Poem I wrote and entered in HSLA's Poetry Contest in 2010, topic of "Justice". Won 3rd place :-) It is in Heroic Couplet, a form I was not familiar with before, but had great fun writing it. This is from the point of view of a slave in 19th century England. What is saddest about this kind of thing is it was true, and slavery continues today. Pray for our brothers and sisters who are mistreated, no matter what their skin color is.

That day, when torn from Africa's pleasures,
I began to increase strangers' treasures;
From heroic prince, I became forlorn
As over the raging sea I was borne.
Fellow men, women, and many a child
With which I was borne o'er the waters wild
Were locked into a space four feet by eighteen,
And forgot how 'twas to see or be seen.
—Mark this, you English, and give ear full well,
For this is the story that black lips tell.

Men from England did capture and sell us—
If any are able, will they tell us:
Is it true that with a small sack of gold
Not just our bodies, but our minds are sold?
What are the white English men's rights, I ask,
The African man, to torture and task?
Just because I have a black complexion,
Am I then void of love and affection?
—Mark this, you English, and give ear full well,
For this is the story that black lips tell.

Sugar in cane, and tobacco in leaves
And flax for the lace on the white women's sleeves—
This, the end toward which my countrymen toil,
With our sweat and tears to water the soil.
Our blook o'er this land British will scatter
Without thought for our value or matter.
Is not the blook that o'er England is spread
Though from an African man, just as red?
—Mark this, you English, and give ear full well,
For this is the story that black lips tell.

Oh, were my blood in Africa wasted!
T'would be better now, than to have tasted
The bitter unwilling of arrival,
Knowing not long would be my survival
Here in this land where God hears not my cry—
My only desire, now, is to die.
They thought we were brutes, but did knot know then
Their acts made them apes, but ours made us men!
—Mark this, you English, and give ear full well,
For this is the story that black lips tell.

I no longer have only defiance,
They won't have what they want: they want silence.
Their skins appear white, but deep down within
Their souls are blacker than blackest with sin.
Our skins our dark, but the Almighty knows,
That inside, our hearts are whiter than snow.
But my chest is marked by an iron brand:
That says I belong not to God, but a man!
—Mark this, you English, and give ear full well,
For this is the story that black lips tell.

At night I dream of my sweet homeland's shore
But wake, only to find it is no more.
I'm daily reminded of my mean rank;
In England's world, I can never, I think
Be any more than—horrid word!—a slave.
They think not of God and the way He gave
All feelings to white men and black the same,
Ah! 'tis they that have no feelings—of shame!
—Mark this, you English, and give ear full well,
For this is the story that black lips tell.

From morn 'til dusk, and again, dusk 'til morn,
Not only bodies, but hearts they have torn
...This paper now becomes blurred in my sight,
And brown eyes make tears that fall as I write.
This tale, this collection of word and deed
Must be told; for silence causes to bleed
The flow of life out of African skin—
It must be told, yes! and told once again.
—Mark this, you English, and give ear full well,
For this is the story that black lips tell.