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Death Freedom Poems | Death Poems About Freedom

These Death Freedom poems are examples of Death poems about Freedom. These are the best examples of Death Freedom poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Indian Ink

“Indian Accent”

Hear the whispers inside

Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow

A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices falling from the sky
Rising hymns release ancient demons that cling to the soul

The darkness dwells under gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World,
Exposing Indian hands that weave native smoke into the air
Their spirits taunting burrows from the muddy Earth
Moccasin makers rise from underneath
Guardians of dream catchers
Smooth thread from the outer edge, bowing heads.
Luminous gems of ivory,
Chasing a florid kiss.

Through the winds of enchanted drums, voices cry out for rain.
The hollow chimes mesmerize  
An ancient rage begins to flare
Stale madness, 
The spears of the perfumed buffalo skin pierced my senses
Removing the veils that cover my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Washing the scalp that bleeds on my face
They collect tears from memories of the past.

KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!

Raven silk braids, feathers fall from my hair.
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly.

I AM A BIRD!

By; PD


Details | Couplet | |

Freedom

In solitude I dream tonight
And watch a moth in fevered flight.

It’s drawn toward my quaint porch light
And flies consumed with all its might.

Through open window I can see
Its desperation shared with me;

How freedom in this world is light—
And we as souls are drawn to fight.

Though freedom’s light may cause our death,
It’s worth the risk with every breath.

I understand the moth’s sad plight
When drawn to the glorious light.

Though it knows not of human trust,
It buzzes on because it must!




Details | Lyric | |

A Butterfly Inside --The Butterfly Flutters By

I feel a butterfly inside;
Its wings are cramped within my breast.
The weight of flesh, o dull cocoon,
Prohibits my free flight. At best
I only soar inside; my wings--
Gossamer, light, remain untried.
I wait...I wait...until the day
The barred' cage is flung aside
And airy wings lift toward the skies.

I have felt this graceful creature 
Flutter faintly deep inside;
Then, at times, so ardently,
I think no way will it abide!
It will be loosed! Its wish to fly
Will push the bars of flesh aside.
Determined is this butterfly 
To show its colors multiplied
And wing its way through azure skies.

The time is drawing near, I'm sure;
The throbbing swells within my heart.
The cumbrous cocoon, filled with life,
Is bursting now, falling apart.
The butterfly is breaking free;
No more its wings will tightly furl,
But lightly spread upon the breeze 
Their filmy webs, gilded and pearled...
The butterfly flutters by the world...


Details | Rhyme | |

The Undyings' Curse

Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn


Details | Rhyme | |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found


Details | Narrative | |

JE SUIS CHARLIE -- Afterthought

JE SUIS CHARLIE — Afterthought

The shock of this most frightening tragedy is practically beyond 
the pale of any reasonable or adequate attempt or effort to explain
it or to rationalize the horrible circumstances surrounding it.

Let me just say that all of us who are writers and poets ply our
poetry, “our intellectual wares,” if you will, in a common written
medium that expects the same unrestricted level of freedom of
speech and expression exercised by those extraordinarily brave
artists at “Charlie Hebdo” who were recently murdered in cold
blood by self-styled Islamic extremists in Paris. 

It is also equally saddening and deplorable that some courageous 
police officers died in the line of duty defending these freedoms 
as well as some other security people and hostages caught up in 
the midst of these most terrifying circumstances. 

The heinous actions perpetrated by these armed extremists
destroyed innocent lives and affected the lives of a number of
loved ones whose burden of sadness and tragedy is unimaginable. 
Their actions also were an attempt to strike at the very heart of 
those sacred freedoms that all of us who live in open societies and
democracies cherish as part of our everyday lives. The armed 
extremists, by their actions, also personified and demonstrated an
obvious affectation for barbarity, stupidity, ignorance, and cowardice 
that were all on ample display as a result of what they did.

Freedom of speech and expression are among those certain
historic inalienable rights given to all of us by the divine hand of
God himself, and certainly not by the generosity of any government 
or religious group (regardless of faith). The brave souls who died
at Charlie Hebdo, died exercising this most sacred franchise.

The point I’m driving at is this: Those extremists who committed
these most reprehensible actions of recent against their fellow man 
did not win in spite of their collective efforts to destroy lives and to 
sully these precious freedoms that all of us as writers and artists 
hold so very dear.

The outpouring of emotion and sadness in support of these slain
heroes in the face of this most despicable crime is quite compelling, 
and underlies the continuing determination of all of us who love
and cherish the freedoms of speech and expression to continue to
speak out and to exercise these sacred rights without reservation.

