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The Chained Slave
by Jeanette Shackleton July 8, 1982
The slave was chained to a ball of iron,
Her ankle was bleeding and torn
From the band of iron that encircled it
Since the day the ball first had been worn.
She was destitute of daily food;
Her body withered away
As she slowly dragged the ball of iron
Through another endless day.
She cared not that she had nothing to eat.
Her hope was nearly gone.
She only waited to find relief
In a day that, at last, was gone.
She looked up expecting to be abused
Whenever her name was spoken.
She bore it with quiet fortitude,
‘Though her spirit had slowly been broken.
She bore it so patiently with dread
Of the punishment that she must pay
If she ever dared open her lips to rebel
At the master who beat her each day.
She was chained to “Depression,” and “Dread” was the name
Of the master who beat her each day.
And the words “Fear” and “Torment” clung fast to her soul
With the grip of a fiend at play.
As she struggled for breath and they choked her with hands
With a grip like the strength of iron,
She knew soon she must die from the pain in her chest,
Pain much worse than an anklet of iron.
Then a hand reached down from the region of light
And deflected the powers of despair
That had held the girl captive, enchained as their slave
In the ghastly and horrible lair.
The hand lifted her up and the chains fell away
That had bound her for so many years.
And the ball and the anklet of iron were cast off
By the hand that was drying her tears.
And I was the slave that was chained that day.
The fetters to me were bound.
I was chained to depression, despair and dread,
With the tension and fear to go ‘round,
Like the anklet of iron that had torn at my foot
I was gagged! I was choked! I was bound!
But the hand reaching down from the region of light
In its mercy, my soul had found!
I am free from the chains that encircled my wrists!
From the chains at my ankles I’m free!
And I know that the life that I lead from now on
Incredibly precious can be.
If I only remember the chains that I wore
Were fastened there only by me
And can never be worn, lest I let them, again.
God’s hand has set me free!
I have let Him unfasten depression and doubt
And I do want to keep it that way
So my spirit may grow like a rose in the sun,
Unfolding a bit more each day.
“I love you,” I say to myself every day
Instead of, “How bad you must be”
For I want to be free to know that myself
Is a precious, unique, lovely me.
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