My mouth lay muzzled
Under the immense heat
Of the sun, and the cracking
Of whips against bare flesh. 

Human filth lay upon piles
Of chipped rock and bloody
Shovels and spikes. Waiting
For death to come for us all. 

Dinner bells ring louder than
Single shot rifles, and dirt
Taste better than dinner. 

Slaves captured not by body,
But by spirit. Lives chipping
Away with rocks. We wait for
Death or the food they give us. 

Which ever kills us first. 

cori graham