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Narrative Pain Poems | Narrative Poems About Pain

These Narrative Pain poems are examples of Narrative poems about Pain. These are the best examples of Narrative Pain poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

New Road

In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.

The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Home behind,
World ahead...

Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Very deep,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...

Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Singing by,
Darkness rising,
Vanishing light,
Hollow flourishing,
Going by,
World ahead,
Home behind...

Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Beyond mountains,
Beyond stones,
Standing strong,
Wandering lost,
World ahead,
Home behind,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...


Details | Narrative | |

I'll cry tomorrow

Sitting dying alone,
In this dark and dingy place 
It has now become my home..
The only open bar 
In town, I needed something to heal my broken heart
I'm on my 8th round, Going on Nine now!

Swaying on this broken bar stool
As the bartender shouts 
his “last call”, As I'm looking down
and this shuffled ground
As I try a re step my footsteps home
Walking them back In my head
But I'm a stumbling mess

My heart feels like shattering glass
I'm slowly breaking,
Sink-in, Drown-in in the dark-nest
I'm Gasp-in, For breath, Each one Hard-er
than the next!
While the whole world around me are breathing
Fine, I'm falling back into the abyss, 
Broken heart-ed 
This vodka has cut my skin so deep
This broken glass with it's hard edges
Digging, Silting into me
Tho some of my pain was self inflicting 
My heart's beat, is barely beating
That's why I'm drinking
This gin 
Now swallowed, why cant I
swallow my pride With
Dignity, I'm openly seeking darkness 
I'm sorry farther “For I have sinned”
Those sin's I've harbored
Now my hollowed soul's giving In
To that darkness....

My body trembling ,The outcome's looking bleak
I've become so weak
Shaking knees, I can barely stand up
My eye's become teary 
They say its this alcohol that's depressing me
But it's soon becoming my dependency
I'm finding hard to leave it be, I'm hooked....
...To a drip, Anything so I can get my fix
It’s another chapter I've my book
That''s needs to be ripped, Apart
Because I'm hiding be-hide a mask
My face is smiling but inside my heart is scared..

I'm writing this at night 
I'm tired... but my mind's racing fast
while my eyes are wide shut
I'm Trying to sleep..but my mind's
Not giving up..whilst
I'm lying on my friends sofa
I'm unable to get up
Morning rises but I'm slowly dying..

I'm hung over
Pondering on my life and wondering
what it would be like being sober
How can I achieve anything in life
When my only motivation is getting high
And the other half of the time
I'm crying inside 
Too depressed to write
But I wipe my tears 
But I'm still here, On my bar stool from 9 to 5!

The same broken record playing
Saying “I'm going to quit” But I'm not facing
My problems to begin with, I need a Fixative
I'm not telling myself I got a problem to be able to fix it!
Sitting here, Ripping the label off this toxic beer, bottle
I can't look at look at this mirror and face him!
Face it you hit rock bottom...
I cant believe what I have become
I wake up drunk
Where will I end up?
As I look along, A sedimentary I come a pone, A grave with my name above...

As the bar door's are now closing
My heart's ripped open Soaking
In pure emotion
Bartender “Give me two more shots”
And ill mend my way's
Not before a quick pit stop 
To get more drink from this shop
Because I'm getting sick of these sad song's that play
From the broken jukebox!
Or this it me?
And my pain that's eternal bleeding
Thinking that every sad song is talking to me?
I'm leaving.. 

Because I'm lonely
I wonder if anyone get's me?
The feeling of looking back hopelessly
At the bottom of the vodka bottle
Describing my feelings of feeling empty!
I've been here before so it can't be rock bottom

The only thing I adore 
Is my trusty red Pen that's my Savior 
It's a metaphor...it's my blood, That's in its ink
When it hit's the paper
It's that pain, I'm writing with!
Because that inspiration's bleeds through my veins
Just for me to scribble to words on this page
Just so I can throw them away!
Because I think anything I ever do 
Is not good enough for you..
Maybe I should do, More before I get taken away
Maybe if that ambulance had been late
I wouldn't been standing here today
But I still cant make that change

Because My vision, Impaired by the flashing lights 
Of that ambulance
So If I die, today 
At least they couldn't say 
He was just an addict
Who abused his talent...

But I'm still here I tried To drown My 
Sorrow
But I'm Drowning In tear's That I'll cry 
tomorrow!


Details | Narrative | |

Sorrow

She sits alone 
She draws her knees up to her shoulders, hugging them tightly
She shivers in the icy wind 
Her teeth chatter and the stream of tears from her eyes, sting her cheeks 
As she lifts her head towards the heavens, 
Her eyes burn with pain and her piercing scream, barely human, expresses her Excruciating 
suffering and anguish

She is gripped by immense sorrow, the most powerful and destructive emotion
It roughly envelopes her, throwing her into a pit of darkness, filled with evil shadows
The shadows claw at her, ripping into her flesh like daggers
She shakes violently, tasting blood as she bites down hard on her bottom lip
But she feels no pain, her body is numb, numbed by the demons of sorrow, who, 
Are slowly overpowering her, devouring her heart 
And locking her in an eternal web of pain

