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My history of shame
darker than black;
I begged for a pen;
but he stared at me!
"What good is a pen
when trying to work
with hands that hurt,
sowing the seeds?
leave the writing now
for the rich white folk;
they need to write it;
bills for their farming."
Five years passed by;
my dreams in the sand;
seeing my Daddy frown
with a letter in his hand!
"Son, the time has come;
you may now go to school
to learn about the new laws;
our freedom is here at last.
Come, let’s go buy your pen
with the money that I saved,
selling my share of the maize
hidden away under my bed."
When I graduated cum laude;
my daddy now old and tired;
bent down to kiss my brow;
in tears wiping his eyes!
"Son, I'm so proud of you;
a black man with a degree;
free to sign the document -
The new owner of this farm;
dedicated to Jackson;
I am that dream
the hope of the slave;
aged ten, without a pen"
36 Written Lines.
© Copyright 2009 embe (UN: embe at Writing.Com).
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