Saturday, August 29, 2009

Nat Turner

My name is Nat Turner
My skin is as black as the night that devours me
I know I should not be out here at this hour
I know this cold pistol does not belong in my hand
I know this is all wrong
What's wrong?
Thinking you can own a man?
Or taking revenge for such abuses?
The anger returns with a vengeance, scorches the doubt from my mind
A sound
A river flowing
An image
A deer running
Running free
Something I will never do
I close my eyes
The eclipse
My task, I must remember that
The pistol
I can feel many other slaves behind me
Coiled and ready to strike
An image
A cobra
Deadly and dangerous
Like us
I nod
They know what to do now
The revolution
It has begun
The house
It looms over me
Daring me to finish what I have started
I find him
In his room
The floorboards, they creak
He's awake
He spies the pistol in my hand
A whip?
His throat, it's in my hands
Choking, he can't breathe
Flailing limbs
A noise
The pistol
I have him
I have won
The revolution
It's over
He lays still, cold
My master
My captor
In a crimson pool of hate
My name is Nat Turner
I was a slave
But now I am to hang high for my deeds
Hang high for the Revolution
That one word hovers around me
Like a vulture over a dead body
My name is Nat Turner
I was a slave


  1. Lots of emotions running through this piece - excellent.

  2. Powerful...a poem of redemption. I could feel the emotion and pain!

  3. Poignant and powerful. The short lines added to the intensity of the feelings and the buildup to the climax. I had to read it twice cuz I rushed through it the first time in anticipation for what was to come.

    Have a great day,