An Age Old Battle

The choking dust rises
Breathed in by people of all sizes.
The master wears a hood,
Splattered and stained by blood.

There are chains and whips,
Mean taunts and quips.
The sun beats down on the withered and thin,
And the ever hungry lion wears a ghastly grin.

Poor souls toil ever on,
Brothers, friends, separated, gone.
Cries ring out above the dust,
The auction continues, as it must.

A white hooded master stumbles in,
Subjecting himself to the power of sin.
The black hooded master savours victory,
His arch-nemesis now weak and in slavery.

Black hood faces the white
His features contorted, a ghostly sight.
Death arrives to take a soul
And the white now plays his vital role.

The sky blackens and the chains break,
Freedom for slaves, our choice to make.
The greatest price paid,
A life given for our aid.

That is my simple story
Of life and death, a tale truly gory.
A victory made on that tremendous day,
Love like God's has truly come our way.

Curious