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MICHAEL MILLER

SONGSOPTOK THE WRITERS BLOG | 3/10/2015 |




ROTTEN FRUIT

Hear their voices         heed their cries
behind closed doors their terror lies
he left the stage       and the public talk
but when home            its principles mock

Day to day they live in fear
he’s such a good man             his children dear
but in  truth        he’s Jeckel and Hyde
for acid are his inners         and sugar outside

They dream as children   for a fathers hug
but in private          their back to the rug
the pain and conflict            have left their mark
for current is hopeless           and the future dark

He said they’d not believe you true
and thought a liar you would be
should you expose him            and what he do
and what he started            at age of three

The place where they were broken
should have been a safety zone
where the tenets of love are spoken
but empty of practice home

Rocks hidden in the rivers
but turbulence not rare
just beneath its surface
with the children drowning there

If you require                   another witness
get the children that             exam
the dna would damn them
publicly remove          that harmful man

Why do you whip             the victim
and let the culprit free
the results from the doctor
would condemn                him publicly

No shepherd of the flock is good
if he not protects the sheep
by oath you are bound to “truth”
and the commands your owner keep

The perpetrator by God convicted
but the shepherd who does not
pursue the “truth” will be exposed
his  negligence will be  caught

John 10:1-18
Matthew 7:15-23


AGE OLD QUESTIONS

I reached out for the songs
you gave the sons of men
They said it heresy
and wouldn’t let me in
They were the raging valiant men of old
and no such women were I have been told
They filled the world
with their deeds and desire
And the women were decoration
for their hearth and fire
The curse of domination and pain
And how I rail against this refrain
how am I less to receive heavens song
not allowed to dance among the throng
Why should my countenance be cast down
and upon my heresy you frown
Can a woman walk with God
walk the path the ancients trod
Live a life that people laud


THE SECRET PAIN

I chanced to see a story told
of pang upon a distant shore
a secret pain who’s history old
and still practiced evermore

Within this land a maidens fate
is forced upon her knowingly
wherein old women eviscerate
her private parts so secretly

Six thousand maids a day are there
whose injury upon inflicted
who will decry the secret bare
and shame to those convicted

The woe to women the world around
and this is not the only one
when at home can be found
everlasting silence of the tongue

Where young maids fair must beware
of their fathers and their uncles
and two thirds of maidens share
the fate beneath their buckles

In a land whose intellect
so often held on high
and morals supposed circumspect
who will with voice decry

And some chance with wicked glance
to lay blame upon the child
though to protect should be the stance
and the perpetrator reviled

Two thirds of men within this land
do not their children feed
It’s divorced women who must stand
and fill their children’s need

How many children suffer fates
How many close their eyes
How many mothers and their mates
will with voice decry

How many voice in crimson rage
will seek with choice and mind engage
how many will seed another’s mind
that to voice they’ll be not blind


AFFLICTIONS

My fury and outrage remain unabated , it seethes like magma
and spreads itself throughout my being , it is barely contained
I shield it to keep the damage within , so it does not consume me
or those I love and want not to hurt.
My dark raving hisses and steams awaiting release , with screams,
hysteria that I may not be able to save the one that becomes my
vent , the outpouring eruption of pain , that I would whip and lash
with lurid pitch that it might cloak with agony the one whom I love
upon its receipt .
Why cannot I cover it and shift my focus to that which builds and
does not tear down and ravage as I have been ravaged?
Why does not that majesty of things that stand before me
not move me to ease or peace?
Oblivion , that vast chasm that plunges deep within my
soul ice cold heart , I wish it destroyed , but its the only thing
within that seems still alive and beating.
I wish it replaced with tenderness and warmth that it may
mark you with pleasure and not agony, clothe you with
beauty and not the ugliness that has taken up residence
and keeps its rent.
In sackcloth and ashes I mourn the loss of innocence , not
for myself only but for all those who suffer , and raise
not their hands against the perpetrators of their suffering.
God do not let me join in acts of perpetuation , that I strike
others in kind , in repayment for their deeds.
My life has been sacked and looted , thieves have stolen every
precious piece of personality that might make me redeemable.
Raw and naked estate exposed, my inheritance from Adam ,
I was molded in pain and forged by fire imprinted by a storm
of ire……
Oh God , why did you preserve me so that I had not died and
left me alive to cry , scream at the trials of fire that blister
the souls of men….
Awaken oh my heart , do not sleep in the death of love , and
the reign of savage pain , and the cries of those who live in
affliction , whose cries have been silenced before you…..
My tears have become stone , my walls a castles fortress
I cannot cast aspersions it holds you as well as I,
unlike the earth my stone cannot drink in the sun

Job moments

COPYRIGHT © 2010 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC





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