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Sad People Poems | Sad Poems About People

These Sad People poems are examples of Sad poems about People. These are the best examples of Sad People poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

What Only Angles Hear

Daddy never did understand.
That violence doesnt bring comfort.
A lost soul seeking acceptance from a unwelcome hand.

She was silent no one ever knew.
The secrets behind her bruised eyes.
A shocking victem none but all had a clue.

She cried to empty walls never speaking aloud from fear.
A confession of pain and shattred trust.
this is only what angles hear.

Scars selfinflicted  are better than that 
dirty feeling.
As she lays a broken shell gazing  at the celling.

She questions if others know what will they say.
Doing whatever it takes to stay numb.
Innocence lost a parent should never betray.

The guilt was placed apon the wrong head.
Void of all emotion.
No child should yern to be dead.

At times it gets to uncomfortable so in 
another direction we  steer.
For at times it's just to painful to stomach.
What only angles  hear.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme | |

A LullabyTo The Lost

Life and cigarettes burn to fast.
We waste are time.
So within the moment you bask.

A pretty face has to age.
Every story meets  it's final page.
When life breaks you over its cost.
Then you'll sing a lullaby to the lost.

The lights in the street hide all but the truth my 
You can act.
But you can never mask your  fear.

In dark rooms you sell all but your soul.
A wicked moment a stolen encounter.
All things take there toll.

That sweet face has tuirned hard your so warm 
to be cold.
A secret that the bitter have already told.

Can you wash away there stench as from 
the past you are tossed.
In dark corners blood stained angles 
sing a lullaby  to the lost.

Is this hell or a nightmare  that knows no end.
A cell to most.
To others the only refuge inwhich they 
can depend.

she falls to the floor a lost look needle  
in arm.
Most will rememeber a doomed fool.
Others her wreckless charm.

She was  a junkie  and a easy lay.
More bones are broken.
Over words others say.

She sold flesh but payed the ultimate
In a dingy corner of th world.
Were the angles sing a lullaby to the lost.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

On the outside, looking in

"When humanity becomes louder than love, stay out of its way. At times, it's better to be the lion in the distance, rather than the sheep losing their way...again."

This was the 1st time
I felt out of place.

Its impact mimicked abused parallelograms
Unto emptiness’ solution

I witness sliced wrists shedding bohemian smiles.

Testament verses
Latching onto anchors of invalid mo(u)rning

There was no sunrise to be found,
Because humanity kept making love to silhouetted blinders

I was surrounded by shovels
For the sake of digging louder messages’ trench

While I
Caress incipient wings
And half-full Windex bottles
Just to keep perception from clouding my lyrics

Because nobody wants to see eye to eye…


…cataract-laced speeches permeate tainted whispers
Of an innocent breath 
For B-rated serendipity

Oh, this was the 1st time
I felt out of place.

Turning away from windowed afflictions
To step towards gratitude’s breath

No longer looking in

How good it feels.

Yet, I still miss my friends.

©Drake J. Eszes 

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

Dust From The Past

Looking back again, back into the past, 
it was written in sand, all those questions we asked
on those last days of summer, something was wrong
as the leaves started turning, and shadows grew long

There was dust on the tables, and the clutter remained
where never before, .... had it not been restrained
You were known for your grace, now your pride was at risk
Quickly swept, polished fine, brushed away with a whisk

This just wasn't you, having bricks without mortar
You were never unkempt a life out of order?
You would never have allowed such things out of place
Something so small, would have been your disgrace

There was something to blame, something was strange
Even small tasks, we noticed, had changed
Another piece of a puzzle, fell into place
Your trace of bewilderment, when a name was erased

Your memory lost, and a world gone absurd ...
Then, once it was you....alone and disturbed 
Lost and afraid, but mostly confused
Forgetting the day, many things you would lose,
or someone you loved, so much undefined
shoved back to blind spaces, your words couldn't find

Dust motes collected where never before,
would settle, make home, in your mind evermore
Without any warning, without any sound
until you were gone, and the years fell around

Dreams that you had, were drawn in the sand
into the traces of dust of a far away land

Inspired by Isaiah Zerbst's Contest: "Pick a Title"

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad | |


 This one is totally fictional.

