My Silent Heart

I sit and glance from the throne of grace above,

I hear the Angelic Hosts chanting Holy, Holy, Ho-o-ly,

I see myself and my cousins Wheeler Parker and Curtis Jones,

Our palpations not influenced by any limitations,

No stretch by your imaginations,

That our legs are moving swiftly as we run through the cotton field,

Getting splinters and thorns in the bottom of our heels,

Hmmm,

I see their not behind us, WAIT, NO, STOP,

I mark the spot, the spot of regret, and the spot of neglect, neglect the lesson that was taught to me by my grandfather who cared for me,

I see them awake me after twelve,

I observe the smell of the Hell, which would serve as a punishment because of my sweet innocent whistle of noticing beauty,

I observe the passion of my love ones

As they viewed my disfigured body, OH YEAH! Full of lashings

All these things and many more happened in the past at last,

We are free, and we are free at last,

I see, I hear, but I am silent.

Stephen Standley