She is engulfed by fear as the intense sorrow surrounding her, compresses her
She gasps for air as the merciless hands of sorrow close around her throat
She fights in her lonely vacuum, with everything she has
She reaches for her only comfort, her fingers coil around the blade
As she stretches her arms out in front of her, her void eyes gaze upon her pale skin
Her skin is etched with scars
Her scars an eternal, entwined, tattoo of her excruciating suffering
As she runs the jagged blade over her skin, its cold feel calms her
The compressing sorrow surrenders
This is her saviour, the one who can release her from this life of pure hell
Her skin begins to open, the river of blood flowing strong
Her pain is flung into the open, through her wounds, 
Leaving a sense of tranquility in her distraught heart

Her red stained fingertips caress her raw wounds
She is mesmorised by the life force flowing from her, as it paints 
Her tragic story on her body
Painful tears bleed from her eyes as regret shudders through her
She rocks backwards and forwards, lulling herself into a sense of peace
Her body is drained
As she lies back she becomes limp
Her eyes close and her whispered prayers fill the open air,
Creating the painful melody her heart sings
As she slips away

Thunder roars and the starry heavens open 
As God’s tears rain over His beloved daughter, 
Healing her wounds and piecing her broken soul back together
As the sun rises above her, 
It illuminates her peaceful expression
Her earthly father collapses besides her
His silent tears wash over her beautiful, pale face
As he lifts his dead child in his arms, 
Vicious sorrow rips his heart apart, 
Creating wounds which will never heal


Details | Narrative | |

The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss


April 14, 2013


Details | Narrative | |

DEMONS ALSO CRY

DEMONS ALSO CRY

Beyond the crave for death
All I sought was first,
Weep-not my newborn soul
Where fireflies shine lighter than the lamps
And fishes swam faster than their homes
Like  trampled troubled tramps,
Then, demons also cry.

Groans and moans of pain,
Down they roam like rain
Memories sparked with flashes of feisty flare
For all that is left is nothing but darkness
Piercing the thread of our bond
That even angels dare not dare
Then, demons also cry

Here, days brimmed with sadness
To miscarriage of nights darkness
That even birds glide backward
And when asked why, we say, its nature to nurture
Conscience lye frozen in muss, has God punished us?
Que sera, sera and all go wayward,
Then, demons are also crying
						By Tutuola michael


Details | Narrative | |

Call Me Gonzo

For thoose of you who may not know.
Just call me gonzo I write the absurd for life is insane and sometimes 
it takes a madman to speak the truth so very clear.

I write for the broken vacant faces that have lost all hope.
To the dreamer who's well is slowley running dry from everyone
telling him to stop wasting his time.

I write like a endless highway fueled by whiskey and wild women 
every adventure leads to pain but life is pain and i love in spite of it.

I thirst for every unseen mile the desert my brother it's people dwell
in the spirt of the west the opium parlors and brothels spirt still linger.
I write with a hint of danger and a promise of disaster.

Im a blues player whos trying to out run the devil.
Im a outlaw riding to cross the border a woman looking to the 
empty range for my return.

I write because I breath in a world were the creative air has gone 
stale.
The bottle sits apon table and I welcome any strangers company
I just rather that stranger be a warm woman instead of a 
unfriendly amigo who is a little jelouse.

Write to be more than just part of the highways landscape.
Some may call me crude crazy insane some even vulgar and 
liar and thief.
But aside from thoose compliments.
No matter what you may call me.
Dont ever forget to just call me gonzo.


Details | Narrative | |

Her name is Lovely part 1

Date: 12/31/1787
Ding dong, ding dong, sounds the door-bell
She wakes up; open her window the sun is raising
Knock, knock, some one is at the door
She rushes to the door thinking is the mailman 
She is expecting a love letter from Iraq
She finally answer the door but stead of the mail man is an officer from the army, he is
well dress and carries a small box with him and inside of the box is an American flag with
three different medals.
One medal is for being a soldier of the US Army, the second medal is for being a national
hero, and the third one, is a medal of honor for dying for his country.
She goes crazy crying out for help, screaming all out that she was expecting a baby.
“I’m really sorry” the officer says
“If there anything I could do please call me” he reached his wallet and pulled out a
business card and gave it to her.
“He was a brave man” he said
The officer turned around and left the house with out hesitation.
Poor girl was drowning in her own tears; she still didn’t believe what just happen 
“Lord please help me”, “help me go through this horrible pain” she cries out.
She goes back to the bed and tries to sleep it off, but it didn’t work out, the pain was
too much just to act like nothing didn’t happen.
She finally falls as sleep after several hours of crying painfully.
She tosses and turns all night long, sweating like crazy with massive pain on her chest 
While she was having a horrible nightmare; dreaming about the death of her husband-


Details | Narrative | |

Let the Shepherd Lead

   

When I am lost and all alone,
   It’s then I turn to the Shepherd to guide me home.
When my heart gets bitter and full of doubt,
   I surrender my problems to Jesus, He seems to always work them out.
 I have been a victim of my own foolish pride,
    Not trusting in Jesus to be my guide.
Many times I have stumbled and many times I have fell,
    But that’s the good part of this story I tell.
For no matter how low in life we manage to sink,
    It’s Jesus who will always bring you back from the brink.
We are like sheep we all go astray,
    That is why we need our Shepherd to show us the way.
Jesus was the one who died for our sins so long ago,
     Redemption is ours if we ask don’t you know?
Without Jesus in our lives we would have no hope,
     And no chance for salvation or a reason to cope.
Imagine the pain He suffered that day,
     Picture it in your mind how He died such a tragic way.
Body racked with pain and longing for the death that seemed so slow,
     And being able to forgive those who did these things would have been hard for me,
don’t you know?
As I grow older in life there are things I tend to learn,
     Like the most valuable possessions you cannot buy you have to earn.
Love, respect, and friendship are a treasured gift,
     To have and to share will give you a blessed lift.
     


