Poetry/Poems

Field of Souls…Scene 2

jacquelineobyikocha

 

Terror, Poetry

He heard them.
They were coming
but he couldn’t run.

The Earth spurted blood
black birds circled in foreboding,
this farm is a prison and he’s its convict.

In a bright panorama,
he saw horrific things,
things that jarred his senses in an unspeakable way

The beaten and the burnt,
the hung and the torn,
the shackled and the maimed.

The tears, the gore,
and the stench of death filled his nostrils,
it clung to his skin and seeped into his bones.

©

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

For Scene 1 – check this link

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Published by jacquelineobyikocha

A wordsmith with a vivid imagination, an eager mind and a burning desire to carve out tales. As I journey with my muse to that land of all possibilities and self discovery, I hope my personal evolution will serve as a beacon of inspiration for anyone who chooses to stop by.

6 thoughts on “Field of Souls…Scene 2”

  5. I can feel the fear, confusion and finally the resignation of the convict trying to escape. For me it also brought to mind the hell that my ancestors went through on plantations. Being beaten for the least little infraction. Then making the decision to escape via the Underground Railroad. That the real meaning behind the “Old Negro Spirituals” such as Swing Low Sweet Chariot and Steal Away to Jesus. Their Jesus was Harriet Tubman. Fortunately Black Moses never lost any of her charges.

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I love it when you decorate my heart with your words..