SLAVE | By: Willie Buchanan | | Category: Poem - History Bookmark and Share



The stench is very strong.
I must hold out however long.
Many miles from home,
I am weary to the bone.

We row by day and night,
still no land in sight.
Painful blisters on my hand,
Pig slop is not for man.

Aboard this cruel ship,
I feel the Devils whip.
Death is in this galley,
and I want so to be free.

Hatred burns in my brain,
while captors inflict pain.
Will I die before I go insane ?
I pray for strength t o break chain !

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