I Am.... (The Woodcutter)

i am... the woodcutter, cutting and stacking wood, for the fire i'll never know. i am the taste of rain drenched leaves, and the silence just after. i am the soot on the miners face, his only mark of identity. i am the black man, who knowing his journey well, having pride in his roots, steps beyond bitterness. i am the woman, forced to sleep in the closet, hands worn by the broom... who finally steps free. i am the poor man, with tired calloused hands, his jaw firmly set, he's had all he's going to take. i am the child, who never knew his father, whose mother worked two shifts, so he could go to school. i am the outcast, condemned by the church, shunned by his neighbors, because he is different. i am the echo, of your guilt and your need, the shout of your actions. the cry of hunger in your sleep!