Saturday, October 13, 2012

Letters, and Other Prayers 2



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.

No comments:

Post a Comment