FREEDOM FANTASY

POEM | ANGELA M. BRITT

… “And before I’d be a slave, I’ll be buried in my grave, and go home to my Lord and be free.” (Negro Spiritual)

White shirts, absorbed the bloodline and Bandaged the wounds inflicted by lashing whips for singing about Freedom.

Same white bloodstained shirts later flew through moonlit forests as A flag of courage on the way to something called Freedom.

The Internal cadence of the heart set the pace for the non-stop runner, going over, Crawling under, circling around, and tunneling through, seen and unseen dangers.

With each breath drawn in, one cried out for . . . Freedom.

Finally, after too much blood shed, too many tears and too many years of Suffering oppression, the marathon Runner reached his destination . . . . Freedom.

Only to discover it was an illusion of grandeur.

It projected a false sense of security, full of promises, that held little value.

Oh yes, this Freedom afforded many rights,

the privilege to work for less than others earned,

The opportunity to pay taxes, fight in wars, but not to vote,

And the liberty to eat, sleep and ride in the rear.

So determined multi-colored faces, striped with sweat and tears,

Marched through sweltering city streets seeking the Dream of Civil Rights.

Only to be whipped by the reality of having climbed the mountain of injustice,

And not be permitted to plant the victory flag.

Even under the spotlight of the noonday sun, the non-violent Army of crisp white shirts

Was cursed, chased, stoned, beaten, jailed and murdered as they “Sat-In”

And sang, “We shall overcome!”

Shall we earnestly continue to reach for the elusive concept of Equality only to discover

That it was never available?

Is Freedom just a fantasy?

Only a lure to keep us blindly pursuing something

that has caused us to become its slave.

… ”But before I’d be a slave,

I’ll be buried in my grave,

And go home to my Lord and be Free!”