Details | Narrative | |

Just for Me

In the past I remember how things were so simple
When I was little my cheeks had such cute dimples
Looking back I remember how sweet I was as a child
When I think again my heart told me I was so wild
Yet, in time my simple choices was revealed as true as anyone
The reason I was the way I am today, I did things, to get done
Finishing lots of my undone ideas was so incredibly hard
So I figure my heart and choices should never hold in no bard
I never thought I would learn heart aches and pain
With such under statement I did things for no gain
I was a child who held true to what he has learned
But as we got older those kinda perspective would get me burned
When I made up my mind that people was not kind
I led myself in a confusion that I was blind
In the past I do recall that seeing is believing
So I was the one who stood their with friends leaving
Alone, I felt I did not belong, I cherish each person who knew me
I got older too see how the world works it stung me like a bee
The feeling of tingling ran through my vain
My view of the world and people who knew me was stained
Now I know they are out for their selves with no kind feelings
Life I know is just a joke because of who I hung out with seeing
Today as I look at the world it is in such shambles and astray
And rather fallow everyone I just walk away


Details | Narrative | |

Me, Myself, and I - (Part 1)

Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 2 to complete the poem and leave your comments on the Part 2 submission. Thank 
you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain diminished 


Me, Myself, and I...


“There are things that concern us,”
		Consensed my “Selves” in earnest
““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion”

“And after careful deliberation
		It is with much hesitation
That we choose to delineate upon this confusion”


“Fact is your intuition
		Is riddled with superstition
And your judgment leaves much to be desired”

“So you leave us no recourse
		Don’t push us to use force”
It is then that the “I” was summarily fired


I exclaimed “By whose authority?” Response, “Rule of majority”
“The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”), are experts in our field”

“And with much technique and time
		And some forays into the sublime
The nature of your malady will be revealed”


“So to keep yourself from having a fit
		Step back and just calm down a bit”
“We,” they said, “certainly have this under control”

“We swear this won’t hurt at all”
		Then I felt my inhibitions fall
Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul


You know, fact is I do feel off axis
		As evidenced by such parapraxis
As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen

And with my mind feeling numb
		I finally chose to succumb
And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin


And then came questions in a flurry
		Answer, answer and please do hurry
Not one moment of respite did they give

They pushed and they prodded
		With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted
My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve


And all this psycho-analysis
		Is causing my mind paralysis
The questions, can you stop with the questions please

“Yes, oh yes indeed
		I do believe we have what we need
To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses”


Details | Narrative | |

The Student

Buzz, Buzz,
still tiered eyes open,
She walks down stairs, packs up, and gets on the bus,
She stares out the window wishing to spend the day there and not at a desk.
7 FULL HOURS of of unempathetic teachers,
they give her 6 more hours of school work to do at home.
No one cares!

The homework starts on the bus and she's lucky to have it done by 10PM. 
Finely, she gets to go to bed,
But all she does is stare at the sealing with the overhanging stress of the work she didn't finish combined with the work her unrelenting teachers will give her tomorrow.

It happens each day,  
It's beyond her control,
she tells teachers and friends but they spit in her face telling her they don't care.
It won't change.

Luckily, she has her head on strait,
and while she trudges through the mud she stays strong,
knowing that everything is going to work out.
So she tells herself just wait.


Details | Narrative | |

Me, Myself, and I - (Part 2)

Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 1 first so as to get the true gist of the poem and leave your comments here on the 
Part 2 submission. Thank you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain 
diminished.


Me, Myself, and I... (continued)


“Your, (Or “Our”), symptoms seem to intermit
		And the fact that “You’re,” (“We’re”), a hypocrite
Tis no wonder we’re having such problems with diagnosis”

Then “I” had an idea so grand
		To dispense with this at my own hand
A self-inflicted coup de grace would be my prognosis


So while the “Me” and the “Myself” squabbled
		With courage newly cobbled
“I” spotted the dresser drawer and made my run

With fingers fiercely fumbling
		Whilst they continued grumbling
“I” produced from the depths of the drawer a shiny gun


And now my life, though ill-fated
		Was soon to be vindicated
This would affect us all equally the same

Would be no myself or me
		No you, him, us, or we
But an inclusive all would be to blame


It took me a moment to figure
		Out the safety on the trigger
Then “I,” (or “Us”), prepared to do the dirty deed

Then the barrel found my temple
		And as it settled into the dimple
A still small voice did my “selves” choose to heed


Hence a moment of clarity 
		Harkened me to posterity
And I thought what a legacy to leave behind

“Can’t we all find a way
		To save this miserable day
And avoid a broken body for someone to find”


And then deep within my soul
		I felt and heard a simple drum roll
And the differing sides of me just subsided

And with my mind now as one
		I worked to get this all undone
The whole business of this stuff I derided


And tis now true of fact
		That I survived this ordeal intact
And lived to raise my face unto the sky
 
And here now as it ends
		I find I’ve made good friends
With the “Me”, the “Myself,” and the “I”


Thank you for taking the time to share in my poetry. Please feel free to leave your thoughts 
or comments here on this page. 

