Circumstance

I am a product of a painful past Of thoughts filled with uncertainty and regret My great-grandfather saw his mother auctioned In Georgia on a slave block His heart was filled with pain and regret My ancestors were stolen from their homeland Africa Chained into bondage and held captive Against their will they surrendered to sin Slaves were forced into free labor Their dry cracked hands, bodies cracked and scorn The sharp thorns of cotton, the cold whip clung to her skin For two centuries, seasons had come and gone Slaves felt the burden of being suppressed Their hearts filled with fear, the sorrow and neglect Uncertain of the promise of the land of the free Life to them was a hopeless dream Some died in humiliation As a product of the circumstance