Blood on the Cornfields - Cormorant

August in Virginia,

A warm brandy night in 1831,

Hidden in woodlands,

Seven slaves discussed the freedoms to be won.

Christ’s blood on the cornfields,

A benighted hand to suffocate the sun,

War with the Serpent:

Visions from The Book led a preacher to the gun.

«Seek ye the kingdom of Heaven

And all things shall be added unto you,»

Words from the Spirit

To see Southampton County’s insurrection through.

Hoisting the window

The rebels burst into the sleeping master’s room.

Blows from their hatchets:

Each child’s bed a crimson, wooden tomb.

«Was Christ not crucified?»

In deadly silence the farms were sacked,

Alerting no free man to the next attack.

Sixty fell to their axes and their swords,

The General foretelling salvation from the Lord.

Recruiting warriors they freed

From the ranks of the flogged,

They rode through the bogs:

A cavalry of stolen steeds.

The wrath of the unbound,

The oppressors' constant fear,

The screams of two hundred years,

Piqued the ears of the white man’s hounds.

Lynch mobs' slaughters

Of black sons and daughters,

Blameless in this battle

Butchered as cattle.

The Deep South trembled at the Negro prophet’s renown

Vengeful militias hunted the panicked slaves down.

Captured near his cavern,

Judged in Jerusalem,

Turner, brimming with glory,

Confessed to his story.

Led to the gallows of Calvary

A killer, a martyr, grinned.

His deeds etched in history

His body hanged and skinned.