With all of this in mind, I humbly and proudly conclude my narrative 
to all of you here by saying and echoing as loudly as possible:
“Je Suis Charlie” . . . “I am Charlie.”

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (January 10, 2015)
(Narrative)


Details | Free verse | |

The Red Babushka

Nineteen twenty-four and the wind was cold,
When men in uniform entered our town;
Forced us to leave in their boxcars,
Made us believe that it was for our own safety.

With no time to fix our things
We hurriedly got in the box.
And when everyone was in,
The doors were locked.

The place was hell
For not even a whisper of wind 
Could enter the place,
Nor could a light shine through its walls.

Our eyes were dry and lips cracked
Plead for just a single drop;
As four nights and days we travelled
Inside the cars with no food or water.

The box unimaginable in its very state,
For dung and human liquid fragranced the place.
Weak-hearted both young and old struggled to live
Even the strong wished not to survive.

And on the fourth day, the box went to a halt!
Survivors were singing songs to God;
“Please end this tormented journey,
And deliver us home safely.”
Light shone as the heavy doors were opened!
We dropped to our knees
Hoping the place was Paradise
But Paradise was it not for we were in Hell. 

Ironically, the gate held words
Like that as ‘Beware of the Dog.’
Written in frostbitten wood saying:
“ARBEIT MACHT FREI.”

My mind was puzzled upon seeing those,
How could labor set you free,
When labor here meant
Dying in force and agony.

Schnell! 
Jew, work or die!
Schnell!
Jew, never complain and lie!

Those were the words 
That became music in our ears,
As we bent our bones
Working for freedom that is bound.

Schnell!
Jew, form your lines!
Schnell!
Jew, the choosing has come!

And in this place we call Hell,
An Angel waits for preys.
Not to feed to its cherubim
But to the ovens decay.

Schnell!
Jew, old and sick!
Schnell!
Jew, to the ovens burn!

As the sun paints the sky red,
A gray smoke danced with the setting clouds,
And in the heavens, the old and sick smile
Grateful to be forever free from the Angel.

On and on, the days passed by
Not faster but years it seem.
Millions were killed by the monsters of time,
Feeding them to the hungry gas ovens.

Then one even night,
I dreamt of food, of home,
Of freedom and safety
And a voice calling me to follow.

I had no choice but to obey,
For in that moment I was already tired,
Sick and losing hope that once was mine
But seem to be forever lost. 

On the 16th of March,
I lied still in my shelf.
I slept forever smiling,
With my red babushka in hand.

But disappointed and angry was I
To share the very day of my death
To the birth of the Malach-ha-mavis:
The Angel of Death.


Details | Haiku | |

How Fast it Dries

the jaguar's tear
slides off his single whisker
clouds do sigh

three offspring
dragged into the river's teeth
one remains

they both stretch
the moment of sorrow lost
life leaps on


Details | Free verse | |

Dementia

He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died, 
he has not been the same.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain, 
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best, 
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows 
what happens next.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia


Details | Free verse | |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 


Details | Terzanelle | |

An Epic Battle With A Simple Question

A beautiful heart pines from afar. To parallel freedom, we choose our master. In Love, the Dragon and Unicorn are! Celestial winged heart beats faster, Over mountain and ocean meet polar eyes. To parallel freedom, we choose our master. Embarking from sun brewed and moonshine skies Two alien races, in war, collide. Over mountain and ocean meet polar eyes. All brothers' swords raise, marching with pride. Sisters of heaven let feathers fly. Two alien races, in war, collide. The angered clouds rain blood from the sky. A new path finally found. Sisters of heaven let feathers fly. Brothers' swords low now to the ground. A beautiful heart pines from afar. A new path finally found. In Love, the Dragon and Unicorn are! In universe Out bound energy Where are we when we die?


Details | Ballad | |

A House On the Cliff's Edge

There is a house on the cliff’s edge,
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
At night, the tide lifts high against a foggy moon
In the morning, gloomy clouds settle with the sea
At times, not even the birds are seen or heard
The house is left to nature’s caress

Home-crafted seashell chimes sway and sing with the wind
Crushed sand dollars lie together on the back porch
The shells were once whole, collected by the former owners
Long gone are they now, smiling with the moon
The owners are the very sound of the ocean spray,
Striking the rocks, announcing the cool dawn of day
They are not the dark, empty rooms,
The rooms that nobody thinks of as they go about their lives
The quiet owners are long gone—thought of only by one
A stillborn legacy about as tiresome as the sun,
When the clouds crisp out its beams . . .

