Jerusalem, in the white of night,
with all the ages steeped upon your shoulders,
and the tombs of fading kings;
history has been unkind to thee,
and the desert sea laden with endless enemies ----
thou shooting star who shawn too bright! ----
how wan the dying rose with Mecca roaring in the wind!
how it whispers a new witchcraft....
A new shackle the zealots bring, on hallowed ground....
where angels fear to tread, lest they spill blood,
like the lot of man, the rockets shall bring peace, they say!
and from the east the Palestian, crushed like grapes in a winepress,
betwixt Hebrew and madmen;
'O Jerusalem, how the Lillie's lilt in thy wan shadow,
how the purge of men shudders to hear your final breath....
no sun shines on thee like a risen Christ;
no banner he bears but love,
no weapon formed but wisdom to silence paranoia;
lay down your swords, and he shall rebuild thee in three days
you old arrid hero,
who needs but the nectar of peace to heal thy ancient bones,
an old name whispers on the wind.....
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2016
only survivors understand.
others cannot seem to comprehend
your feelings of anger
for yourself and for the antagonist.
your entire body quivers with fear as the flashbacks slither their way into your thoughts.
you shut your eyes,
but that only allows the darkness to seep into your soul.
you don't feel like the protagonist in the novel;
you feel like the fool.
embarrassment creeps in like the assaulter in the night,
taking your most preserved gift,
the one thing your tender body had full control over.
the attack leaves you scared.
scared of your own body.
scared to open up to another.
scared to trust.
scared of lust.
but trust me, darling.
you aren't the only one.
there are other survivors out there
who are just like you.
unique in the circumstance,
same in the result.
you may feel alone,
but you're not.
I'm here to tell you that the anxiety gets better.
the attacker's eyes will start to fade from your memory and you will start to allow yourself the comfort of another person.
you will start to open up and to trust
and you will no longer be afraid of your own body.
the wounds will form into scars.
you will never be the same person again,
but you will be created anew.
you will find that the hardest person to forgive isn't the rapist.
but the agony lies within you.
do not let the awful action of another hold you hostage any longer.
forgive yourself and you will free your soul.
Copyright © Maura Webb | Year Posted 2015
Why is my skin color different?
Did God make me this way?
When he made me, did he have
intentions on me being a slave?
And I thought we were all brothers,
including all the ones of different colors.
But why are they beating and hurting the others.
Someone save me, I didn't choose this life.
These scars, they've carved me with the sharpest
All I have is my faith.
Because if I'd held on to anything else
it'd be theres to take.
What is it that I ask for?
Equality, I preach.
Something small to you,
but makes a difference
Whipping, spitting, hitting on me.
Raping our women in your wife's sheets.
Taking our children and turning them into workers.
No sense of empathy, grief or composer.
For the brotha' on my left and my sista' on the right,
with the courage that I hold I will continue to fight.
You have taken away my freedom, and most of my life.
But what you have failed to obtain is my state of mind.
Go ahead work my body, and do all that you please.
This is just a shell anyway, it's not coming with me.
You spit, you laugh, thinking you gained the world.
You think you have power because you've raped a young girl.
Stand tall sir with all of that pride.
And go ahead and hold it until the day that you die.
But your day will come when you'll fall to your knees.
Feeling the burn on your body from the whips you've given me.
"The LORD is my shelter,"
I continue to say.
While my soul goes up as God takes me away.
I wish you peace with smile on my face,
knowing that God teaches the fullness of grace.
Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014
When I was called little brother,
It meant I have an elder sibling.
One from whom I could learn,
Between Light and Dark.
What about the Grey?
Only a few would about the grey;
Would even begin to aspire,
Is grey the divider?
What is a divider?
In essence a carrier,
Of both dark and Light;
Having both thane sight!
The grey is never contrite,
It does and will do on sight!!!
Come with your purported might!
Unseen seen chaos,
These are my instruments,
Will be eaten as sacrements.
For continual human growth within,
Mistakes rectified by the elder or role model;
Taught the current crop must be,
Lessons are as seeds;;;
Planted into our mother,
Blending with Earth, Water and Sun,
The seed transmutes and soon the seed has had its fun,
A plant is now the end product.
We humans are also ever transforming,
Perhaps not as apparent as natural beauty forming,
But what is natural beauty?
What is beauty?
Random randominity is beauty natural,
Random beauty is natural randominity,
Natural randominity is random beauty,
Beautiful randominity randoms naturally,
Not an over-spill,
Understanding and comprehension,
The trick however is to pass on that understanding and comprehension.
But how do you do that?
When most of the generation is tuned to the Playstation!
Violent games evocating the continuation
Of our disgusting violent nation.