J. Scott Burns...


Details | Narrative | |

A REPLY TO AN EPISTLE OF AN EMOTIONAL FEELINGS

I hate it when they thought I thought,
I feel pain for portraying a clean portrait,
Life is like a tray,share your cake to invited guest,
Painted pictures envisage the true figure.
Lights in the day even when darkness rule in dawn as a don,
Night of day my  sincerity is torn like a used toilet worker-
-surrendering to dirty papers.
Fear is a mastermind if you are so  scared,
Men are killers stricks when you lean on their steps,
God is a faithful father in his care I lie on.
If I prefer a chain of gold ,
Doesn't mean I like pearls.
If I'm a glittering diamond,
I was once elusive though.
Slowly I frozed at this tone,
I knew better than I taught,
I thought better than I taught,
No love as they thought.
Lovely pain beyond imaginations,
Sequence of life record play,
Standing alone is my man of my own,
Stressing the noon day,
Has reward in the hazy time.
Take me wrong I feel calm.
At times an affectionate love can be weird,
Crazy out of reality but more fantasy I hear,
Cheers to my pain of reality,
My chains of the shady truth,
To the infirmity of the day of JOY....


Details | Narrative | |

When

It was only supposed to last a little while. 
The pain I suffered was temporary. 
You promised you would fix it. 
Oh and fix me you did.

I hate you for what I have become.
Tired. Lazy unable to work. 
You created this monster of pain
Inside my head. 
It never goes away.

But you were the lucky soul. 
Your death was quick and painless.
Leaving behind those who mourn.
But I am not one of them. 
I wish you all that you deserve.

I have something now that I cannot change.
This damage to nerves, and numbness and pain.
My life has become a struggle. 
I compete with pain each day.
Sometimes I lose. Occasionally I win

It never leaves this pain you made. 
I wonder how many more.
You destroyed like me.
So powerful being a surgeon. 
To hold someone's life in your hands.

sickness, depression, anger


Details | Narrative | |

Nigeria's Kidnapped Girls Outrage

Let me get this straight!
In Nigeria a maniac group of Muslim rat bastards
kidnap over two hundred young girls
and are selling them to sexual perverts
for the equivalent of twelve dollars each
and the whole damn world says: “Ho-Hum!”
Stop this old spinning planet earth
and let me get the hell off of it.
It’s obvious to me that the brain dead morons
among us have taken over the reins of power.


Details | Narrative | |

A Soul Awakened

The warm light calls me
And all the people who cries for thee
I raise my hand in this abyss
Only to make one wish
To float among the others
With all my sisters and brothers
I call out for forgiveness with passion
I take their pain into myself for this occasion
The moment that I see the sky
I will not look back and cry
My body is laying still
People standing by it with a chill
The air gets dense with sadness
I would not think of it less
Some people look up and down
To see the light hit the ground
Some can vision the uplifting feeling they see
One soul that has been and always be
It is special to notice such aberration 
And that might be how souls are awaken


Details | Narrative | |

Rouging of the Lamb

        Sweet Mother of pearl
struck a ruby eyed reef 
then quickly sank into the deep,
just shy of the cay of life. 
Don't remember much about her,
those that did have long since blown away,
daddy  never had much to say... about the sinking.
Ancient pictures tempered fawn curiosities..
whispered to me that she had sunset red hair
a mother of pearl smile..
diamond chips set deep in lonely eyes...that's about it
    
