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Please review below or skip this one.
 Category:  Commentary and Philosophy Poetry
  Posted: September 28, 2020      Views: 23

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Good
Not yet exceptional. When the exceptional rating is reached this is highlighted
How easily we become that which we hate.
"Satan's South" by Ezer
In 1838 my grandpappy's grandpappy
Barely but two
Lived in a state shaped like a shoe

His mamma sat reading under moon's
Glow each night
Ole Garrison's paper callin' good ones to fight

Freedom for all
No poverty or chains
Our family steadfast - no matter the pains

Brother against brother and father's
Own son -
Bloody and battered until it was won

Sweet Molly and Slim came
by to see
The family who fought so they could be free

This story now passed down
father to son
Heartbreak to see how all's been done

My uncle who owned the
store On the hill
Shattered and burned, smoke rising still

Did you stop once to think
There was a time
We fought together; your fight was mine

We live in the South
Our family is white
It wasn't our family who attacked over night

The family that fought for
Molly and Slim
Whose shield was raised and did defend

Now sits in the pews Of this
Lonely place
one wife and a baby tears roll down her face

If only you'd known the true Past
We all shared
You might be different, perhaps even cared

How cruel, how remarkable
all this Must be
Now you're the tyrant and somehow don't see

The whip and the torch all
Tools of this trade
Clutched in firm hands, along with a blade

I'm not one bit sorry for what
Grandpappy did,
He knew what's right and taught the young kids

But I feel real sorry
for you And your kin
Who don't seem to know a foe from a friend

One day I might see you, my
Son or my daughter
They'll greet you the same as my grandpappy's father

Here in this house,
Soundly we sleep
No sins in our closets - no monsters who creep

You want there to be
A Revolution - a change
Don't get there by doing and being the same

Those tyrants that live And work
long and hard
Making you angry, broken and scarred

The next car you crash or home
That is burned
Think of the family who took their turn

Loving all families, and taking
The blows
While burying loved ones below the groves

No signs or banners to brag
Or pronounce
The ones you attacked were the ones who denounced

The same persecution
that Once haunted you
Now your gift to others, wrapped tightly in blue

Rhyming Poem contest entry

Author Notes
Picture credit: Alamy and The National Geographic
https://www.nationalgeographic.com/news/2015/2/150218-underground-railroad-slavery-civil-war-ngbooktalk/
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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