Sunday, September 30, 2007

Strange Fruit

Twilight comes and the his body swings from the tree
blackened and ashen burnt a remnant a grotesque figure of who
he used to be.

The hooded men arrived torches burning bright
riding into darkness they ride only at night

Knocking loudly the door began to shake
jousting us all until we were awake.
Dragging this man from his woman
who stood hatefully moaning.

Wanting to kill and maim these murderous felons
the sheriffs’ voice it sounded just like him
the pastor from the church with a voice that sounded thin

The kerosene smell all throughout the house
on the man this liquid they started to douse.
He never cried, hate in his eyes
they just dragged him lynched him all in one try.

I started to cry tears running down my face
feeling so alone forsaken in this hell of a place.

The photographers came the next day
just before we took his body away
The picture they put in a paper up north
but never did it cease as the riders went forth.

Lady Day wrote a song about the strange fruit hung from trees
in summer
until this day if you listen you can hear the trees mummer
about the murderous way their trunks were desecrated
by the unspeakable atrocities the nightriders created.

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