There Lies A Stain

The continuous noise of a rock being struck, Multiplying hundreds of times. The pick on stone, like the hammer that strikes, on a clock that forever chimes. The well muscled arms, and the sweating backs, toiled onwards with not a thirst slaked. These stolen men, harshly chained to a line, Oh, how their shattered bodies ached. White dust seeped into each eye and dry mouth, beneath that cruel blistering heat. From sunrise they‘d work until past sunset, with barely a moment to eat. For wealth they were seized, captive they’d remain, No status within our country. And in history books, lies a huge stain, of the evil of slavery.