Everyday I am lowered from the tree just by one inch
The noose is pulled tightly crushing away my hopes for oxygen little by little
Everyday my esophagus compressed more and more
The desire to breathe building stronger, the days getting longer,
I’m a goner!

They ask me,
So, you think you are black because you got the same treatment we did?
I don’t teach about being black, I teach about being a man.
My words strike them violently as they produce bows for my honor.
I’m staring back with dying eyes as they ponder,
They are standing still as their minds wander.
Are you the son of the father?

I’m not Jesus.
I don’t joke to be,
But I love you all as family.
Don’t resent a trespasser, just forgive them sparingly.

And one day there will be only a memory and a story,
Of the last man who was hung.