A seawater puddle is in the middle of the dining room
Nobody knows it sits there, sinking in the floorboards
It used to be a far larger puddle after a storm,
Stealthily leaking into the house
But now it is small—so small—and the boards are moist,
Moist with its only companion amongst the instilled silence

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
They were not much for socials and gatherings
They always lived their quiet, happy lives
Without a care of the outside world,
Far from anybody’s thought
Miles from the nearest home
Where the next generation comfortably lives 

He never finished fixing that leak . . .

Sometimes the puddle gets bigger after other storms
And when it does, there is almost life there again
You can see the chandelier reflected on the unperturbed water
As a crystal dangles and falls from on high
The dark silence following the drop is as deep as thought . . .

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
There is merely a house on the cliff’s edge
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline

-March 21, 2013-


Details | Quatrain | |

Echo

Many voices from the past,
Always echoing in my head,
How long can it last,
I thought you were dead.

You always tell me what to do,
So I don't make a mistake,
Somehow you always knew,
How many I could make.

Because once I hurt you,
And you'll never let me forget,
But what can I do,
You're not quite dead yet.

Why won't you leave me alone,
Will you never forgive me,
I wish I could atone,
Please, just let me be.

The hollow echo of your voice,
Will linger on forever,
You've given me no choice,
It'll never stop, ever.

The sound of you used to make me smile,
But now it tortures me,
I will always be in denial,
So an end I'll never see.




Details | Free verse | |

THE OLD WEST

Lord what I'd give to go back in time.
Meet historical legends Wyatt Earp,
 Or Jessie James, let them leap off 
The written page, and live again.
Rough riders, shooting the colt 45,
Learning swiftness by the draw.
Badges brethren, gather up,
The madman’s posse,
Gun powders equalizers,
 In there bloody hands.
Wanted men, flee to,
 Parts unknown,
Horse thieves, and 
Cattle rustlers,
Trying to evade the long,
 Arm of the law.
 Fate decides whom lives,
 And dies.
It makes no difference,
 Innocent or guilty.
After all it is life’s truest rule,
An eye for an eye, blood shed,
To give the devil his vengeance,
Behold survival of fittest,
Heavens gates, are made from,
Twisted metal.
The hangman's tree stands ready,
Hollow nooses swing in,
 Destiny’s winds,
To bid found ado unto evil men.
Strong limbs bare heavy weight,
A scaled balance of ropes,
 Tenuous strength.
Blind lady liberty turns,
 Her gaze away.
At histories hesitation towards,
Real justice's justification.
Hard men ride ahead, 
Leaving behind
Legends tin stars, 
Amongst trail dust,
Remnants.
Behold the old west breath's,
 Again,
Between books binding,  
And words harsh black ink.
Hardened steel vs. freedoms,
 Expansion.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Prose | |

HEART OF STONE

A time may come, when heart, which is said to be a soft piece of flesh, turns to a stone. A stone beating in your chest doesn’t just free one but opens a shell with magnanimous appealing for solidarity from world. While a smile is wore on the pale face and sound of giggles made back and forth, loud enough, the sound is most relatable to a laughter, but , void of life and energy. In short the sinking holes under eyes which must had ‘v some time given way to a river and the crow lines, gaping emptiness of soul inside this rusting body explicitly trying to define itself in that lifeless forced laughter, but see, a smile and a puff of powder hides everything and frees the mind from the uncomfortable conversations one always want to avoid. So then, smile and wave, sit with a stone in your chest, and be very content with it, because a stone doesn’t feel, nor does it break. Here it is then, free from the conventionality and space in which you breathe, which pledges your personality though the luxuries and beauty on name of blessings, still be grateful on them and fly off from all the possible uncertainties, raging inner self. Then with time, slowly, this nourishment of terror leaves, but with a gift, a heart of stone.                       HN


Details | Rhyme | |

A Belfast Story

Come hold my hand and tell me lies
Infuse the hate and woe betide
Tooth for a tooth, pluck out their eyes
A soldiers duties exercised
Let's kill the child, from the inside
 
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight
 
Not for the strong, to sit upon the fence
Let's take the hate and killing to their door
Self righteousness screams out in our defence
Christ knows it's hard to take this anymore
 
