Heavy my soul,
And cold
As the steel shackles that
Clamp my ankles and wrists
As I sit…
Headed nowhere for miles and miles,
and further still.
No longer a man,
just cargo.
Gone away forever…
Never have I heard such silence
as that imposed by those with shotguns
who stand over us.
Row after row
of cargo…
Shifting and nervy we sit,
gazing dazed
through windows that beacon,
one last look
at the world we are leaving…
Not by choice, but by choices,
made without consideration of consequence.
Behold,
The voyage of
The convicted.