Don't cry little guy just 'cause you're moving away
Your daddy's got a brand new job out in Santa Fe
He's trying to make a better life for your mom and you
So, how about holding back those tears
Yes, I'm crying too
So I said goodbye to Bobby like I knew I had to do
But Some things that I told him
Weren't exactly true
I wish I could have told him to stay
If that's where he'd really like to be
I wish I could have told him the truth
About his mom and me
So, I said goodbye
And tried not to cry
And told him to have fun
I wish I could have said to him
Bobby, you're my only son.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse | |

Soul Stones

We swallow boulders:
(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)

Mouths open wide and heads tipped back
like Hawaiian fire eaters.

Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,
sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect
and acid.

The stones settle,




Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight
'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.

We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that
we've had rocks for breakfast,
lunch, dinner,  for years,
in the hopes that someone will recognize
the broken concrete footprints behind us
and touch us gently on the forearm:

"Honey, are you alright?"

(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble
the already cracking facade?)

There's no stopping the torrent then,
tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing
to the point of cathartic vomit-

boulders of every shape and size
tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;
broken teeth and granite eyes 
until we no longer see the floor, the walls...

And then serenity.

The hand has moved to the shoulder,
forming a universal hug.

"I'm here now... and you're ok."

We stand up, together, and leave that room,
a soundless void of yesterday,
to absorb the impermeability of stones,
carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.

No weight at all now, and barely a second glance,

but to turn out the light - and lock the door behind us...

Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006

Details | Elegy | |

Angela's Right Hand

The function of a human hand?
Writing a message, making a bed,
Opening a jar, dialing a phone,
Putting on pantyhose,
Touching the face of a child,
Or a lover.

And in its absence?
Yawning space and phantom pain,
And an oddly-shaped bandage
At the end of Angie’s arm.

PFC Hernandez, home in El Paso,
Watches her family watching her,
Writing awkwardly with her left hand,
Brushing her black wavy hair,
Watching Dr. Phil
Wearing an old gray-green T-shirt
Bearing the faded words
“Proud to be a Marine.”

Gasping and choking,
She wakes from thick, dusty dreams
Of shimmering, endless sand,
Unfamiliar words
Echoing hollow with hatred,
And the feared but half expected
Roar of fiery amber heat,
Breaking the angry stillness,
Searing through the night
And Angela’s right hand.

Copyright © Ginna Wilkerson | Year Posted 2006

Details | Verse | |

Secretly Obsessed

Obsessed with the thought of you
wondering if it's only me or
if you sometimes remember the sweet things you've said
and if you meant them how I took them
or if I'm just obsessed with what's in your head

Obsessed with your very sentences
Every response I take personal
I know it's selfishness
Have you not noticed my eyes?
They hold secrets that only you can unlock
if you'd just take time to fill the thick juices of my pride
It's just boiling with lust, passion, trust and distrust
and other things I obsess over so much

I find myself writing to free myself from this prison I've created
where only you and I reside
I become confused about what I'm really feeling inside and I 
try to rid the thoughts that are highly debated as false and I
begin to cry and
think of casting love spells so that the universe can deliver this affair
I know it's unfair
but I don't care

I'm obsessed with what hasn't happened between us
I'm obsessed with your heart and that the fact that 
I don't think you've even noticed my selfish innuendos 
and secret undertones that blatantly express my lust
Or maybe you have and you calmly remain in resistance of distrust 
If you could only read my mind by simply touching my fingertips,
I'm sure I'd catch you out the corner of my eye biting your bottom lip
I'm obsessed with the passion and thoughts I think you have
Obsessing over an experience that I may never have....

Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

The Drying Of The Ink

No longer at desk the typewriter has been given 
it's final rest.
As he cant recall the day or year.

The once strong mind is closed the body
but a museum or tribute to what once was.
he his home but locked within himself.

Vist's from thoose who once knew the man 
are like people viewing a body at a wake.
he calls from within the shell for for release.

Yet his lips will not move his voice never sounds.
Inside he burns for the chance to run as the river
chases the sea.

To be the man they never knew and the one he 
could admire and both despise.

The page sits in typewriter like a willing 
eager lover in bed. 
Waitting in stockings that cling to delicate thigh.
the tears escapes it's minds prison.