Perhaps attempt to not scold or tell;
Allow thane actions to speak wonders,
As an undiscovered well.
Keep the resonance of thane bell,
Perhaps another revolutionary,
Your prodige has to be selectant,
Of his student, his confectionary.
Without this passing down of knowledge,
We all might as well eat the most poisonous berry.
Copyright © Chad Greef | Year Posted 2013
Once upon a nightime grim
all creatures of Earth dreamed
our Mother was not enough for everyone,
This collective nightmare thunderously rolled out
Earth is insufficient for our needs!
We live in Closed Systems of immunity,
heading toward decay!
EarthTribe is not enough to sustain all this life!
I am not enough, yet!
I do not have enough, yet!
When someone grabs from me
they steal from my self-identity!
When someone strikes and hits to hurt,
is mean to those I care about,
I hit back!
with self-righteous flashing anger,
equity and integrity mere feckless values.
They must learn my right
or I may perish from their wrong!
With such dark dreams
our primal twins,
Yang and Yin,
thrashed about in tangled sheets
each unaware of Other's parallel flight
within this blue-black brackish night,
til Yang whacked Yin upside the head
completely unaware of how this would unfold.
So Yin hit back in fright
and soon this ruckus raised a violent alarm
among their household, neighbors, Tribe.
This outrage spread
sweeping across land and oceans
then back again to where it all began
until exhausted and dark bruised
all earthbound life fell down unconscious.
Within this loss of self-defense,
our open-handed peaceful nest,
dawn quietly crept toward abundant light
for all to feel and hear and touch
her sobbing singing warming beauty.
Scent of sun-baked cotton sheets
invites Yin's eyes to uncover sight
of radiant light
abundantly growing nutrient wealth,
a yeasty compost sustaining interweaving life,
incarnating karmic response
to each species' evolving wants
and worthy hope.
As her awareness of Earth's vast creation
lit her eyes of self-discovery
dawn's diastasis filled hearts and minds
of all coincidental early risers.
We woke uncovered to discover immensity of life
and color swarming far beyond our needs,
nutrients absorbed for taste, and touch, and scent, and sound,
and sight, freely accessed to fit each synchronic need,
each longing to belong,
each Self fading into and out of Other,
sufficient place for each species' time and space.
Last night's primal screams of insufficiency replaced
by dawn's ecology of karmic grace.
Yang woke alarmed at loss of cover.
His arms flew out to hide his fall
from dawn's radical gift of generosity
and harmonic praxis.
And, in so doing, he hit Yin's head.
This blow did smart
but seeded tears of redeemer healing.
Yin justly smiled and absorbed around
reminding Yang she is his graceful mentor
interpreting his dreams.
She sang with harmony
swallowing unredeemed dissonance and disease,
hope for suffering and insanity's dark lessons,
dawn's well-lit vocation for us all
softly individuating within Earth's optimizing life,
all brittle boundaries of mutual immunity
relaxing into resonance.
In this Transition Time from dark competing violence,
we remain cooperatively nested within Earth's well-being,
so, dear Yang,
return toward redemptive rest,
regenerating memory seeds,
stringing songs dancing back,
back to stardust's Ecologic Elders.
Fear and violence display synaptically sharp;
competitive "Loser!" economies;
love's just peace remains buoyant, resilient,
cooperation's mutual winner revolution
away from red skies of mourning.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
Violence in quest for
justice is virtuous but
in pursuit of vengeance
Copyright © Haile Tesfaye | Year Posted 2015
Your words are like stones
Whether skipped or thrown
They fly alone
Bruising and breaking deeper than bones
Yet pain from these stones will never be shown.
Whether near or far
She'll faithfully wait
Till the unknown date
When those stones are kind and lost of hate
You make mistakes
Yes she can relate
But what if the pain becomes to great
Whe the kindness comes too late
Such small pieces of her heart
whats left to make
She gave to much
Now there's none to take
Just one everlasting ache
That your stones did create
They say you can never retake
A women's heart once it breaks
So next time withhold the quake
Your stones with take
And keep this lesson
As a dear keepsake.
