Black Poetry : I’ se Stand In The Church Yard Grave

ASHANTA

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Jan 15, 2003
1,859
74
Brooklyn N. Y.
I’ se Stand In The Church Yard Grave



I walk through the churchyard
to lay this body down; Lord the strips
Off my cause just being a Blackman,
Da’ defense of my will just twitters and fall;
My tribes that comes through me genes,
I can’t plead their cause, Lord the image
That I represent upon de earth,
The battles that I fight within self,
The hell confines my image of man
Lord I ready to lay down, my soul
Has been killed, and my treasures, have been
Demise the thought of I being a man.

I know the night shall pass on,
I know the morning when it calls,
Da’ woman that I love, raped and bound,
I’se lest than De man, as the devil steals all I own.
I'll lie in the grave and stretch out my arms,
I'll go to judgment, I’se already dead, my soul has no
Form to hold, nevertheless, I walk as a man, talk as a man,
But who is man? Who cannot defend his woman and Chilean?
As the slave master, claims it all,
in the evening of the day,
And my soul and thy soul shall meet that day,
When I lay this body down.

haunting echo of these weird old cries, I’se man,
the soul of the black slave, I speak as a man,
Ever since I leave my mama womb,
Born in slavery, without permission
Of what I wont to be, I was a child these songs,
Mama in the fields, daddy being whip for
Being black as me, I’se ready to dye,
Have stirred me in the darkness of my way.
They came out of the South unknown to me,
One by one, Negroes dye upon the tree,
and yet at once, I’se see me as a black man,
De master took me from my mama arms,



I knew them as of me and of mine,
Oh a cowardly deformity I represent, the tears
Upon my woman eyes, oh the bitter taste of brim
As they raped my baby at ten,
Man could never understand my prey,
O, lord God, I have felt the pain of the cross,
full of the voices of my brothers and sisters
born this side the seas
I'll hear the trumpet sound in that morning
Nobody knows the trouble I've seen
song of the End and the Beginning
My Lord calls me,
He calls me by the dark of the eve’ning
The trumpet sounds it in my soul.

I lay upon the darken ground
Lord takes my soul,
What is man, when the devil stands
Before your land, and the white hooded
Horse, and men, with mask, keep you
In your place, but de lord is master,
I live below the grounds of the devil
Lord will fight my battle
I shall stand tall as a man.

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