Song of the split heart
Born of years
Of dark mistrust
I look back on
Those chains, which
Rust and moan around
The necks of my
Ancestors
WHO
Born of ancient
Shores I came
From skin not
Kissed by sun
Of lives well
Trenched into
The dirt
AM
I come from
Slavery, I come from
Shores of green
From dark lands
That sparkle and
Beat a rythmn
On skin drums
I?
I am not one
I am not the other
Who I am I but
What history has
Wrought before?
I am entirely new.
Of dark mistrust
I look back on
Those chains, which
Rust and moan around
The necks of my
Ancestors
WHO
Born of ancient
Shores I came
From skin not
Kissed by sun
Of lives well
Trenched into
The dirt
AM
I come from
Slavery, I come from
Shores of green
From dark lands
That sparkle and
Beat a rythmn
On skin drums
I?
I am not one
I am not the other
Who I am I but
What history has
Wrought before?
I am entirely new.
♠ ♠ ♠
I wrote this poem with my double ancestry in mind. As an african american who comes from former slaves, in no way shape or form is my blood fully african. I am a mix of both those who owned my ancestors and the people who were born into slavery. Because of this, I am unlike anytihng that has come before. And that in itself is a scary thought.