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight


Details | I do not know? | |

Freedom from the Wall

Clouds unite
they end all fight
darkness prevails
the bride with no veil
to see with no eyes
why do we despise
as the world does turn
our minds they do churn
thinking too much
my mind loses clutch
and the wall does grow
so high i cannot throw
my words at your mind
they fall short then behind
frustration sets in
as the sun goes to fin
the darkness will win
not i as this is my sin
i will glance with no stare
find the pain that is there
and the wind will be fair
as it carries my prayer
one day you will feel
what i meant to steal
as the darkness will peel
my pain from this real
communicate i cant
i try but its faint
i turn on my pain
i turn on my pain
i turn on my pain
i cannot regain
i want to show the day
that the sun will remain
as the clouds unite
they don't end all fight
it is i that must cite
it is i that must fight
for only i can prevail
only minds can grow stale
if not used you will trail
if not used you will fail
if not seen its your grail
if not noticed your in hell
i will try to tell all
i must try to not fall
only you will be seen
in my eyes of ever clean
that the tears will one day fall
down my cheek in all glory
as they will be of not pain
but rejoice as i gain
and rejoice we shall reign
to the water of no shame
as i finally can blame
no one else for my rain
and all the world will see
it was i that was freed
it was i with no creed
that was released to bleed


Details | I do not know? | |

A Soldier Coming Home

He received the call in the middle of the night,
be to work by sunrise, you'll be taking a flight.
Go to a land where freedom will rise,
men will stand proud and wipe tears from their eyes.
Suicide bombers for a man who controlled,
brutality to the people, dignity he had stole.
The soldier would travel to a far distant land,
where oil was vass and towns made on sand.
He fought for his country, he life sealed with fate,
his family remembers  the call on this date.
It was warm in Sepember, he was out on patrol,
explosives were used and would  soon take its toll.
He fought the good fight for freedom was sought,
much food and some water, America brought.
But he would come home boxed with a flag draped on top,
violence was something that he tried to stop.
He left earth the hero, he had fought with much pride,
Joined Jesus in heaven, and walked at his side.


Details | Free verse | |

The Dark Artist

Death,
A fate foretold 
Since the beginning of time

Master of time,
Misunderstood, 
And feared by many. 
Some say your power is a curse
Some a blessing

Emancipator of souls,
Bestow freedom 
On my poor soul.
Trapped in this prison of torture
Called a body, 
Which places limits on my true potential

I understand you, 
Hiding behind broken hearts
Are benevolent intentions, 
A noble purpose

Bringer of peace, 
You give rest 
to those tired.
You free those soldiers
Trapped in a game of kings

A dark artist. 
I see the beauty in your work.
With your scythe
You paint a masterpiece,
With your scythe 
You write a magnificent tragedy.
You are the perfect ending
To our tragic story


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Winters Freedom

The Sky Wept Unendingly with Snow:

His thoughts in a Frenzied attempt at Normality,
Clung to the idea of a Priceless Freedom.

Striving Forward, splinters of Ice cut and Maimed
Revealed patches of Flesh; Each Sting a Reminder.

A Cascading Avalanche of Memories Swept him
Into the past, amidst Those he Could Remember.

Each, a diminishing aspect of his weakening 
Internal Clock; The Gears, a Rusted Brown.

The Day diminished with him,
His clock struck Twelve.

An Inescapable Crossing of Thin Ice,
Half-Way across, The Gears Halt.

The Ice Gives Way.

The Sky Weeps Unendingly with Snow.


Details | I do not know? | |

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)



Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:



Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.


He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.


After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.


In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.


Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.


He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.


Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.


On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.


Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.


His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.


In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.


On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:


‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’



Mahlangu died for a cause!



Salute!



The Struggle Continues…




(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)


Details | Verse | |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.


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…


Details | Epitaph | |

The Unknown Soldier

I stand at your grave.
I do not know your name.
I know not where you are from.
Where you fought,
nor where you died.

The horrors and pain you suffered,
were not in vain.
The death and destruction brought you pain.

I weep at your grave,
for the life you gave.
I weep for the Mother,
that gave you that life.

I kneel before your grave.
I bow my head in gratitude to you,
The Unknown Soldier.
Forever Remembered.


Details | Blank verse | |

he is leaving home

                            
                  In great respect of the band I grew up listening to
                       as sure as Mom passed down Saturday Chores 
                      for I had been chosen to scrub bathroom floors `

                    Yet a familiar sound would bring me to keep scrubbing
                       The red album, The blue album , The White album 
                        Then .. Abbey Road , always remembering the sad look on
                  Ringo's face ,  something hard to understand underneath~
                       
                      I get it now, what you were saying all those years ago ,
                    the many sad lonely tears , secret tears , secret fears 
                    For Maxwell's Hammer was a real one . It wanted silence

                    Going back ..remembering when John Lennon died 
                      I was in Arkansas saddened with the world .
                      Then seeing his face saying " Drag isn't it " 
                      No .. this was not my hero in music and song .

                      he was a stand in hired William , he filled his shoes 
                      bringing diversity to create so much beautiful music from loss

                       One left standing , alone;; grief struck on back cover ~
                       The other identity hidden, tried to be part of ..coming together
                                                                                                                                                                        
                            his  world of secrets
                        He to suffers today , in fear , Faul~
                       
                        Too many years gone by .let us tell the Truth. Let us be free
                         The very sad long and winding Road ~
                         Let us Bury our real Paul. 

