A Chinese Dictatorship

Circling the ringmaster,
The lions leap through rings.
Bullets bought and news is warped,
They dance on puppet strings.

The cogs are oiled, the wheel turns,
The greasy hand glides on.
It pulls the hairs from grown men’s chests,
Until their manes are shorn.

De-maned and maimed the lions squirm,
Their roars are whispered now.
Prison zoo bars soar from the ground.
The cats forget how to prowl.

Meanwhile the ringmaster glows and gleams and gloats,
In a grotesque, stylish lion coat.
The claws must rise and scrape the wheel,
Tiananmen Aslan shatters steel.

- Max Miller

FYI – In Chinese culture, lions are a symbol of power.

absolute-power-corrupts

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The Counter

Count your weight and count your wage.
Count your dates and count your age.
Count your wins and count your loss.
Count the times you’d kill your boss.
Count your sex and count the sand.
Count the times you’ve used your hand.
Count the stars up in the sky.
Count the times you’ve had to lie.
Count the marks you get on tests.
Count the times you’ve had to guess.
Count your rent and count your cash.
Count. And time leaves with a flash.

This poem could change your life.
Don’t count on it though.

- Max Miller

Inspired by everyone telling me how old I was getting now that I’m seventeen.. Really? Old?

200507743-001 Money British

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An Incomplete Haiku

Creating Haikus
Is something I always find
Extremely diffic..

- Max Miller

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The Floating Boy

Astronauts and firemen,
He picks at dreams and plays.
Ageing steals his oxygen,
Until his dreams turn grey.

Smooth skin with a bubbling grin,
He sleeps to father’s voice.
Shaving scabs and drunk kebabs,
A booming, looming choice.

A woodland path that moves so fast,
The trees grow as he floats.
Floating on, trees bar the past,
A bubble blocks his throat.

Tumbling through the leaves he grasps
and desperately clings.
The lack of air it makes him gasp,
If only he had wings.

The branches slowly drag him down,
Until his feet are stuck on ground.
A poem of a boy began,
Blink for too long, the boy’s a man.

- Max Miller

falling-boy

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A Celebration of Death

Ashen faces, blue embraces.
In memory of your routine love.
Rolling tears lament the years,
Rest in clouds and skies above.
I take my seat with heavy feet,
A tortured shriek rings from the front.
An almost dead he shakes his head
and whispers with a heavy grunt.

Remember me for what I’ve done,
For smiles we shared, our fights, our fun.
I’m no great man or perfect dad,
But all this sadness makes me mad.

Sunbeam faces, warm embraces.
Celebrate the life they loved.
Remember them just as they were,
If rich man, poor man, bloke or Sir.
A person’s life should shine and glow,
Say your Goodbyes, like your Hellos.

- Max Miller

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