The Island of Angels

Cramped into steerage
The storms rage above.
The journey foreshadowed our stay.

I am not one, I am many.
Lost in a crowd of worried faces,
Sick, tired and weary,
we depart from the ship.

It gleams,
the white wood seems to sparkle
Until I am taken
Away from myself.

Feeling lost,
although others surround me
The promise of leaving these cruel
keeps me alive

Stripped of our clothes,
and also our dignity.
They look us over.
This is inhumane.

I cannot be myself
when I am forced to endure this
When I am identified
By only my race.

The questions fly at me
The truth seems so cloudy
I cannot discern.

I am ripped apart by their harshness
Attacked by their ruthlessness
Trapped in their white prison
called the Island of Angels.

But the Angels are not to be found.

I am denied.