James (A poem about slavery)

as he ran, his swollen feet stumbled
but he didn’t stop
visions of snarling, angry beasts
forced his aching muscles
to run  

the cold wind gnawed hungrily at his flesh
and the tree branches
etched their marks of ownership
across his face

the night sounds surrounded him,
betraying him to the baying hounds
whose excessive barking grew louder
with each step James took

desperation threatened to overtake him
so he frantically searched –
his eyes flitted back and forth
searching for something,

festered sores cried out for his attention
but he only ran faster
tears mingled with the dread of capture
marring his once proud face

James now knows that there is no freedom
there is only this –
the constant, endless, angry barking
of the master’s hounds
coming to take his soul away.

© Angela Jackson-Brown