 Soon after the sediment of death settled,
         "wrecking ball mom"
swung into the salty blue mix... 
Daddy must have been moon rock lonely
because he only waifed the soft, silky pretty
not the pyrite hearted 
soul licked
by cold, cold fires....
     A much to young, to cuddle a half orphan, kind of bride.
In public her voice cooed ,
"I'll buoy your little sinking heart,
with a million butterfly kisses
chocolate chip all your wishes"...
but in private
she plotted, with steely strap, to carve a granite man 
from a wandering lamb,
who never really needed carving 
only a little gentle kneading
on the potters wheel of life and love.
     I spent a healthy wedge of childhood 
treading a rolling ocean of dorsal fin coldness:
cutting a backyard full of weeds 
with a pair of rusty hand shears,
rescuing favorite toys from the garbage can
staring into plates of things I didn't like to eat.
like asparagus my least favorite "anti-treat".
Everyone would drift into the living room
to frolic away the evening
but I was chained to her electric chair... 
gazing into a saucer filled with green devil spears..
At times I sat so long the food would harden 
into the face of  mother of  pearl, 
her sweetness trapped between rows of bitter things.. 
a gone forever kind of look in our mutual deadened eye.
    Most of the time wrecking ball mom won the food battles. 
Rarely did the boy under the sink come out on top.
One night I'm sparring with the devil spears... again,
deciding on a whim, to slide them under the table, 
into the willing jaws of my beagle friend.
Chalk one up for the half orphan...right?....Not so fast.
The next day I shuffle home from school...
wrecking ball mom is frothing in the doorway,
wants to show me something..
She quickly leads me under the kitchen table
and to my ,deep green, horror..
there lay a small forest of day old asparagus..
Seems this is the one thing my best friend didn't care for.
This is when I was first introduced to 
wrecking ball's wicked handiwork,
that would often rouge the face and back, 
but cunning enough not to crease or crack the lamb.
wham...wham... 
I saw "hitting stars" for the first time,
wham.... wham.. 
I swear a cluster of explosions went off inside my head..
Carving a man out of a paper lamb 
was a long and painful sort of task.
In a way I felt lucky because, for a moment, 
I thought she was going to rub my nose into the regurgitation, 
Just like the time she rubbed the nose of my best friend for pissing up her new bride carpet.
By the way, daddy (the swing shifter) was oblivious to these rougings ...
its ok daddy your fully forgiven for wearing that rose colored hard hat,
we all must wear it at some point in time-to deflect the offal of life.
       Anyhow, that was many years ago...
doesn't really matter anymore,
I've outlived a few best friends.
the wrecking ball's backhanding and black belting days are over. 
She's silver headed and soft as a plate of over cooked veggies...
Every time I visit, I fantasize about rouging her...
wham- wham
until she sees that same pack of hitting stars...
wham- wham until she cracks...
You know, carve an old step bride 
into an under the sink child.
rub that nose in yesterday's piss in honor of my best dead friend.
Unveil those wrinkled whips disguised as mommy hands,
for the whole rosy eyed world to finally see.
but that fantasy will forever go unfulfilled...god willing..
So instead I offer her an atlantic ocean-cold hug instead.
just like any good, semi-forgiving step man would do.
        
Now, I'm heart deep 
in the meloncholy mist of fatherhood..
To this day, I won't touch asparagus
and 
never never 
rouge the lamb- 





Details | Narrative | |

The Woes Of Trust

An angel formed from 
lake of purity,a gift to 
mankind-illuminating 
darkest parts of hearts.
A chaste damsel,
untouched rose from the 
garden of the elves.

Sent to earth,made an 
abode in a gentleman's 
heart,whom she 
cherished and loved.

As time travelled,another 
fella whom she trusted 
lured her to un-saintly act
Her pride laid on altar of 
dishonor and infidelity.
Her life she almost 
snuffed,she feared the 
love of her true love 
would be lost. Alas! bond 
of love is indivisible.

Shattered,with a broken 
spirit she tries to mend 
the pieces....on the 
shoulder of her lover she 
leans,hoping to soothe 
her bruised heart.



Note:
A true story,a close 
pretty lady friend of mine 
was raped by her family 
friend yesterday...who 
called her and told her 
his mum was very sick.
She called me and 
confided in me .
Don't know whether to 
encourage her to call the 
police.


Details | Narrative | |

In memory of Bob

In memory of Bob
A true story.

It was in spring of two thousand when I first saw Bob. I’d just started working at Perth Dental hospital, and in fact it was my first day there. I walked up to the front door of this building, but it wasn’t yet opened. So I turned around and went to sit in the bus shelter which was just outside the building. As I went to sit down I noted a dark skinned gentleman sitting there with a happy, benign look on his face. He was about five feet eight give or take a little, and he was rather a thickset man who looked like he’d done his fair share of hard work in his sixty years or more.

     There was something about this Gentleman that I could not quite put my finger on. He had a certain charisma about him; not the phony kind of charisma that one seen in the car salesman or the philanderer who messes with women’s heads, no, Bob had a kind of friendly smile for everyone that he met, and he seemed to draw people into him with his love, and gigantic heart. I knew as soon as I met him that Bob was most definitely for me.

      As Bob looked at me and smiled, the whole world seemed to open up. He said “Ow ya  going mate” in a loud ebullient manner, then we started to chat. Bob was like myself, a thinker, and straight away we started philosophizing about this, that, and the other, and it was like we had known each other forever. Then all of a sudden I found Bob talking about death, and the difference in the way the Maori people faced death, compared to the rather the silly way us white folk look at the subject with great fear in our hearts. Now this had always interested me, and  somehow it just seemed natural to talk to this Maori gentlemen on this subject, and we spoke about it till the doors opened and it was time to work.

      I don’t think anything happens just by chance, and I definitely have this feeling that Bob and I were meant to meet, and I really think this was a major destiny thing. I have found during the course of my life,  that as I am aging, I can feel something pushing me into a certain direction, and I always felt that Bob was part of all this; and I had much to learn from him. Although I have never believed in organized religion, and never followed one I have always felt deeply spiritual, and I have met many people who I learned from, and Bob was most definitely one of them with all his great wisdom and patience. As I came to know Bob, we had many dialogues together, on many subjects. Bob used to love music and could always have time to plonk away on his guitar. He used to come round to my place and we would play songs together, though both he and I were no Eric Clapton’s, I would bang around on my guitar and play the harp, while we would both take out turns at singing. We’d have a smoke or a beer or two, and we’d play songs all day long,  ahhh, I remember those days well, the memories are so strong.

