I roam around the world of either heaven or hell and I stumble upon this book. I am still not quite sure who it is from but I realized after I read this passage it was a journal. A journal from one who has suffered from the past.
I run through the crowd hoping to get there and save her from the suffering,
But all these whites who notice me try to keep her away from me, as she shouts out in pain hoping that she is saved by me.
I try my hardest to rush through the whites and I have made it half way but the ones who guard the path take me away.
I am tired of these whites who think that they are light just because of their skin tone. The people who lynched my brothers and sisters causing me to be alone.
I have nothing else to do but to save the one who loves me too, so forget what I have to go through.
The guards are too strong but not as much as her fear. The fire that is coming has brought me to tears to not be able to save her from her fear.
I fight with all my might and try to give her my light, but the darkness ahead is too great for my bite. For it will not cause harm to the darkness with their costume of light.
God has given me the power to fight causing me to break away and run to MY light, but once I was there it was too late.
The flame has commenced but I refuse to see. I will not let this be.
I am almost there. Almost there to her screams of defeat, but the one who prepared the flame stops me, and the crowd caught eye to me.
He beats me viciously but I keep my ground to save the one who loves me, and I have made my way to her to set her free.
But it was too late for she was no longer with me.
I have died in the inside and will never recover from her cry.
The children are laughing and the pets are barking at me as time flies by. The crowd walks off and the night is here as I hold her by my side.
These people who call themselves Christians but kills their own kind because of ancestor’s missions to teach their traditions. They know nothing about true love if they kill our soul mates from above
The burns on my arms and the tears down my face are no match for her sorrow and hate.
But at least one child who remains knows how much I feel that pain, for she has not left but is yet in tears of shame.