The Underground

The blue. 

It stood in the midst of a sea. 

Represented to me the ships and chains, my people. 

Carried and torn from their homes. 

The oceans in which millions drowned.  

Died. 

Tossed overboard. 

Jumped, of their own accord. 

A history, brutal. 

Time can only afford. 

The red. 

Blood shed. 

Stripes. 

Beaten, backs torn. 

Bound, whipped, beaten and gagged. 

Cries of pain and suffering. 

The stars. 

The hope we followed. 

We looked up and saw, God. 

Knew there was more to aspire towards. 

We knew, he bottled every tear. 

Mothers ripped from their young. 

Torture, generations endure. 

Pain yet undone. 

Emotions, weakness. 

No healing from which to come. 

The pain I feel. 

The pride I hold. 

For a country that is yet to prove, yet to choose. 

Wrong we can no longer afford to endure. 

The allies, saw. 

Patriots, knew something was wrong. 

It was risky, dangerous. 

But the cost, worth the cross. 

The reason we went underground. 

Purpose of the railroad. 

How I pay tribute. 

Publish the works of few for distribution to the masses. 

Underground Literature.