Manacles
My God! The
chill, the chill of the metal
That bound
countless slaves rushes through,
Stuns my body,
my spirit, and the clinking
Of the links
bids me stay and hear the tale.
These sad
swings now tell of those times
In hell, where
the very iron moved to pity,
Forced to
children choke, for them would cry
To heaven the
silent lament: help!
These chains
were forced to pry men
From their
mother land, the wives they loved,
To float away
on Chiron’s barge to
World’s edge,
by monsters ploughed away.
Against their
will the shackles drew
The life-blood
of mothers from their wrists,
And as the
infants stilled lay slowly cooling,
So did the
mother, her death the iron chilling.
So cold, the
metal could not bear, but the butcher’s
Damned notes
repeat, record, in their grim
Witness to the
exodus reversed by devils
Coin seeking,
and pleasure in the cries finding.
Behold: these
are the manacles of God,
The bars which
bound his twelve million
Hands, the
nails that held Him once again
Amongst His
children, to suffer with them.
Hear the gospel
these bells proclaim,
Unlocked and
open, the sacred blood
That makes them
holy: on thy knees!
On thy knees
and beg God’s Mercy!
See the
manacles that bind you, that
Weigh the
spirit down with you. Beware
That they drag
you not with them. Let the iron
Slaves open,
and relieve the metal others crushing.
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