After 10+ years of homeschooling and starting out having no clue to what we were doing, I can honestly say we are starting to see some fruits of our labor. Our son Cameron wants to be a writer. With all his heart that is what he wants to be. He has many of those eccentric quirks that you hear about writers having, like getting up at 5a.m. to start school so he can have the afternoon to write (crazy, I know, but true) We have encourage all of our kids to write a lot for school. He was given an assignment to write an essay about slavery. He asked if he could write a poem and I agreed. His poem title "A Slave, No Less, No More" blew us away. He was published in the Spring edition of Starsongs magazine. Which, if you have a budding writer, I would encourage you to see about sending work to this magazine. They do a fabulous job.
A Slave, No Less, No More
Having conquered the wretched fool,
Having pained like an arrogant tool,
Having smiled before his master’s whims,
A slave, no more, but less to him.
Come now boy, draw near to me,
Listen as I make my plea.
Hear and know this truth of life,
The freedom that is yours by right…
There, it cooks behind your brow.
I feel it as you feel it now.
Take that passion, reap its sow,
Raise up you hand, bring up your bow!
Fight the shadows all must loath,
And take your freedom from him.
Run dark child, flee up to them,
Fear not his hand, fear not his men.
They cannot harm you, in the north,
Nor take from your life, the life that is yours.
For there the men are kind and good,
They’ll treat you as the white men should,
As an orphaned child in need of a home,
As a long lost brother, with rights of his own.
Now you’ve heard, my words to thee,
Give your response, boy, tell me, please,
Will you go up to white lands far?
To trust them still, while here you’re scarred?
Yes! You’ll come with me afar?
You’ll travel there, you’ll take my par?
Child I’m so glad for thee!
To think my words have set thee free!
Here now boy, take this hat, wear this cloak,
Take here from my hand, my staff of oak,
Fine oak you see, will set you free,
No slave would have it. They’ll let you be,
See, already you look, as one of us.
Just leave at dusk, to cover that musk.
In darkness, you might cleanly hide,
Until you reach the northern side.
I bless thee now, dear child once more,
Your journey, I pray, for you and mourn,
Oh, how I mourn to think of the fate,
Of one caught out in the night, far too late.
In this state, that child, he left,
My words of encouragement, clouding his head.
He did not look up when the white man neared,
Nor did he take note, of death as it leered.
There in the face, of an ugly man,
His master come, to punish that lamb.
And on that night, when the poor child died,
I wept my eyes out, woe, that foolish pride!
To think myself, an able nose,
A vigilant mind, to smell out the foes.
Oh the foes, of that dead boy so cold!
How could I have left him so blinded!
Now I’m committed,
My life is submitted
To ridding the world of this woe.
Though time may be plotting,
Always I’ll carry him so…