He thirsts for it like a drunk for that morning drink
of whiskey waitting hands held togather trying
to keep from shaking.

He sits as a painter without hand.
watching the most beautiful sunset fade without 
a chance of ever capturing this moment.

The ink is drying he feels it everyday.
Soon he hopes like the dust that does gather
he will be swept away.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

The Day That Died Forever

When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...

I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky

The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn

I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe

The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul

Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through

Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost

I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art

As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow

Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place

The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost

Day was Life,Night is Death

And the latter has given counsel on my final steps

Copyright © Winter Wallace | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme | |

The thoughts of a bi-polar

Who am I and what am I to say?,
All I've got to do is play,
Along in a game I don't understand,
Make people come to my land,
A deal that you don't think about,
Something thats going to start out,
A trend that will last for years,
Making people come to tears,
Arguing points that don't get across,
Having to deal with a great loss,
This is my life and these are my words,
Circling around like I'm in herds,
Playing games with my head,
Maybe I would be better off dead.

Copyright © Jonathon Casteel | Year Posted 2005

Details | Verse | |

A Vessel Dreaming On

Misinformed as ever was,
  as sad as sad can be,
for no one cared or dared to love
  a creature such as she.
Time rolls past and in its’ dust
  she wonders where it’s gone,
left standing still with faded eyes,
  a vessel dreaming on.

As crazy-paved as garden paths,
  and blinder than a tree,
holding court with ghosts of kids
  who never lived to be.
Imagined loves she never met,
  no truth to rest upon,
just make-believe and pharmacy
  a vessel dreaming on.

Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2006

Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Rtrn

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

over and over agin

sometimes i talk to myself, 
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all. 
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister, 
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some unique
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it. 
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room, 
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy, 
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
not alot
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her? 
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse. 
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
hated herself
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses 
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat, 
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why? 
because daddy yelled 
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
smoking weed
doing nothing,
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
 her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
her mom,
her sister,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
 and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
and why? 
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...

Copyright © cassie hellberg | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

The Park -- Part Two

(Please read The Park -- Part One first ...
This is a continuation from Part One, due to space limitations)

Yes, kids at play are bold and wise
with flashing smiles and knowing eyes.
Children bore easily with grown up prattle;
their thoughts turn to cake and to toys that rattle.
They know that Belles and Bills tell lies.
Time is but a birthday gift or new surprise;
more games to play; a windy day for a kite one flies;
coins that shine; toys that squeak;
a trip to the zoo at the end of each week.
But Belles and Bills persist in their story.
Some even mention forgotten glory.
Children go home to eat, to sleep.
Belles and Bills their vigils keep;
falling leaves and darkening sky
shows them their truth and the children's lie.
Nothing is forever; all things die.
Then, Belles and Bills go back to flats,
to wait -- to wait till morning comes.
They listen to the rustling rats
and slowly sip their gins or rums.
Eyes are glazed; minds are dazed.
The atmosphere grows dim and hazed.
They will await, once more, the sun's first ray --
the birth, in the park, of another day.
Before they leave, they look all around,
surveying the world to which they're bound;
then, they shuffle away, with airs of sadness
at being, always, on the verge of madness.
The echo of an unheard bark
reverberates throughout the park.
Fallen leaves and darkened sky
confirm the truth.  Children lie.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

I fell in like with you

Inspired by one of my favorite bands, Rise Against, and the song is called,
“Ever-changing” (Acoustic). Please listen to this song if you don’t know of it. It’s raw &

“Have you ever been a part of something? That you thought would never end. But then, of
course, it did.” –Rise Against

“I fell in ‘Like’ with you”

With her smile
I melted unto oblivion’s redemption
Candy coated perceptions, windows’ gap
Seeping brilliance refreshment

Uncertainty resolution, polished
Absorbed into closeness sun
Yet these eyes still…see
Butterflies taking notice, missing you…as you stood in front of me

Strong, yet soft legs
Foundation of my face to rest upon
A cremated sin 

Yet, elongated moments of silence
Created abruption’s new face

The face of change
When she turned to me and said
“I’m not sure, anymore”

Emotional lullaby, rocking me to sleep
New battles with spectral flashback
Trying to get under my skin, a drunken tick facing demise

Phoenix’s sunrise, rejuvenating my recycled defenses
Yet, today, these rays just aren’t bright enough to burn sadness away

And with these sounds of storm clouds & Fall on horizon’s breath
These grounds are so familiar, yet bittersweet
This heart doesn’t want to be enlightened by karma today

It wants to be held for how it shines now

Denied…distance wins again today
Slavery whipped punishments in miles and blocks
This must end

Because I try to keep lines open to get a call from you
Yet all I hear are booty calls with busy signals

And yet something has kept me here too long
But can they leave me, if I’m already gone?

