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Violence Beautiful Poems | Violence Poems About Beautiful

These Violence Beautiful poems are examples of Violence poems about Beautiful. These are the best examples of Violence Beautiful poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Elegy | |

Oh Syria

Reality is lost and I fear…
That someday…somewhere so near…
I will fall amongst the people so dear…
I fear…that I’ll just be another one…
Another one lost…

I wonder what the cost of my life is
not to get too political…
But I want to know what the cost of my life is
Is it money…is it land
I do not own any of them…I’m just a simple man

I remember…When I ran across your land…
I remember when I kissed my grandmother’s hands…
But you ripped my away from her…From my home
you ripped my away from my heart…you ripped me away from my soul

I feel helpless…I feel low…
It’s hard to play along when I know…I have no role
I have become a slave.
After all the love I gave.

When I look at my country…people I want to save
When I look around me…people I need to change
It seems like a hard thing to do…
when the range of people is way bigger than you

Freedom…oh how much I’ve heard that word
Freedom…oh how this idea has become absurd
when God gave us life…
He warned us only he can take our lives…

Oh Syria…my home
Oh Syria…my all
Oh Syria…what did they hurt you for?
Oh Syria…I’m here…I won’t let them hurt you anymore…
I am Proud to be your son…

Copyright © Zeki Madjid | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

The Strand

This expanse of land has seen things. 
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.

This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand. 

It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon. 

This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.

T.K

Copyright © Tyler Kisner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Red Beans

Changes in 3/4 time. 
Can't split a dime. 
But you can sure waltz out the door. 
Sound of your combat boots on the floor. 
I hear the door slam
flies be damned
he's off to Memphis 
head long down a pipe line
cutting cards and turning life loose
train stations and bus stations
take you north
to the Big Muddy
A catfish dream
and Mud Island 
I'll stay home with my disease
Watch it all on TV 
till he shows up at my door
bigger than life
but I got a gun
and I shoot him down
now I got my red beans cookin'
Yeah I got my red beans cookin'

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

Pane

Sheltered from the pain outside
The walls that hold us in
A pane of glass as a reminder
Of our very sins

Children crying in the streets
Waste washed away by rain
The homeless folk we never greet
Lying in silent pain

Land that's scarred by roads we've tarred
Ugly electric pylons
Steaming vents misting up
The door steps that we cry on

Starvation, violence, emotional abuse
Love for money with no excuse
Scraping skies with devilish horns
The ozone layer that we've torn

But far into the distance
The birds chirp in the trees
Beauty flows right down the river
For free, for no fee

Copyright © Jamie Spence | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

A Vision

To dream,
Such dreams.
Such pain foretold.
Women of old,
As fears unfold.
Burning, cracking, the earth splits apart.
Warning, oh warning of my poor breaking heart. 
Losing love as it fades into black,
Splitting the earth with fiery cracks.
The starless sky, filled with ash,
For magma bursts through a glowing red gash.
Such fear, unknown, what are you saying.
Please I need to know what the future doth hold, I’m begging, I’m praying.
Am I decaying?
Such dreams,
To dream.
No more, let me sleep.

Copyright © shawnee doling-tye | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry | |

they

              
I was inspired by the girls, "my girls"...
Survivors of domestic violence
that live at the shelter where I volunteer and
have been blessed with the title of "House Mom".
Please put them all in your prayers. For their
privacy, I will refer to the girls as "They"...


                  THEY

 They come to us, they're broken,
 Their eyes are filled with tears
 They've been told that they are "worthless",
 For far too many years!

 Their scars much deeper than just skin
 they've been stripped of their pride,
 they've been abused, they've been put down
 They feel no hope inside.

 They've fled the place that they called "home"
 The place the abuse occurred,
 the place where they were beaten down
 A place they were not heard.

 But now they've come to our front door
 To seek a place to stay,
 A place they can call home a while
 a place to help find their way.

 A way to new beginnings,
 A way to peace of mind
 a way to feel secure again
 and leave all the bad behind.

 We welcome them with open arms
 we dry the tears that fall
 we tell them just how beautiful
 they are to us all.

 As time goes by, we watch them grow
 we see them start to smile
 we see that sparkle in their eyes
 that hasn't been there for a while.

 We see them making brand new friends
 They've taken their lives back
 they move forward with the confidence
 that  they no longer lack.

 If they could see inside my heart
 when we say our "good-byes",
 I hope they know they're in my prayers
 a tear falls from my eyes.

