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John Henry
#WritcoPoemPrompt10
Rickety, rick, rackety rack,
The train sings a song on its old track,
We swing with its tune,
Swaying and bouncing a moment too soon, for the bitter fruit to be in full bloom, tracks built by John henry with his bare hands, not only a steel driver but also a black man, rickety, rick, rackety, rack, this train was built on a black man's back, molten steel pumping through his veins, as the fear outweighs the physical pain, the song he sings gets him through the day, back breaking work without getting paid, his family exists only in his dreams, his reality is as painful as his black hands that bleed, rickety, rick, rackety, rack, the rythm of slaves building America's track's.
written by Orpheus the breath of Life AKA Donte l. Paxton Sr.
© Orpheus The Breathe Of Life
Rickety, rick, rackety rack,
The train sings a song on its old track,
We swing with its tune,
Swaying and bouncing a moment too soon, for the bitter fruit to be in full bloom, tracks built by John henry with his bare hands, not only a steel driver but also a black man, rickety, rick, rackety, rack, this train was built on a black man's back, molten steel pumping through his veins, as the fear outweighs the physical pain, the song he sings gets him through the day, back breaking work without getting paid, his family exists only in his dreams, his reality is as painful as his black hands that bleed, rickety, rick, rackety, rack, the rythm of slaves building America's track's.
written by Orpheus the breath of Life AKA Donte l. Paxton Sr.
© Orpheus The Breathe Of Life
