I am the slave,

A poem of oppression and resilience.

I am the slave,
when I inevitably disobey you lash me—
across my oaken flesh,
splitting it red and felling me like a tree.

I am the slave,
cattle among the herd, a tool in your field—
a plough, perhaps,
too unimportant to name.

I am the slave,
eternal hope in hopeless eternity—
sun in the night,
songful silence pierces skies

I am the slave,
crescendoing like a mountain—
antithesis of my name,
prevailing in all despite
I am the slave.