     Bob was one hell of a man, I could tell that he had been a wild one in his youth,
But when I knew him in his sixties he was an icon of wisdom and virtue; he had a kind word for everyone, and gave all his time to anybody who needed him, always.
He used to hear me waffling on like an idiot, trying to make him like me [as I always did] but never once did he tell me how foolish I was, he would just smile knowingly at me. He used to stand there at the window for hours, just drinking in the trees, or the clouds in the sky, and yet he was so aware, I used to try to sneak up on him; it couldn’t be done. His awareness was incredible.

     Then one day Bob fell ill with terminal cancer, and he knew that he had very little time left on this Earth. He lay there sick for days in intolerable pain,  but you never heard one complaint from him, even when he only had days to live, he was still worrying about the welfare of others. When the day finally come for Bob to leave his shell; he was lying there in deep sleep, when all of a sudden he woke up, with a smile on his face. His children asked him ‘Dad, do you want some pain killers” Bob laughed, compassion written all over his face, and he said to them ‘Not one of you has a clue, have you’ and he died with a big smile on his face.

   His daughter got in touch with me, and told me about his death, and also told me that his last wish was to have me watch his soul leave his body. I felt very honored about this and went and sat with his body [as Maoris do]. I got the most peaceful feeling come to me [which I presume was his spirit leaving his body] as I watched his silent body, a Mari war stick and a beautiful rose lay across his chest. I still see it, and I feel blessed by it. He was my Maori warrior, and I adored the man.
 


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Where Has my Little Girl Gone

He sits there and cries
Big tears fall from his eyes
“Why, oh why?”
He wrings his hands
and tries to understand
Why I'm curled up in bed
No words come to my head
There is no answer
Just emptiness
He whispers...
“Where has my little girl gone?”

You were the life of the party
Friendly and sweet
Everyone you’d greet
With a smile and hug
Now…..
You’re just curled up in bed
With eyes full of dread
Where….
Oh, where has my little girl gone?"

His princess, his dream
Youngest of his team
Unwilling to face life and live
She’s stuck in her bed
Wants to stay home instead
No answer
To the words hung in the space
Between him and his child
His heart's going wild
"Where has my little girl gone"

"She’s gone, daddy, gone...
Somewhere along
Seeing Mama die
Somewhere along
Wondering why
Somewhere along
Holding broken dreams
Somewhere along
Stifling her screams
Somewhere along
Broken heart night
Somewhere long
Losing the fight
Somewhere along
Nothing more to give 
Somewhere along
No will to live

That’s where, Daddy. That’s where your little girl’s gone"

Eileen Manassian Ghali


I called this a narrative because it actually happened last time dad came to visit me in Lebanon. We had this conversation in my bedroom, and it broke my heart that I've caused him so much pain. When he calls....he's quick to detect what spirits I'm in. He worries about me. I'm his baby....the little one of the family. Mom had me when she was 41....surprise surprise. After two boys, they really wanted a girl....Well, yes....I have changed...Yes...I was the life of the party. That old sparkle comes back now and again....Life can be difficult, and it wears you down if you let it. I adore my dad. His word was gospel when I was growing up. He was larger than life to me. We share a special bond....He is coming for Christmas....I'm so happy.


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Remove Me Please

It was her birthday she was turning thirteen.

It was a fun day until her father asked to baby sit for his new friends so they could all go 
out  to party.

She was scared that day she didn’t know why. She had babysat for other people before, 
but for some reason this was different. She just felt weird.

As they were driving to the location, her father was telling her, about the people she would 
babysit for were new to the area and didn’t know anyone.

“But dad, I really don’t want to. It’s my birthday. “She just wanted to cry. Why she had to do
 this she couldn’t understand.

After being dropped off and meeting the parents, she thought maybe she was being silly and
 they were good people. After the parents had left to the party, she got the kids ready for bed, and fell asleep waiting for everyone to get home.

The man woke her up with his hand on her shoulder and he was telling her to get ready he 
will take her home. He was telling his wife that it would take him a couple of hours to get her
 home and to get back. She thought about that, it didn’t seem to take her dad that long to 
drive to their home. Now she was getting scared again.

Driving back she could not talk. Even when he spoke to her she just sat scrunched in her 
seat trying to make herself invisible.

“What’s wrong with you? Can’t you talk? “He was demanding. It seemed to make him mad 
because she would not answer him.

All she could think was please God help me get home, when he turned the car into the hills
 where the woods started. She finally found her voice. She sat straight up in the seat and 
screamed. “Where are we going this is not the way home?”

He started laughing and when she tried to open the car door he grabbed her and hit her 
in the face. She was knocked out. When she woke he was on top of her, and she was crying 
but it did not do any good. Then his hand was around her throat, “I will kill you and your 
mom if you tell anyone. You will die.”

After he was done with her, he took her home and dumped her on the sidewalk.
 He threw money at her and left. She wanted to be removed from life. To be no more!

Dear Lord,

Please remove me

I want to be no more

The time has come

To make me blank

Here I am

Stuck in the mud

Where have you gone

Where am I now?

Stuck in never never land

The years go by

The pain never stops

The rose won’t bloom

The miles go around and around

Head spins

Struggling for years

Now the children are gone

And  what I knew was wrong

When death came between us

So I ask

One last time

REMOVE ME PLEASE!

Brooke Dylan 2014

this is in answer to Poet Aiyah De Torres .. Dear Diaryhttp://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=565965


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My Story Telling Can You Trust Me

Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle

It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die

She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them 
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward

The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true

Next: My Story Telling,  Who is this Princess


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Burried Soul

Disgust, abhor and frown
has burried me deep down,
"Black Black", they call me so,
whenever they try to show me low!

