The lashes stained deep beneath his melanin, tears incubates, but pours without. Led by chains for he was manly built, intimidating appearance, on his face there weren't a grin.

The ships came in minutes they were filled, off to the North with gracious wind, many die of hunger, some from lashes, thrown overboard big creatures feasted.

The guards feared, they approach him in tens, with guns and spears.
Poking gestures trying to hide their despair, a hand was broken, another was hit with a steeled anchor that was near.

The general shouted, " No!, not here." Just before the guards pull our their guns and spears. His plan was upon anchoring to let him run like a dear and chase him for that was one of their favorite games

The sun sets, tomorrow will be the day, a few chains away dry land awaits with slave masters casting their bids, laughter's aloud, drunken from wine the glopped.

By: Mark Burrell