<3 Kalee Lynn
Copyright © Kalee Robertson | Year Posted 2013
I wake up with another tear
for I have again, relived the nightmare
will it ever leave me with any way to see
when will I again be able to see my family
the past is forgiven
so why is it still living
my heart was so broken
but soon after it was frozen
let it lie and the past die
for I have a life to live with
but the past is still being relived
how do I stop this past of torture
so I can find my new future
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
I'm not sure how youre going to lead your people to salvation
gang bangers holding the bag, perpetrating violence
i can't help what i think about that predicament
blackmailed, or all rap artists truly do like being the figure heads
of community terrorism
fighting for their rights throughout history
just to throw it all away
raised to believe they were the only ones whose legacy is a nightmare
but they make money rubbing their guns and drugs in our face
selling other people to blackmarkets for slavery
to make more chemicals
I truly hope you take this opportunity to lead your people in the right direction
to truly be able to find themselves
i'm only one person on the outside looking in
i just truly dont believe all those money making rap artists
truly desire to continue the cycle of violence
i myself believe some sick racist paid them to throw themselves away
Drugs and guns
\kids killing kids
something has to be done
and why your people are the ones representing this
I truly believe another black man can encourage his fellows of skin
to see the bright side, work on solving the problem from now on instead of making it worse
I can't handle much more of this
seeing people fight for their rights
and lose to themselves again
being part of the solution of the problems they are soo upset about
is more understandable than being paid to be the front lines of genocide
and continue the never ending cycle of hate and confusion
I'm not fooled by what has happened to them, and what is
but change is inevitable, solving their own problems they probably were entrapped with
War crimes on both sides
the black and white
minds cornered by previous experiences just want to end this nightmare
or maybe i'm wrong
maybe the racists over there are right
maybe they didnt see how someone made them think one thing
and used violence to enforce actions cornering the hate again
in the end war crimes on both sides
i just urge you to find a solution to this
i myself am tired of the psychological fight of a futile civil war
engulfing both sides of the unfortunate paradox
its harder than you realise to see through it
its harder not to get wrapped up in my own emotions of the past that was and the present
Manipulative people brainwashed the innocent
and then used violence against your people to prove that they are justified
its a sick game obama
its disgusting and the streets of your own society need a solution to a dirty trick
Copyright © Troy Jeremy Nelson | Year Posted 2010
Sometimes, buddhists attack muslims with trivial provocation!
Thus both sides are led into ethnic tension!
But if anomalies are resolved,not much sectarian violence
will be perpetrated!
Copyright © chipepo lwele | Year Posted 2013
You think you’ve gone just far enough,
I could smile knowing you’ve gone far enough that you can’t go back again
You think you were careful but,
I’ve caught a glimpse of your true, wretched form
You think you can find a way into my good graces
I’ve seen what you are, monsters with a friendly costume
You can’t deceive me anymore and, I don’t consort with serpents
You think I’m a game to be played but, trust me, you could never win
Don’t underestimate me
You think I’m a joke but, trust me you won’t be laughing
You think I’m just talking myself up but, trust me, you’re the ones going down
My eyes took too long to adjust
Better late than never
It may take a monster to know one but, I promise my teeth are sharper than yours
My first reaction to the hideous revelation that was your form was to weep
Fall to my knees, maybe even wretch my heart from my chest and onto the carpet
Then I thought about the mess it would make
I decided the only blood that will spill, will be your own
I was not weak, but I had a weakness
A heart of soft gold stitched to my sleeve with care
Now my heart is a stone so heavy
I could kill at least two birds at once
Being the nice guy is a thing of the past
Thanks for freeing me of that softness
You thought I was all sunshine and delicate things
When really I had just been swallowing razor blades
Now that sun is setting and I hope you see it was you who were wrong
Can you feel my darkness coming, because it’s eager to hold you
If you thought I was the one who would just stand still or turn to run
Your gonna be the one with tired feet
I’m not sad anymore
Just sick with the plague of your lies
Contagious, and I’m looking for someone to kiss
Even angels can make themselves wicked
When we do, we take no prisoners
Still think I’m a game
This one is just beginning
Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
*A assignment was due in class. *
Every time a gun shoots
A tree looses its roots
Every time there is bloodshed
Along with it millions of tears are shed
Every time a heart is stabbed
Someone else’s life gets barren
As violence grows
Many more mothers moan
The sounds of destruction
Overpowers the voice of those
Who are innocent
Who suffer with no reason
Who beg for life
Who have heart full of innocence
Why do so much violence?
That the child’s cry cannot be heard
When his father is killed
Why do so much violence?
That a mother moans
Over her child’s dead remains
Why do so much violence
For winning any stupid battle
Which is taking lives
Of people who have wives
And mothers and children
When you can keep calm
Talk things out
Do whatever you can
To keep violence out
Because there is no sin as big as
Copyright © donna lu | Year Posted 2013
Why don’t you love me?
The small brown eyed girl asked her father as he beat her at night,
then with a smile in the morning he’d scoop her up in his arms to play.
Why don’t you love me?
The bigger brown eyed girl asked her father as he walked out and
never came back.
Why don’t you love me?
The young brown eyed girl asked her boyfriend of two years,
As he walked out the same door her father did eight years before.
Never to return.