If this is the world, where shall I go?
Has has my complexion brought me no friends but all foe?

With these burning eyes, I have seen,
how happy and pleased they have been,
when that white boy, joined their team;
their response to me was clean...
They threw me out right then,
tearing my heart apart; shattering my spleen!

Disgust, abhor and frown 
has burried me deep down,
"Black Black", they call me so,
to prove me worthless and low,
not only did they dismantle my feelings,
they also burried my soul...


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Memoirs of one unloved

Memoirs of one unloved

I hear them refer to me as “it” or “the fetus”
Some underdeveloped miniature human, with no established status
For I am trapped in some fluid, apparently I know nothing
But, as strange as it may seem, I do suspect something
I cannot tell my senses apart or at all open my eyes
But I can detect outside of me a piling up of blatant lies
Disturbingly chaotic and deafening sounds I clearly hear
But they seem so far from one, yet closer to the other ear
How is it that I am able to point out what I feel?
Why do I get a foretaste of the world, when I’m a captive still?

Yes, you’d better believe your ears, I said, “captive”
I am afraid that in comparison to my carrier I am more responsive
For this seemingly young lady who claims to be with child
Expresses to me emotions that are anything far below mild
So the word mother surely does not apply in this case
It’s implied that it is better for me never to have existed in the first place
The insensitive words daily uttered by her literally send me balling over
She repeatedly does sit and only between two things hover
“Would it be a wise decision if I kept it?
Or should I rid of it and rather figure out how I can get back on my feet?”

Well the object she is referring to, is me
Her so-called destructive child-to-be
Then again, I wouldn’t burden her with the blame
Seeing that a situation such as hers is considered a great shame
An act that is socially and morally seen as highly abominable
Simultaneously makes me feel unwanted, a child so hideous and deplorable
Since when is it a mother’s first instinct to be so contemptuous?
Clearly of the feeling known as love is she not conscious

Oh, wait, apparently aware of love she is
But only when she looks deep into his eyes, love she sees
Not when she feels me move inside of her, no never!
Sometimes I wander, “love me, will you ever?”
At the same time I wander, “why bother keeping me alive?”
It truly is a struggle, for to stay alive I solely strife
When it feels like alcohol gushes from wherever into my system
Cigarette smoke from him blocking my lungs become an unbearable problem
Obviously, none of them care
The beginning of my life is marked by all things highly unfair

And him — don’t even get me started!
By now, I’ve memorised all the words he’s blurted
All his insults are now engraved in my once innocent mind
Truly speaking, in his voice, apathy is all you can find
I am partially disabled by his emotional numbness
And so is she, oh what an experience of sheer distress?
I would rather soon very swiftly disappear
And on the other world of nothingness reappear
For he slabs her and throws her around as he pleases
And for a moment the woman who ought to be my mother ceases

To seek a hiding place, safe and secure
To find for her heartache a temporary cure
But then the cycle begins again
And by the end, once again, not much did she gain
He hurls insults at her and once again, slabs her the face across
He overpowers her always and she is at a loss
For words, and only her tears speak of her anguish
If all this could go away, oh how I wish?
If only there’d be a moment of peace
If only for a moment, however short, everything would freeze

Just when I think my wish is going to be fulfilled
An even colder rush of naked Reality into me is instilled
He screams loudly “get rid of it or I leave!”
And she on the other hand, gasps for a moment brief
The verdict has been decided upon
But this time around, she tries to reason with him, “Please, come on”
To listen to her, he stubbornly refuses
For he cannot by a lady be in any way refuted
So now I am in the middle of all this
The two people who are supposed to protect me with their all are these

I have not yet stepped foot into the world but it seems twisted
The two who are to be united are against one another listed
Now I get the point very sharply
I got in the way of their happiness haply
In all honesty, I didn’t mean to exist
Then I suddenly feel him pulling her by the wrist
There, my thoughts are interrupted, as I sense a moment of rough wrestling
For the manner in which her body is shaken resembles no sort of nestling
I feel forceful Gravity mercilessly pulling us toward her
Our bodies fail to defy her, and I for one, disappointment I wear


How could he be so heartless?
To the point of knocking her out cold, almost lifeless
The unrest was born the moment I got here
So I’m leaving that they will be of good cheer
I have no idea whether I’m volunteering
But I sense that the fluid which I know as home, red is turning
Yes, I think they both stabbed me in the heart
The nameless, unloved object can no longer bear the hurt
I would be lying if I said anything of this world I’ll miss
Fare thee well, please do now without me enjoy your life of bliss


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Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay



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nightmare

I remember having a procedure done in hospital, and as I started to come out of unconsciousness, I found myself in a place of pure joy there is no way to describe it. Then reality struck, and the joy started to fade. The first conscious though went through my brain. “Crap I lived through it, I didn’t die ” I didn't want to wake up. I was having a much better time in unconsciousness. As I woke I found myself leaving the most wonderful place to return to the nightmare of life.


