The Lost Poets series: Frances E. W. Harper

*Here I present another poetic voice  
seemingly...lost amongst the many  
in poetry... my piece is the next poem*
 
 
The Slave Auction  
 
The sale began-young girls were there,  
Defenceless in their wretchedness,  
Whose stifled sobs of deep despair  
Revealed their anguish and distress.  
 
And mothers stood with streaming eyes,  
And saw their dearest children sold;  
Unheeded rose their bitter cries,  
While tyrants bartered them for gold.  
 
And woman, with her love and truth-  
For these in sable forms may dwell-  
Gaz'd on the husband of her youth,  
With anguish none may paint or tell.  
 
And men, whose sole crime was their hue,  
The impress of their Maker's hand,  
And frail and shrinking children too,  
Were gathered in that mournful band.  
 
Ye who have laid your love to rest,  
And wept above their lifeless clay,  
Know not the anguish of that breast  
Whose lov'd are rudely torn away.  
 
Ye may not know how desolate,  
Are bosoms rudely forced to part,  
And how a dull and heavy weight,  
Will press the life-drops from the heart.  


(My piece below, inspired by the  above) 
 
 
While minds sleep...  
 
 
...There never will come a test  
Solven, sloth-life progress  
(beckons them who govern)  
Yet, know little of morality,  
so just lay 'real' to rest...  
 
This land of the supposed  Free  
so multi-cultural, but still divided  
Stagnant, broodin' ill of Will to  Be  
Better for Power they see to decide it  
 
Alas, always lost...  
in the hyped-crap-I-see  
 
devalued, n' gouged out hope  
left for our disillusioned youth...  
 
Desensitized, bereft of love  
n' compassion, now an ill-  
conceived ideal, livin' proof  
 
...of the ignorance of what it means  
to feel  truly, FREE...