The Crooked Tree

If I were on the hit list of a thousand and one marauders
If the lynch mob's torches burned for only me
'Twould be worth the saving of even one son or daughter
From the grasping, greedy clutches of their crooked family tree

-Micol Kraft Day

This poem is dedicated to all those in situations where the family, tribe, society, club or group has so oppressed and brainwashed them beyond their own wills that they don't even know that they are being used and abused.

I pray that you will look inside yourself and find the strength to break free. I also pray that those trapped into repeating the cycle themselves will seek help.

For those with knowledge of abuse, sticking your head in the sand is the coward's way out. If you know of it, report it. If you get nowhere with your local authorities, go higher. Sometimes it seems so futile, and corruption seems to go all the way to the top, but don't let that stop you. Keep trying. Praying is good, but there are too many people praying for God to 'set the captives free' and they do nothing more to help. Take a stand! Make it known.

Bullfrog Soup for the Soul

I was steeped

Asleep

Par-boiled

Rich in the

Cast iron deep

Stewed with the

Roasts of a

Thousand Sunday dinners

Not given a chance

To leap

-Micol Kraft Day



I have never really written any poetry to speak of. It was just in my heart to write one today. I don't know what to name it.