It's a vision ever emblazoned in Heaven's
truth of dismal days lived by men back
then, times of stoop-side Sunday Schools
in Southampton County. Brother Nat was
preaching to a people caught up in a white
man's deception he felt moved to rebel
against. He was more than a preacher without
a pulpit; he was a slave with a calling to call
his brethren to everlasting arms. "The white
man's evil, and we want to be free, the signs
keep a comin' and they a pressin' me." It was
the heart of the black, Virginia, Jerusalem,
white way, till the blood of freedom appeared
and painted God's skies, miraculously in
black Moses’ eyes. Anointed, sanctified, soul
on fire, the slave was called to congregate, not
abdicate. He was chosen, and the time had
come for us to walk through the fire. Not a
quest, but a calling, to leave none living,
none breathing. For the air God gave all,
was stolen, stripped, taken and whipped out
of us; they bled a dark people of life running
through their veins, mocked them with
husbands, wives, and mulatto baby cries
until it was, to no surprise, justified rebellion,
a righteous revolt, a song of silent amen's.
Copyrighted February 2005 Latorial Faison | www.latorialfaison.com
from 28 Days of Poetry Celebrating Black History (2006) by Latorial Faison
