Enslaved within a world of privilege.
Born into a caste of rawhide bone reconstruction.

Forced to dance for others enjoyment.
Persuaded to serve as not to feel the aching belly of a starving cell.

Languages spoken by the host, which to me seem only foreign.
Tempted by lust withheld for my master exposed.

Chaotic fantasies of a family within the ranks.
By serving you I found my freedom.

I know that who has given me pain can relieve
In his love and mercy I ask for and I do believe
I am unable to return what all kindness I perceive
Whatever I aspire for more than that I receive

I have to bear ,I have to take this is part of faith
My Master is like a burning candle I am moth
On path of love I can take hatred and the wrath
Master is the one who never leaves on footpath

Let me pray to Him and extend my gratitude
My knowledge leads to my sight and certitude
He covers fully the moment I opt for solitude
Please do not ask me the real taste of servitude

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016

This noise
has become like
fishing line & fishing hooks
tangled around my ribs.
I have become something dismembered,
an arm here,
a leg there,
hands at the ready
in servitude.

I long for the purity of silence
that begs for no audience
to hear it,
for it already exists
without it.

I disappear into
the church next door, my dominion
pine, maple, and birch,
soaking rain
a baptism.
Here, the pulpits sway,
skinny giants.

Ormond Feb 2015

He shuffles his muffled way through cardboard aisles,
Oblivious, sheltered, speaking in a mumble of tongues,
His piecemeal truths search for all that is meaningless,
Where he carves a gravestone—arguments in the rows.

Frank Ruland Oct 2014

Canine o' Hades! How you
Epitomize me so! Often
Regarded as a monster, you
Beget so much infamy.
Erroneously guilty of so much--
Rather, you merely stand guard;
Underneath oath and loyalty.
Sleep easy, myfriend in servitude and solidarity.

I only do what I am told.
Ormond Sep 2014

He shuffles his muffled way through cardboard aisles,
Oblivious, sheltered, speaking in a mumble of tongues,
His piecemeal truths search for all that is meaningless,
Where he carves a gravestone—arguments in the rows.

— The End —