Terry Miller Poet Rhyme

Sins of My Father

I have often witnessed death
though not ever the last breath;

field mice frozen in a jar;
slaughtered lambs in abattoir,
dissected frogs in school labs,
cruel boiling of live crabs
for important luncheon meets.
Piglets torn from mother’s teats
roasted at a football game.
Hungry lions eat the lame
garden’s serpent kills the truth
mothers’s love that kills your youth;
little bug just stepped upon;
“don’t destroy my sweet salon.”

To embrace a death without;
that is just to be Boy Scout.
To embrace a death within;
to my father, was a sin.

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I Am Anaya April 12, 2025 at 6:32 PM This poem leaves me speechless and I'm faving , a study and I the student who assumes healing should be wished to you, Terry. Depth vs kindness to animals ~ Anaya Terry Miller April 25, 2025 at 9:25 AM Thank you so very much for your visit and very kind comment