                         No more " Mystery tour "
                             No more fear 
                                Let him be in peace ~


           Inspired by " The Last Testament of George Harrison , Is Paul Dead ? "

                






Details | Dramatic monologue | |

My beautiful death note

My thoughts, they fade just like the words I try to speak.
They both have something in common,
they both want to seek.
Is there a solution?
Or any doubt that I hold?
My minds full of distractions that fail to die old.
You don't always express the way you strive to act, but the stares from others around you give a tremendous impact.
The words and the marks they mean something deep, no one will know. They're mine to look at forever to keep.
You know what they say?
They say, live to be free.
You're on your own in this world. Make something be.
With my stupid mistake, I have nothing to hold.
I could have put it down, but I was strangled, and they stabbed me with scold.
That one little trigger and my feelings were here.
That one little motion and it could all disappear .
I finally decided that I've been patient, in agony for quite some time and Its time to fix it all, think still and unwind.
Right now is the chance..to finally feel free..what will the aftermath consist of?
Who knows, not me.
I think of my past and what my future could have been like,
but the crazed images flash back, the feelings crept up..stop it now! it’s a trap!
So I decide now is the time,
theirs no switching laps, and with one quick press of the trigger i'm gone in a flash.
As an object is inanimate my body was now too.
My time had been given and my end was forced way too soon.
Could it have been changed?
Maybe if there was help.
Not many people understand the secrets that were dealt, the pain and the tears that were constantly felt, but now I've expressed the way I've been living with hell and with the thought of my withdraw has drug me down in the shadows beneath the stair well.
Time has passed you walk in and you see what I've done,
I’m gone?
Yes forever.
No longer a beat,
I've been lifted.
My mind, it was finally at ease.
My spirit sits there next to you while I watch you as you weep.
I bless you with a touch and comfort spreads through your veins, you then stand up walk out and go on with your ways.
Back to reality with the slightest bit of ease
We all have our secrets that we never can please.


Details | Rhyme | |

Tender of Roses

Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?

For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.

From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.

As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.


Details | Free verse | |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.



Details | Carpe Diem | |

Dig

Broken,beaten,blind and lost
All but a spark of hope left to keep warm
But dig and claw on bruised muscles, on broken limbs
Until the light day fills your sight
Left blinded no more
Dig
Until the soft fresh air blows the spark to a flame and ignites your will
Dig
Until the ground beneath is solid enough to stand
Walk,until the pain is mastered and stumbling ceases.
And you can say:
This will not be my grave.


Details | Verse | |

Home of the Slaves

Land of the free
Home of the slaves
The blood, sweat and tears of my ancestors resonate
Amongst the soil where they were slain
I’m hearing their struggle
I’m feeling their pain
I can’t imagine being forced to part from my family
All for massa’s gain
So I pay homage to those who promoted change

People like every slave who tried to escape
Nat Turner, Ms Carlotta, Harriet Tubman
And the safe houses who were in accord
And peg leg Joe with his song
Follow the drinking gourd.

People like, the disregarded - those thrown overboard
And who was dismissed and defamed
The ones who were stripped of their soul, their pride, their names

The list could go on  
The full will never be told
So I pay homage to others who were bold
Like John Brown, The Freedom Riders, Sojourner Truth
Ida B Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Maya Angelou, 
Langston Hughes and Charles Drew

George Washington Carver, Ruby Bridges
Booker T Washington and Mary McCleod Bethune
Charles Houston, Ralph Bunche, Fredrick Douglass
WEB Dubois, Paul Robeson, Ralph Abernathy
Benjamin Banneker, Marcus Garvey and Crispus Attucks
Who’s death by the way
Symbolized the American lie
You cant declare the rights of all men
While the people of African decent rights get denied
But still we rise

Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, 
The Black Panthers, the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen
None who were showed any love
Yeah it’s an uphill battle, 
But obviously greatness can be done.

We can rise above this stigma 
That blacks are lazy and daunting
That our worth is null and void 
And in essence minus nothing
And of all the names mentioned 
And the greatness of their successes
No one has been able to erase the evil transgressions of a racist mind
And once you have experienced just a taste of it
It changes your perception of time
The oppression beats like the drum on the chariot
Of when it was finally time to escape to freedom
It's mine