To preface this poem, Google Susan Smith, and read up about her brutal murder of her children and accusation of a black man.
Out of the night that covers me,
is I make these strides to be free before I’m cold.
I thank whatever gods may be
for my [conquerable] soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I heard my children cry aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance
my thoughts are scathed and un-vowed.
Beyond this bridge of tears
looms but the Horror of the shade,
and yet this pain I’ve held in for years
finds, and shall find, me [afraid].
It matters not how strait the [lane],
and I can think of someone else to take this toll.
I am the master of [their] fate:
I am the captain of [his] soul.
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