Why didn’t you love me?
The older brown eyed girl asked her father at his funeral.
As she leaned over the edge of his casket and kissed him gently on the forehead,
Tears running down her cheeks.
Why couldn’t you love me?
The oldest brown eyed girl asked as she lays Jasmine’s and roses
On her father’s grave.
Only a row down from her old boyfriend’s,
With love that never dies.
And her question is answered in the wind,
As the answer is whispered in her heart.
How could you love me?
If you couldn’t love yourself?
Copyright © Jazmine Russell | Year Posted 2013
I forgave you once, for your behavior
I forgave you twice, for your actions
all the while you're stabbing my heart with a butcher knife
with Every Strike!
I take a bow
Lord, let me live somehow!
I promise, I'll leave him tomorrow!
I beg and I plead for my life
As my nose bleeds blood onto the floor
You strike me again and call me a whore!
I can't take it, I gasp for breath as you try to
Choke me to death
Something breaks the trance, a knock at the door
"Stay here you evil witch" you whisper as you fling my head to the side
I moan, and I cry, wonder~how could I end up with this type of guy
I shudder when I hear the door slam shut
cuz I know you'll only be nice for a while,
you'll walk around with that pretty smile,
You'll give me hugs, kisses, cuddles and great sex
You'll cook for me, clean the house, take me out
Everyday you're ripping my stitches out
because I forgive you time and time again
And your actions Never Change
You're not a nice man.
And you don't deserve me at my best or at my worst.
You don't deserve my forgiveness;
so you're getting my curse
2-18-15 for Forgiveness Poetry Contest.
Copyright © Butterfly Mantra | Year Posted 2015
Like a fiery vengeance
Grasped in open hand
Cuts the loathed foe
Stains your own land
Hate surges like flood
Shatters the weak soul
Spilling the divine blood
Of both sides involved
Anger drives men crazy
Like a tropical storm
Loss are assessed lately
When started to mourn
Forgiveness is not easy
And not for everyone
Don’t wait until query
What have I done?
Copyright © Jonathan Medida | Year Posted 2014
To whit to be caught between two brothers
and become the sport of many others
She kept her heart from loving true
but not from the damage passing through
Oh twice spent the beauties coin
did deliberate vengence to purloin
thought knowingly did enter door
in spite she cast them to the floor
Though twas for couple it's own collusion
the device and trap it's own illusion
the crimes waylaid doth carry to the grave
to curse ones soul as fearful and not brave
Twas the story carried in her mind
her face to others she wished were blind
and with ones sight to look upon her heart
to know in violence was her start
She thought those sins would ever last
or to shake the paths of her past
in her fears her heart down cast
she did not know to forgiveness ask
Unable to differentiate between love and need
or if womans desire was only greed
If man looks upon her with his smile
is he looking for love or just another trial
She asks those questions to this day
must there be violence to graveyard pay
for many men have forced their way
in their behavior did have no say
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Copyright © Poetryof Providence | Year Posted 2012
(Random stories Shared with me influenced this write)
Endless reaching I pick up the pieces
My Life lost in scattered seeds
One by one I pick them up
To rebuild another tree
I am the tree, my soul the seeds
I dropped them in places randomly
Throughout my unfortunate life
Where others stole a piece of me
I dropped a few when I was young
When my dad’s drinking had begun
He beaten and tortured beyond repair
Taking things I choose not to share
I dropped a few when I was a teenager
Living among people I considered a stranger
I looked for those who I recognized
But what I seen my eyes despised
I dropped a few when I was older
When my husband left and turned his shoulder
My life became harder with children involved
I witnessed their cries that seem to evolve
I dropped a few when I realized
That I can't live with secrets and lies
And faced my own demons and forgave
All who took a part of my life away
With endless reaching I pick up the pieces
My soul is scattered seeds
One by one I pick them up
Rebuilding another tree
One day my roots will be planted
Where I stand so sturdy and tall
I will not allow to be shaken
My seeds will never fall
Copyright © Sheri Lin Hayes | Year Posted 2014
100 years since that war and the mighty are dressed
in their fine uniforms and holding hollow speeches.
For some the strutting about is triumphalism, but we
cannot say so, but the British and French feel smug.
The rusty/ gold prince is there too and his underlings
have tearful eyes, he is so elegant and has tons of
self assurance. There are many other royals too but
the TV dwell mostly on the British nobles, this mainly
because they know how to wear a uniform with style.
This glorifying of war showing of the latest weaponry
buying and selling of deaths while we say things like:
“We must not forget.” Forget what! This pornography
of violence on our screen day and night, yet we must
not mention the reasons, money lent and money borrowed.
As for now a river of blood runs in Gaza.
Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2014