Something has kept me here too long
Karma’s laughter

But, through it all, I will shine


How I wish my mere presence can bring joy’s tear to her eye

Sadly though, now, the lines are drawn
Yet I wonder if this feeling is gone
Have the best parts of this…come and gone?


Maybe I’ll never know the truth

Perhaps she was misguided by jealousy’s deprivation
Deteriorating heart’s splendor

While I fell in “like” with her

Perhaps “Better Man 2.0” appeared from Cloud 9’s fallacy

While I fell in “like” with her

She held onto the past

As I, drawn to waterfall’s edge
Allowed myself

To let go…and F

© Drake J. Eszes
“We adore those who hurt us. Yet, we hurt those who adore us.” -Anonymous

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Agree to Disagree

                                               Mankind's greatest

                                                      is death.

Copyright © Vincent Rossi | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

My Favourite Coffee Cup

Another cup of coffee spilt,
Upon an egg-shell shirt of silk.
It didn’t really have a chance,
Caught up in all the circumstance.
It cracked against the tabletop,
A trembling hand from whence it dropped.
It didn’t mean to get in the way,
It just so happened, was, that day.
“On purpose”, it had set him off,
One gulp and he began to cough.
My fault, I know, he drank too soon -
And banged it down against the spoon.
Enraged, he throws the cup at me,
Still steaming like a cup of tea;
I caught the cup - it’s mould intact,
But couldn’t catch the water’s slap.
While standing there I caught his too,
And felt my cheek turn black and blue;
It slipped out of my hand and fell,
And smashed apart like oyster shell.
It’s my mess, I’ll mop it up ~
     I broke my favourite coffee cup.

Copyright © Tammy Armstrong | Year Posted 2006

Details | I do not know? | |

I've Scribbled This Song For You

I've Scribbled This Song For You...

I'm wasting my days,
my empty nights too,

I should have held on,
but I simply lost you,

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

yes, I should have kept,
you close to my skin,

soaking your warmth,
but you were laughing,

at my foolish grin...

now I'm all broken,
and torn apart,

but what the hell,
I was always late,
for the tolling of the bell,

and now...

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

so kiss me now like you once did,
I'm tired of being so carefully hid,

la laa laa la laa laa laa...

(repeat to fade)


Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric | |

- My Singing Hairdresser Friend -

I have a singing friend
he is my hairdresser
He lives a simple life
Wondering if tomorrow
will bring the sorrows and worries
A small place to stay, together
with his old and sick mother 
Food on the table to day
but what about tomorrow

I have a singing friend
he is my hairdresser
He think a lot and he
worries about the future
The sun is shining but he do
not know what tomorrow will bring

I have a singing friend
he is my hairdresser
He sing in a language
I do not understand
He sings about love,
passion and romance
Eyes smiling as he sings,
but the face is still not happy

I have a singing friend
he is my hairdresser
He is amazing with his
scissors and comb
He makes me feel so beautiful
Smiles at me in the mirror
and sing a little bit more
Happiness is now
but what will the future brings
my singing hairdresser friend

to - Diyarli Cuu
Written in Turkey
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain | |

The Vietnam War

The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed

This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace

With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base

These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews

One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar

The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die

In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail

Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction

Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died

The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind

Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme | |

The Tranquillizers

                             THE HOSPITAL FAIRYLAND

They walked together, hand in hand,
Into life’s magical fairyland.
Where there was no trouble, where there was no pain.
Where life could really, begin all over again.
Where were no men in little white coats.
Forcing you all, to stuff drugs down your throats.
Forcing you to do, what you didn’t want to.
Telling you it was all for the best, for you,
People shouting, people crying.
Most of the people talking about dying.
What is this hell, we’ve all come to?
It’s called coming off drugs, we all have It to go through.
Where will it end, what will we do?
None of us really, has a clue.
We are given more pills, we are told, we have to take.
To the men in white coats, life’s a piece of cake.
We are the prisoners, they guard the doors.
Some try to creep out, on all fours.
Into hell and back, we go for a ride.
Eventually if we’re lucky, we come out the other side.
Where we can walk, hand in hand.
Into life’s magical Fairyland.
Where there is trouble, where there is pain.
But at least we can start, living again.

Copyright © pat dring | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |

We Are The Generation

We are The Generation,
Holding tomorrow in the palm of our hands
Ancestors deemed us responsible
Yet Today only reprimands

We are The Generation, the majority
Of futile yearnings, beguiled by what
Only brings more shame…Beguiled by what
Only brings more shame

Embellished with the nudity we call fashion
Seeking the colors of the world in manicure
Beauty is now only material…
Attire, what a fine cure!

We are The Generation, we want to explore
The tastes of the world, in nicotine, in alcohol
It’s something we call fun!
Gossip, magazines… invaluable lore

We are articulate, we just love to curse
Between every couple of words, five oaths!
Our eligible vocabulary is written in scraps
In the fine poetry, we like to call rap

Love to us is very divine
My boyfriend and I have been together
For two months…eternity! We match, we intertwine
Our engagement is next week

Religion is to us an identity, a name
I am this and I am that
But we all squander our time just the same
We are one unity, remember?

We are The Generation, we are The Glory,
You know that magazine?
We hold the future in safe hands
We are The Generation… and more is yet to come

Copyright © farah chamma | Year Posted 2008

Details | Rhyme | |

DaddyTold Me Song on CD

In life to get by, I really do try, very hard to live by,
the old fashioned ways, of how my daddy lived his days,
He often told me not to lie, and when he caught me, it made me cry,
and I still remember him say, son you'll be ok, tomorrow's another day,

Then daddy told me about the war, the first time he wrecked a car,
and of how it made him cry, when some of his friends died,
Then we looked up in the sky, and the whole world felt like ours,
staring high up in  the sky, I just wished that we could fly,

Being young, I asked dad...why?...why do people have to die?
Then I heard him sigh....and oh my oh my,
and he looked me in the eye,
as I yearned for his reply:

Son, people are dying without....and dying within,
with no way out.....hunger starves a friend...
Death is much about, bloody wars that never end...
The whole world, no doubt, suffers from serious sin,

Then we looked high up in the sky, suddenly a shooting star went by,
and the whole world felt like ours, as daddy told me about the stars,
Then I listened to him say, son...tomorrow and everyday...
let nothing stand in your way, and you'll succeed in life....OK.

Copyright © Lawrence Ingle | Year Posted 2008

Details | Lyric | |

Fools and Mules

A fool was crowned
And now we`re bound
To serve and please
On hands and knees,
To hate and smile
Each day and mile,
We feel defeat
And kiss his feet.

The foolish kings
Cut off our wings.
Their poisoned knife-
Our foolish life.
And faith`s refuse
Won`t save our muse,
When banned to fly,
She`ll fall and die.

Still time will flow-
Kings come and go.
But teams of mules,
That choose the fools
To be ahead
Alive and dead,
Won`t change a bit
The fate they meet.

They`ll choke on pride,
They`ll run and hide
And in their shells
Pity themselves,
That life was cruel
To have set the rule-
“Do as you`re told,
Silence is gold.”

We pay the price
To hide our vice:
The coward `s role-
To lie and crawl.
And hope someday
Things`ll come our way,
We`ll find the might
To rise and fight.

