Three Meter Zone | JD's Bunker | Poetry | Chapel | American Journal


Water Flows From My Eyes


Frank Goodman

The water flows from my eyes

Into the river of my past;

Seeking out the bones of my African-American ancestors.

Flowing down the mountain of my cheeks

Come waves of sorrowful memories of America's transgressions.

Transgressions of sins against people who were considered less than any living animal.

Three-fifth human was the claim while sharing birth records with livestock.

This water beats heavily against my face

Creating valleys as it flows through the crevices of my years.

I stand firm realizing that I must do better,

But the flowing water continues to remind me of why I must stand

And not bend over for someone to ride my back.

My Mother, Father, and African ancestors are flowing in this river

That flows from my eyes.

Like the sun that rises and fall,

My water flow deep feelings from my heart

That I cannot hold back.

This water bring moaning waves that creates deeper valleys.

The water comes and goes like the wind that blows from east to west.

It is a cycle of growing, but never forgetting those who sail in my eyes of water.

Go on water of pride and sorrow,

Flow through the years of my heart and soul and cleanse me.

I will sail in a river one day

Carrying with me the continuing transgressions of America.

Flow on water from my eyes

And keep me reminded of who I am

And who I have descended from.

© Frank Goodman