Harriet Tubman On The Hilltops Of Heaven
Prayed as she tossed stones down
Into the valley of remembrance.
And each she offered with a prayer,
A word of blessing to each name
Written one by one on each stone.
To those both named and unnamed,
The mild and the strong,
The wretched and the saints.
To each life ripped away by hatred
Those who empowered
Those who oppressed
Everyone who hid behind walls
Those who stood to be counted
Those who were beaten down.
Those who saw their own death
Written in front of their eyes
On burning crosses
Spread across Mother Earths bosom.
Who saw their children’s souls ascend and
Cried the tears of Virgin Mary.
Those who at the moment of death
Saw their own fate reflected
In the futures of their children.
Those whose lives were filled with fear,
Those who heard unforgotten words of hate
In their dead ears for centuries.
Those who touched the sky,
Those who could barely crawl,
Those killed because they ran,
Those hung from trees,
Those dragged into the earth,
Those whose wounds bled for generations.
Those who believed blindly,
Those who suffered the lies in silence,
And those who knew a lie for a lie
And died trying to teach.
When she ran out of stones
Her cry was heard throughout the universe
For there were so many more names than stones