Copyright © Marina A | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |


Have you ever thought about the Death of Christ?
Why did they crucify him?
If you read the story then you know
But what I ask is why didn't God stop them?
It's natural to protect our own
How could he let him be sacrificed?
For the good of all man I've been told
God sacrificed his only son for us
But what does he ask in return? What does he want?
Are we supposed to try and emulate him?
I wish to know
I don't understand his decision
To not help his only son, I couldn't do that
But I do know that is why we are not gods
Do people who give their lives for others emulate God?
When a solider dies for our country is he dying for us?
Or freedom? or both?
Are the parents godlike in their sacrifice of their children?
Like Christ when he sacrificed his only son
Or is it more than that?
Is patriotism just a mindset to get people to fight?
When one country is mad at another
It's the leaders who argue not the countries
Why can't the leaders fight and leave us alone?
Do leaders send their own children to fight and die?
Why should I send my children to fight and die for you?
Are you a God? Do you have my interests at heart? Or yours?
You say it is in the name of freedom, but whose freedom?
We have never been free
You send me to fight, kill, and die
And yet you say I am free, free to do what?
Free to murder those you want dead?
Free to send my children to their death for you?
Who are you again? Are you a God?
I fight for God not you
My children are not targets or murderers
And now you demand my children to be your shield
Who are you again? Never mind
I know who you are it's very plain to see
You are not a god you are a coward
You are evil and you are trying to destroy us
You are lying to all of us just as you always have
You speak of freedom
As you try to blind us with patriotism
And silence us with duty and honor, Meaningless!
From one who knows nothing of their meaning
I wonder what God would say to you
Knowing who and what you are
Would he forgive you?
Would he understand your deception? Would he?
I could not forgive you, this is why I am not a god
I can't forgive, I am vengeful, I would punish you
Without mercy
For allowing this deception of youth to continue
Maybe you believe your right but I can't believe that
You know what your doing is wrong yet you continue
One day you will pay, as we all will 
We are all guilty to some degree
But most of all we are guilty of sacrificing our children to you 
Who are you again? never mind
I just remembered, your the devil

Copyright © Eric Nolan | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Deaf and Gone

I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...

       Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed, 
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised. 
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate?  If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us. 
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow. 
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you. 
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep 

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry | |


This's the world of dreams  and 
Where I think ev'ry that reels,
After a thousands times,
would as same beliefs things 
besought me,
Is it a mere dream? 

Copyright © kelechi Emeaba | Year Posted 2010

Details | Heroic Couplets | |

Saint Blackheart

Saint Blackheart walks the Autumn streets and smiles with diamond eyes;
   She's well-aware of what you think, but listens to your lies.
Confess your deepest fantasies or never look her way --
   She's free with random kindness, though she won't have much to say.

Saint Blackheart seeks the shadows for the secrets they impart.
   Her life's a patchwork puzzle made with jagged shards of art --
Impressionistic paintings on a canvas dipped in red;
   She dances like a demon for the angels in her head.

Saint Blackheart loves the twilight and the elemental rain;
   She'll stand and watch you suffer, yet she senses all your pain.
A soft, Franciscan echo making up a primal scream
   Can hurtle from her crimson lips and dart from dream to dream.

Saint Blackheart lives in solitude among the ancient trees --
   You'll find her there within the mist, but never on her knees.
Her hands will offer nothing which is not her own to give;
   And though you wish to die in peace, she may just let you live.

Saint Blackheart will not weep with you or wipe away your tears,
   Yet she may catch their crystal hue and treasure it for years.
She'll lay a little flower on a long-forgotten grave --
   A tribute to the tortured soul she never tried to save.

Copyright © M. Teresa Blaylock | Year Posted 2007

Details | Dizain | |

A Woman's Only Friend

Middle-aged woman puffs a cigarette right outside the grocery store entrance. Her dark eyes fall from mine while beads of sweat trench above furrowed brow. “Spare a few cents?” she asks under her breath. My muscles tense. Annoyed, I shake my head; no words are spoken. I toss a coin in her pail. Still smoking, She gestures with a nod. The hazy air hangs, weighted with her stench. As stone eyes glare, my son begins to cough nearly choking. Hard days have come to my family; life has knocked us down. Humiliated, I beg to survive, you see; even through strife, we had love but no home. So forgive my intrusion today as you hurry by. It’s a nasty habit. You don’t approve. My kids are gone; last week, the state removed them. Now, this smoke seems like my only friend. God took my spouse last year. I can’t pretend life’s good. Forgive me. I, too, disapprove. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, July 27, 2012 for You Don't Understand Contest (Cyndi MacMillan)

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2012