PRECARIOUS
PRECARIOUS
A narrow pathway that leads to the ocean, where fishermen trod
Yonder on the hilltop is a field of hay; the cane field is no more
The old sugar mill, now in ruin whisper to me things of the past
Echoing voices I hear whisper to me in the cool of the evening
Followed by a musky smell of sweat infused by a distant drum beat
A precarious situation once existed here, fair Helen of the West
A defiant, rebellious descendant of a noble race was brought here
Held in bondage by white masters of French & English bloodhounds
Chains around their necks, shackles could not dampen their spirit
They would live to tell their story, unknown but not left to chance
The will of the masters never had firm control, never were they uncertain
A field of wheat and barley, a new generation expresses no uncertainty
Whips and lynching force fornication, offspring of chance circumstances
A new race was born on this Island a melting pot of Caucasian people
Those undiscipline uneducated, underdeveloped, and left to chance
Infused with a dominating bloodline, those mulitas plough out a history
Where there were two, there is but one voice now, the land, the people, the light
Kenvil Atkins / Poet 2026