Calloused*
Calloused are our hands from all this threshing in the wheat
Tired are our minds from lengthy battles o’er the fields
We seek reprieve in our own land
A prayer to stay the plight
Weathered by this vain contrition wrought with lost accord
Our heads bowed in due remorse, and shackled by our debtors
We sing for time to persevere
On to the house of pass and stow
But this lawless liberation
Steals life away from me
And the strike of empty gavel
Strips time away from me
Our brows they quench the soil and our labor sows the earth
While darkened skins and weary bones cry out for our relief
The horizon plays a tune
Through the corn and through the grain
Song of Shaw and water wading bid us through the fray
And prose of King makes loose the chains of apathy’s regret
Where salvation rises like the sun
A rhyme endures the fight
Still this lawless liberation
Steals life away from me
And the strike of empty gavel
Strips time away from me
Rub our calloused eyes and weary souls that day may break the night
Soften those with calloused hearts endear them to our plea
That we may finally reap a harvest
Our grounds through strife meet cause’s fate
Now this jubilated justice
Offers life again to me
And resounding gavel strikes
Turn the clock backwards for me
*anonymous
