A Field of Dreams


Wondering about in a field of dreams

Opens the way to human extreme

Life in times of human-less seasons

When men were sold for various reasons

Time was told by the shadow of rocks

Working for self not needing a clock

Colors land beauty were gifts to gods

Gathering food with spears and rods

A peaceful nation with little to fear

The gesture to sale came far and near

Families were herded and taken away

In hubs of ships they’d cry and pray

Soon to awake to a new sun rise

To chains and whips a much surprise

The eventual fate in the life of slave

The way he’d work and the way he’d behave

Laboring long without much rest

The profits and weight would hail the best

Sweaty brows assemble at the lake

Sharing their stories and routes to take

When the day’s end they’d sit at the fire

Telling the news by verbal wire

Thru old folks hymns and child like dance

The paths to freedom was filled with chance

Kids were taught that change would come

That freedom would ring not just for some

Nothing in life is as it seems

The measure of life is a field of dreams.

by Leon Thomas.


In recognition of the African Holocaust, lest we forget – Period, Case-Closed!

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