Frederick Douglass

A gasp of joy and delight fills my heart

A boy is born and hope is set aflame.

But soon it dies with a slaveholder's art

of trying to make all his slaves the same.

Cut off from love the slaves must become brutes;

they are made to be blind and unfeeling.

No dance of tambourines, trumpets, or flutes;

just harsh words, field work, and pain unending.

Papa's an extinguisher of freedom,

and Mama's dying hope will never come.

My name is America

Flags flutter in the breeze

But are they really free?

My name is America

"Freedom" I cry

But there is a "secret" within me.

My name is America

I want work done

But I won't do it myself.

My name is America

I sell humans

To work like animals.

My name is America

My insides are wrestling

Something is wrong that I won't give up.

My name is America

I must be free,

free from the germ inside of me.

"Help, Help!" I cry

My head is all awhirl

and I am almost destroyed.

"Help!" I cry again

Answer is slow in coming

Are there any left who will listen?

The storm dies down

God has sent people to help

me rid myself from slavery.

The flags become birds

and they are released

as their rightful masters.

My name is America

I am a nest

for birds who willingly come and go.

My name is America

I am a melting pot

of ideas, love, and freedom.

I see an abundance of fruit

I unhinge my jaw and open my hand

I receive lashes to my bones' root

Yet I live in a free land.

I toil in fields, day and night

I take any jobs unmanned

when I'm weary none will hear my plight

Yet I live in a free land.

I know my master overworks me.

I unhinge my jaw and say "Is this not human?"

I'm sent away from those who cared for me

Yet I live in a free land.

I'm here but I'm not: I'm drifting away

I'm white washed and my whole being is crushed.

For fun, my master seeks to block my way

But an ember in me feels and is rushed.

It bursts forth against a long-feared power

I'm jerked to motion, I must go on

And finish my path in my set hour

By sparking others with knowledge to don.

I trip over betrayal and gasp out

But God has guided me to a growth point

Where I'm hurt in a fight but not without

Getting a chance at freedom to anoint.

Soon my head will be able to race out

and then I'll start my long awaited route.

Still in the throes of abhorred subjection

I surrender over my hard-earned gifts.

My employment is a mere reflection

Of my field-hand brethren's' day to night shifts.

So I break his trust, and I do it twice;

For his trust is only in that I must

Do naught but my labor, and pay the price:

So I steal away by aid of true trust.

The final leap over the flaming pit

into my mother's true comforting arms

But once I'm there I know I may be bit

So I fly then settle at thoughtful farms.

So at this end I know what we're to do:

This is liberation's start and our cue.