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Chapel's Last Chapter by ~aeoleo:iconaeoleo:





Steps outside this boundary line
Prints of memories left behind

I feel my heart beating in time
With the breath speaking this rhyme.

Follow the river, do not get caught
Made them think that I went north.

I run and run as hard as I can
I cross the stones within the land.

My thoughts are of you; I'll see you soon
We'll be together by tomorrow's noon.

My heart beats happy and also sad
I think of my mother, she is dead.

Stop and listen. What was that?
I hear a rustle, a yell, a crack

The dogs are coming. They've found me out
"Find him now!" the master shouts.

I run, faster - this cannot be!
I need you
Hurry.

I trip a log there just for me.
Will I escape this wronged destiny?

Closer, closer the wardens come
With their fists and with their guns.

"Found him!" my captor shouts
These are poison words that flow out.

It seems I'm like Romeo
Marked for tragedy so -

Whack! A fist in my rib
Wham! He picked up a stick

Crimson water, its all I see
They drag me away to... my destiny.

Back on the river path
Back; there is no light only dark

No paradise, no you and me
I guess this is good bye...

It all goes black

My eyes adjust. To see the master
I see a whip that he does muster.

He strikes once and I go down
My father pleads - "Take me instead!"

The master laughs and sneers at him
He looks away pained - my father.

I cry for an angel.
I cry for you my mother.

Yet all i hear is WHACK!
"She can't come to you my son.

I am here for you"
I fall silent and still with this.

He pleads once more
And once more laughter follows

I become numb
They've taken away

All that I am
I am no one
I have no name

And with that I speak no more
All I see is death. And
I don't fear
I don't feel joy
For I am nothing
No one
No more.
©2008-2009 ~aeoleo
:iconaeoleo:

Author's Comments

This is a project for English Lit i had to write on a book called 'the longest memory' by Fred D'Aguair. It is about slavery in America in about the 1920's. It is based around a plantation run by Mr. Whitechapel. He has a slave named Whitechapel and Chapel is his son. Mr. Whitechapel's daughter Lydia loves chapel and he is running from the plantation to her in the beginning of my work. Anyway.. i got an A so yessh but i loved what i wrote so im putting up.

Comments


love 0 0 joy 0 0 wow 0 0 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:icondgenreteliterabbit:
congrats! it's definitely worthy of an A if not an A+! :clap:

--
RUN, rabbit, run
dig that hole, forget the sun
and when at last the work is done
don't sit down, time to dig another one

steps taken forward
and sleepwalking back again...
encumbered forever by desire and ambition
:iconaeoleo:
thanks so much ^^

--
She who lives in her imagination.
In her mind, not their creation.
There Fantasy = Reality
:jsenn: Rell
:iconwritergirl92:
Wow, no wonder she gave you an A! I'm sure it would be much more significant if i knew the plot, by which i swear to at some point to read the book. Gold Star! :+fav:
:iconaeoleo:
lol ty

--
She who lives in her imagination.
In her mind, not their creation.
There Fantasy = Reality
:jsenn: Rell
:icondgenreteliterabbit:
welcome!

--
RUN, rabbit, run
dig that hole, forget the sun
and when at last the work is done
don't sit down, time to dig another one

steps taken forward
and sleepwalking back again...
encumbered forever by desire and ambition
:iconred--ribbon:
that is most certainly A material

--
"Your body's dying, pay no attention... it happens to us all" - Lestat. :batty:
:iconaeoleo:
thnaks

--
She who lives in her imagination.
In her mind, not their creation.
There Fantasy = Reality
:jsenn: Rell
:iconsimpson-freak:
woah that was truly inspirational and deffinately worthy of an A great job
:)

--
Homer: Weaseling out of things is important to learn. It's what separates us from the animals ... except the weasel.
:iconaeoleo:
woot!

--
She who lives in her imagination.
In her mind, not their creation.
There Fantasy = Reality
:jsenn: Rell

Details

May 10, 2008
2.3 KB
25.4 KB
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