Author: Kenny's Goodness
Title: Freedom
Type of Work: poem
Source: CMv1 #45

© Copyright 2002 Kenny's Goodness

Creaking boards,
The old ship sways.
The Mother Ocean,
Rocking her baby,
Made of the forest.
Water lapping against the sides,
Licking and eroding the
Barnacle crusted planks.
Dusty sails, billowing
Behind the masts
Like pigtails as
The crew rows.
They strain against the oars;
The ship crawls along like
A bug on a million legs.
Their backs are aching,
But none let up,
Or the whip cracks,
Its saucy cry snapping into the
Hot, dead air.
Black, sweating skins,
Seemingly darker from the sun,
Wince as the whip
Stings like a snake,
Claws like a cat.
They will never know freedom.
Life will never be theirs.