Some people wonder why I wrote a book about a thirteen year old boy and a runaway..... slave. Well, I didn't set out to write a moral tale. Lord knows we've got enough of those and they ain't done a lick of good. I kept hearing the river in my head. Not the pretty one that you see on postcards but the real one from 1845. The one where they prayed on Sunday and then sold each other on Monday and called themselves Christian. This ain't a book for children. It's a book about what we did to children... and to men... and to ourselves. You see? The truth doesn't come from a pulpit. It comes from a boy who would rather go to Hell than to do what's "right". So, I let a liar, a truant and a fugitive do the talking. They'll ban it. They'll call it trash. Good!! If it makes one man feel uncomfortable in his pew, then the raft did its job. Now, you can put the book down or you can come drift with us for awhile... The water's cold but it's honest. Torchlight on the bank and men with rope in hand. Preacher talks salvation while he sells another man. Widow calls it "Sin". Daddy calls it "Mine". The river doesn't ask names when it takes what is thine. We drift through the fog where all the dead trees stand. Praying to a God who drowned this whole damn land. Freedom is just another word that we whisper quietly to the night. 'Fore the world comes knocking with a cross in the left hand and a gun in the right. The stars don't remember and the water does not care. Maybe, I'm the Devil. Maybe, I'm the Prayer. I wrote it all down. A cold soul full of fire. I'd tell them the truth but who would listen to a liar? Drift... There ain't no territory ahead. Just more chains painted white. More prayers spoke over blood. More darkness dressed in light. So we drift... We drift... With the dead men and the crooked crows. If Heaven guides this river, then to Hell is where we go. Drift!! Jim told me about his babies that were sold off in the rain. I laughed because crying doesn't do shit for the pain. I saw Kings wearing rags. I saw Dukes deal with Cons. I saw a whole village cheer while a man came undone. I saw a feud end with a coffin as holy water ran on tap. I saw the flag fly over boys who will never make it back. So let the current take us to where the map is wearing thin. 'Cause every shore we find just looks like another sin. The water keeps its secrets and the stars don't give a damn. Nobody believes a liar and a runaway man. Maybe, I'm just a Demon or maybe, I'm a Saint. Maybe, there's no difference in the dark. Just the paint. Drift... There ain't no territory ahead. Just more dust and more graves. More masters and more beggars. More preachers and more slaves. So we drift... We drift... We'll keep on going until the river takes us home. If that does not exist, I guess, we'll keep on rowin'. Drift! Drift!! Drift!!! We drift... Yes. I wrote this tale with anger in my heart. I guess, I'll go to Hell then. That's fine... Just pass me the paddle. ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ ©️ 2026 Soulsick All rights reserved. ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
