Slaves

As I walk through this house of shadows;
I feel terror in the air.
Broken hearts and tortured spirits,
Lives filled with despair.
I hear them softly calling,
Knowing that they can't get away.
They stared at the barred windows,
And dreamt of leaving this place.
The scars upon their bloody backs,
Kept them working all day long.
Breaking bones and losing hope,
As they heard the jailer's song.
Their souls were left here to haunt us,
As their children were left to die,
If you listen close you can hear,
The slaves' broken cry.

Comments & reviews · 5
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I also enjoyed this poem and thought this was well written. However, I have one nitpick:

kristennicole wrote:As I walk through this house of shadows;
I feel terror in the air.
Broken hearts and tortured spirits,
Lives filled with despair.

For some reason this stanza doesn't seem to have the right rhythm to me. I think that maybe you should change that.
Besides that, I fully enjoyed this poem and I really hope I get to read more of your work in the future.
Keep writing,
Jane

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dante93
Review

This poem is good. I like how short it is compared to many others that drag out the effects of slavery. Not to say those are bad ideas, I just prefer to have to think more about it when the poem gives us less than everything. This poem does that, and doing that will take you far. Keep writing.

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StoryWeaver13
Review

I thought this was really good; you did a nice job portaying emotion and overall the rhythm and flow worked very well. I think this could almost be classified as narrative poetry, but either way it was a well-written poem and I don't have much at all to critisize.
Keep writing,
~the StoryWeaver

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ArahniaSiddel
Comment

I love this. I like all your punctuation. All the emotions were great. I liked the ending, and the flow was awesome. I read it out loud and everything was smooth. It is a good thing I didn't list any problems!

A. S.

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White Rabbit Comment

Very well spoken. It says plenty about your thoughts on slavery. I like the idea of this poem.



The idea that a poem was a made thing stayed with me, and I decided then that I wanted to be an artist, not just a diarist. So I put myself through a kind of apprenticeship in writing poetry, and I understood even then that my practice as a poet was deeply related to my reading.
— Edward Hirsch