He stands on the banks of Chesapeake Bay,
this boy, this slave, tormented and terrified
by the sight of vessels robed in white
that freely sail before the breeze
while he, held fast in iron bands
laments that he was born a Man
that could be turned to such a beast.
But 100 miles straight north and he is free.
With the help of God he will not die a slave,
and this man, this free man Frederick Douglass
will be remembered in the lives of all he touched.
Writer for
I studied religion at the UC-Berkeley and have been interested in the spirit ever since. I try to give my poems a spiritual aspect whenever possible.