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In Dunkersfield Lies A Neglected Grave

In Dunkersfield Lies A Neglected Grave



In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
 last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got

Town people say they knew him so well
 had big secrets he'd never dare tell
One was about a child he'd never seen
 bastard son of a lady named Ilien

Others solemnly swear he kilt' a man
 beat him with that mighty right hand
Hard truth lies somewhere in between
 his life imagined and one he had seen

Ole Stoner Ace was a gambler for sure
 had lots of women, none were too pure
Worked that farm, won on a lucky bet
 hard life even for a tough combat vet

No church did he ever bother to attend
 lived alone with not a single friend
Money sent to pay for nephew's school
 kept his secrets, was nobody's fool

Christmas night he died old and alone
 his savings given away, every penny gone
Good deeds he always kept to himself
 bad maybe but he always was topshelf

In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
 last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got

Robert J. Lindley,  01-23-2015

NOTE:  Poem was written based upon the real life of a friend's uncle. 
A tough old bird that had quite a reputation. Lived a wild life as young man 
and had served time in prison for beating a man to death that had stabbed him in 
the back in a barfight. My Dad knew him well. Told me that he was an upright guy 
that came out of prison and left the wild life behind.
Sometimes life just beats the hell out of you and if you are lucky you still
manage to survive!


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A letter from a Father to his Daughter

My dearest Cordellia, I miss you, so I thought I would send you a note
Telling you all that I have been going through and asking you to give me hope
I walk this dark and lonely road carrying all this pain
Wondering, were all these tears I have cried simply cried in vain
Using my heart and not my eyes to navigate the darkness in this place
The only thing that remains clear to me is the memory of your face
I have missed you since you have gone, I have to confront this on my own
Can not put into words this pain I feel it is something I have never known?
If it were not for all the love you poured into my heart
I would have no strength to keep myself from falling apart
You have left this life and have gone to where only the angels are permitted to soar
But the love I have for you has allowed me to open up another door
The love this father has for his daughter has consumed his very heart
And all these memories of you have allowed me to make a brand new start
Daddy’s little hiny, that was my name for you, because of your tiny baby butt
How you use to make me laugh, you were such a little nut
Cordellia Miriam, your name was as unique as you were
A piece of heaven on earth is what you were to me and that is for sure
I never knew that I was capable of feeling a love as strong as the love I felt for you
And now since you are gone I become confused at times for just what I should do
I could gain pleasure for hours just by sitting and watching you play
I would try to understand everything you had to say
So my sweet child I hope you can hear me when I speak to you each night
I hope that you are listening and I hope you understand my fight
This pain and love seem to be tearing each other apart, leaving me as a shell
I pray each night to God in hopes that you are doing well
I miss all the times you would run down the hall just to greet me
You would jump into my arms to give me a hug and tell me how much you missed me
Well my little one Daddy has to go for now but I shall certainly visit with you again
I will talk to you everyday until we shall meet again

The End
By Greg P


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Dearth

He squats the entire day,
extending his empty cup.
Cold sweat oozing from the pores
of his slack bristly white face,
yet he crouched spiritless,
hoping for kindness to tumble.

Desire split his dry lips,
but he stoops without a murmur,
parting the busy shoppers,
roaming up and down the Plaza.
He makes rhythm with his cup,
a somber rhythm that plunges into the ground.

People pass by in a rush and ignore his plea.
Without warning a weight, falls upon his head, 
and he collapses to the ground.
His weary eyelids stop throbbing,
the sweat drys up ,
and mercy plunges desperately
into his cup, but poverty stares.

©2013 Christine Phillips


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''To err is human: to forgive, divine''--Alexander Pope

Abusive and African-American, my late step-dad 
     was a reverse racist,
an army sergeant, a Vietnam vet and a backhand,
     face-smacking sadist.

I used to bemoan that I was a white child
     (as if it were my fault!)
and that he was black and resentful of me.
     So once in reckless revolt

against his ongoing abuse
      I rebelled under my breath
by calling him the "n" word (and he
     nearly beat me to death).

Beaten, I never uttered that word again.
     Then Mom and he divorced
as I got older (which made things only worse);
     free at last, I felt no remorse.

Suddenly, I was the man of the house and life
     for us seemed less stormy;
for the first time in years we lived in happiness.
     At last, we were a family.

Then I got religion and met God
     and gave my life to Christ.
It was the best thing I ever did:
    I was born again, and it sufficed.

My anger, pain and bitterness which
    I had for years repressed
began to slowly disappear; and so I became
    less and less depressed.

By now, my former step-dad had grown old
     and had swelling of the lung;
I had not forgiven him yet back when
     I was still angry and young.

I could not forgive him for the abuse that
  made my life so utterly grim;
but I realized that the weight and burdens
     of not forgiving him

would be worse than what I've endured. I know 
     in life we all sin and transgress 
and come short of God's glory: so, moved by
      God's grace and forgiveness

I made up my mind to forgive him.
     A daily, ongoing process,
I was able to finally begin to let go of the anger 
      and truly begin to forgive the mess
 
that I had inherited from him. And I was
      able to begin forgiving God;
He was not to blame for my step-dad (who was also 
      beaten by his parents' lash and rod).

Though I was forgiving him and letting go, he was
     unmoved and unchanged as ever;
I had realized that what mattered was that my forgiveness
      had been changing me forever.

When he finally died, I had already completely
      let go and he was forgiven;
Now I can only wonder to God whether he had
      been changed by his view of heaven.