

A large man, tall and imposing he stood

The body of Hercules

The soul of a dove

His family and peace were all he prized

A simple man trying to get along

Fair to his neighbors, a source for all

Living to be good, happy to be alive

Those simple sweet days gone now

As the slave traders beat and prod

Afraid of the giant, awed by his size

Yet dollars counting, they priced their prize

A gentle man captured by those less so

A tragedy born that day

Hearts broken and sadness reigned

All in a day’s work and the devil’s pay

John Henry wept when left alone

Too proud for the cruel captors to see

His heart heavy as his country faded

His shoreline replaced by one far away

Days of discomfort and strife

Hungry, beaten, robbed of his life

Treated as livestock, meat for sale

Reduced to headcount, his soul grew pale

The long days at sea finally passed

The new home reached at last

Uncertainty and fear his companions now

Sold to rich men, but poorer than he

Placed on the platform for all to see

Bids placed on the man so strong

No smile for the price, no soul of the man

Body purchased and nothing more

The buyers cared not but for profit and use

The soul not of the bargain made

This gentle giant with so much to add

Stood motionless with heart so sad

Sold and purchased as merchant’s wares

The property of genteel men with hearts of stone

Branded and named with no care for the man

Only muscles to them, a working machine

Life was hard, the days were long

Picking cotton in the Carolina sun

Side by side with his new family of slaves

Spirit intact and returning to life

They sang as they toiled

And spoke of days gone by

Telling stories of their homeland

And dear ones left behind

The days passed, the years quickly too

John Henry grew older and slower

No longer the machine his owners once prized

Just an old man they had come to know

The plantations thrived under John Henry’s toil

Time permitted the landlords to know him well

They could not help but admire the man

Who, through the suffering and labor, stood so tall

His spirit and goodness caused them to pause

And reflect on this giant soul of a man

Even shame sought refuge

As they compared them to him

Come one fine summer day

When John Henry could arise no more

The labor and sadness taking their toll

From the man stolen so very long ago

The master came to his bedside

To say farewell to his aged property

Humbled by one of greater character

He now cried for both souls

John Henry looked on his captor from death’s door

Granting him the smile denied before

For a moment before he returned home

Brothers but for an instant

Then John Henry was no more

From the poetry collection Common Ground