Soul South

by Ryan Prince

The South
To me
Isn’t a place
It’s not a town or a square
With a statue
It’s not a fort or a plaque
It’s a beating in my heart
A slow moving current
Redemption pervades, throughout
It’s a place of great turmoil
Long before I came
Of belief
Misplaced, I discarded
Of tradition upheld
Never forgotten
It’s my life
My land
My heritage
My children

Ryan Prince was born and raised in the South, with most of his years spent in the Macon, Georgia area, and now lives in Augusta.  He is currently a student in Augusta State University’s English Department. His past jobs have included auto parts delivery boy, paralegal, real estate agent, federal courts clerk and regional accountant for a publicly traded corporation. He writes when, as Hemingway put it, “I have all my stuff,” and so far has been published in ASU’s literary journal, Sand Hills. 

A Valdosta Pastoral
Caramelized Vidalia
  • Terry Minchow-Proffitt / April 10, 2013

    Ryan, I love the soul in this poem, the deep longing. I especially like these two lines:
    “A slow moving current
    Redemption pervades, throughout”

    Thank you.

  • Janna Hill / April 12, 2013

    Compelling yet I feel so much more could be said. Maybe it is the beating in my own heart.