 I pray they make good choices
 to help them reach their goals
 I pray that the Lord will guide and protect
 all their precious souls.

 So proud to see them making their way
 as finally a chance to be free
 I pray they take the tools they've learned
 and make life the best it can be!!

  




Copyright © shelly hurst | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Me, My Music, and My Gun

In the city late at night,
Just me, my music, and my gun.
A light drizzle through the haze,
Orange light posts shine along the street,
Illuminating millions of droplets in the halos.
Hard cruel and dangerous
But beautiful too.
I walk the city late at night,
Just me, my music, and my gun.

Copyright © Dean Marais | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Lust

The lust in his eyes
was no surprise
I was beautiful
I only wish
I wasn't his to hold
Another girl 
could fulfill
his lustful intentions
or better yet report him
only rape culture
deems fault 
ours not his

Copyright © Sarah Hall-Matson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

BEAUTIFUL U S NOT

Beautiful U....S not!
The source of troubles,
It is your fault..                                 
One Bush comes, 
Another one had to go,
But U...will always 
Remain a foe,
Bill!..[Some say], 
Not Bill of rights,
Here he comes.. 
The Caucasoid,
The supreme white,
Here, he comes [some say],
To finish the digging.. 
In Iraq north...south, wreak!
In Somalia, ohhhhh...
A mission of black gold, a mission of Hope,
In Somalia, ohhhh...
A mission of human aid when a need be!
A mission of handful semolina,
A tin of a fainted corned beef,
And a bit of Uncle Sam's dope,
A son of a rope..[Some say],
But Bosnia is not 
Is out of sight,
Where are you bloody humans,
Worthy or not.. Of the name, 
Where are you coward Muslims?
Source of disgrace, 
Scandals.. 
And shame..
Where is your manhood?
Where is your womanhood?? 
Where is your pride to stand and fight?
The barbarians...
Who crash babies' skulls, mutilate,
And deflower virgin teens and take sight,
Of blue eyed young Slavs,
By day and night,
It is wrong [some say], 
Nay, it is right
To stand there hoping,
Wishing without reaching..
Praying to almight..
Why don't you sacrifice the dear darling and fight?
And be one martyred soul and unite?

Copyright © Abder Derradji | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose | |

Rag Factory

This factory has the bales delivered. Bales of unwanted, disused, thrown about, torn up, ripped and antiquated clothes. Once loved but not now. Bales measured by tonnes. Bales needing the forklift. Bales delivered once a month.
This factory hauls these bales, one at a time, to the factory floor. On the floor they are ripped open and gutted, their blood of clothes oozing across the floor before the cutters. The cutters who take never ending handfuls of this gut to their trolley, to their cutting machine.
This factory slices arms off, rips legs open, carves neck lines off, zippers and buttons slashed away, never to see the pants again. The entire garment scored back to its crude original form. A form of square material. Square material with nothing of interest, unwearable.
And tossed into the empty waiting bag, Waiting to become 15kg of unwearable square slices of material.
This factory fills an empty bag to 15kg, hundreds of 15kg bags. These bags await the drive to a new owner. An owner who’ll love this square rag in a moment. Become intimate with this square in a moment. Sharing this square with oil, grease, dirt, mud, rust, stains and fuels. 
Once unloved and unused becomes unwearable to useful and one last spike of intimacy again before the inevitable oblivion takes the rag for the final joy ride.
The rag factory.

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

The Mourning Doves

Dedicated to my grandpa.




As I look to the sky
My eyes lay upon the glistening moon
Hearing the distant cry
For the battle will here soon.

The soft, sweet breeze
Flowing toward the West
Does not settle or ease
The pain filling my chest.

My life has been taken over by fear
And my memories are now only distant dreams
For tonight I will shed my last tear
Overcome by Satan’s evil screams

Will I escape this living Hell
Or will I perish for my country
For if tonight is my last farewell
I hope I do not leave bluntly.

I wish this could all change
As I watch the trees sway back and forth
Though all we pay attention to the rifle range
And how stealthily we push North.

What we need is not only love
Not only trust 
Not the wake up calls of the mourning doves
Or the evening gust. 

What we need is something simple
Something easy to grant
Something beyond any starts twinkle
But smaller than any plant.

For this divine gift
Is not an enemy cease
But the pain lift
Of the great and mighty peace. 

Copyright © Brian Byrne | Year Posted 2015