Of Plantations & Hauntings

Had to write about a haunted place

The cruelty once found here
haunts this place:
a misery that lives
in the echos of a crackling whip
carried by a night breeze
under a ghostly moon,
and in the faltering wails
of the afflicted
that linger in the air
as it slashes open backs
and tears at dark, tender flesh.
The agony that arose here
is a horror on this land:
a despair that subsists
in the unending clank of chains,
a song of subjugation and torture,
carried in the caws of crows
and the croaks of ravens;
so lost souls stir,
afloat and meandering,
striking fear and trepidation
in the progeny of the white masters
as they roam fields
in search of relief
from pain, from sorrow, from abuse;
they seek revenge.
They harrow their tormentors
with the chill of memory,
by the curse of guilt,
or the flow of blood.
They are the spirits
of an old plantation,
souls of the enslaved,
vexing the living
while languishing as the dead.