wholesale supply chains

“Screaming; they cannot hear”

The land cried out; danger comes
We, the tribes out of time,
waited; while there, a mist,
a faceless fear crept
around our circle.
It had no color, just rage
and form that showed no mercy.
Suddenly vivid
in a world of lucid dreams, our
limbs, truncated and
seeped into the fertile soil.
Pushed, herded, prodded, we
Oh how we ran. To no
avail; trapped in a shadowed box
of iniquity, we faded.
Our history had ended.
Our lives were forfeit.
Our children sold.
I wake screaming, they can’t
hear me, but I can hear
Reclaiming my breath, I shake
with emotion,
tears, stain the drawing of my
in the frame of an old painting.

Although it would be tempting to draw conclusions from this poem, it is not written with a color in mind; nor even a date. It is all of us, and none of us. It is now, and thousands of years past. It is simply a poem, a collection of words gathered just so. But it is also words seared into our collective consciousness by millennia of suffering. Slavery, is one of the most heinous of human endeavors, but sadly, one of the most common, even at this very moment.

Most current estimates for contemporary slavery range from 20 to 30 million, today, around the world, as you read this poem.


2 thoughts on “wholesale supply chains

    • I’m just starting to reissue what I call the heavyweight poems in the archives. All the poems I’m writing for the various prompts are new creations, except for OLN at d’Verse.


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