Poem 2 non-original
Little Black Feet In The White House
The wicked carried them away in captivity, to cruel and far away lands.
In cotton fields and on plantations they would toil, with old and young black hands.
The stripes on their backs formed tree shaped reminders; the chains kept them in place.
Many leaped from the ships into a cold abysmal coffin, refusing the oppression they would surley face.
Through the middle passages the others sailed, settling for the slower route to death.
The task master's whip flickered like the tongue of a viper, his harsh words spewed like the dragon's breath.
Enslaved by the ignorance of their captors and bigotry that binds them, a life of bondage they received.
Terror by night and terror by day that was so unyielding, but the blacks were stronger than they believed.
Now there are little Black feet in the White House. Oh yes, there are little Black feet in the White House.
Through the dark of night went the relentless pursuit, for a land of promised redemption.
Wading in the water the way Harriet taught them, each with the same task with no exemption.
The sound of the blood hounds rang in their ears, yet all they heard was that bell of freedom.
Mrs. Tubman's face reflected blood, sweat and tears; still they followed where she did lead them.
Journey by journey, through the perilous path, though their feet and their will grew tired.
Inch by inch, step by step, they forged ever forward, to the freedom that each one desired.
To the North there's a place where chains sometimes melt; when a voice said hurry don't delay.
Humble by nature, born with the love of God, yet striking down anyone that stood in their way.
Now there are little Black feet in the White House. Oh yes, there are little Black feet in the White House.
Civil war between the North and the South came, but the motive is still not yet clear.
Freeing a people without releasing their minds; only makes them merely slaves to fear.
Treating the Freedmen like they were less than human, was the norm in this anti-bellum world.
Leaving them lost in that freedom, if that's what it was, with no country and no flag to unfurl.
Unwanted by a nation; on your labor was built, caused enough tear that would fill up the Nile.
Knowing no other life but a life of bondage, enslaved from when you were a child.
The prayers that were prayed, had a long way to travel, because the years of suffering were many.
No hope and no help became their constant shadow, no equality rendered; no not any.
Then along comes a King with a dream in his heart, and a voice that rode on the wind.
An assassin's bullet cowardly silenced the voice, before the awakening could begin.
His words are still engrained in our souls, while the King watches his people from above.
Martin's lessons were God sent and easy to understand, his main focus was brotherly love.
Now there are little Black feet in the White House. Oh yes, there are little Black feet in the White House.
Now with years after his fall; forty-five to be exact, our people are still not yet free.
But there is a new one who will take us to the birthright of all, he has a face just like you and me.
From the threads of two races he was woven into one, who will prove that we are all the same.
A black father and white mother; the vessels that bore him, his goal is universal love; not fame.
A warrior of the best kind, his steps are sure, he's much, much smarter than they think.
A new world peace is what he envisions; a great era is now on the brink.
You know who I speak of so I won't call his name, Ok, I'll give you a hint just for fun.
Some call him a savior, others say he God's gift, I think I'll just call him "That One".
Now there are little Black feet in the White House. Oh yes, there are little Black feet in
the White House.
Written by John A. Smith