Freedom Shall Come
As I run through the forest..
rocks scrape my feet.
I feel thorns prick my face
mud stings my cuts.
I try to hold back a scream of agony
Dogs are coming..
Other slaves beside me
never looking back..
Done picking cotton..
We're not going to get caught.
I feel freedom coming..
LORD, I KNOW WE'LL MAKE IT
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.