Elegy Hate Poems | Elegy Poems About Hate
These Elegy Hate poems are examples of Elegy poems about Hate. These are the best examples of Elegy Hate poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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How did death find me?
I thought I was just dreaming.
O like seriously
I slapped death.
I know you can't!
But I just did.
This is how I reprobated his blue.
I fetched the sky for him to sip
Since his throat was dusty
Like the harmattan.
Yet still smile did not dance on his face.
The waft of the volcano slapped him up
So he was dripping here like a crying bottle
Filled with unflustered water.
O poor you!
I pleaded with the heavens
For the seed of air
Since Mr. Death was dripping here
Like nobody's business.
Hm, hm, hm.
I can't believe this.
Mr. Death is indeed a Judas.
Upon all the things I did for you, Mr. Death,
You made me devour the knife.
O Mr. Death,
So can you crunch the moon?
O Mr. Death,
O Mr. Death,
Did you know deep within that
I'm more than a Victor?
No, you don't!
Yes! I know very well you don't!
Copyright © Jonathan Nartey
I’m an alien in my own world
I think only I can see from above
I see the entire Earth
I see people, but no love
I try to tell them
They’re the aliens in this world…
This world was built to be loved
And yet all they do is hurt…
Look around…the world is round!
It is spinning for us!
Because there’s not many humans to be seen…
I know I’m not alone though
Humanity will never die…
That’s something that I know!
You created districts…
You ripped humanity into pieces
Now we’re fighting like we’re beasts
I mean…I’m from the Middle East…trust me I’ve seen…
I’ve seen the value of one’s life
Destroy a home for a dime
Destroy humanity and it doesn’t count as a crime…
and yet…I’m out of mind?
Copyright © Zeki Madjid
I should be hating all
Who don't love me,
Not care about them,
Who doesn't deserve my care,
Not respect them,
Who don't respect my thoughts,
Not love them,
Who can't love me,
Not leave them,
Who tried to capture me or
Whom I try to live with and
Not free myself from them?
Now,not blame them
Who blamed me for every bad luck,
Not listen to them,
Who took me fore granted,
Not forget them,
Who never kept me in their memories,
Not talk with them,
Who always talked with conditions,
Not forget all and move on,
Or stay there for revenge,
Move on for me,or
Sleep in past forever.
Copyright © ANEESHA SOPORI
Orchestrated plots from the birth of corruption
Meticulously cunning, blue print semantics
Shadows overriding sheer manipulation
Much more to its sleeves, sly gimmickry and antics
Overlapping smokescreen piling up to its feet
Diversionary tactics, garden variety
Principles dropped, conceded an utter defeat
Distraction thirsts for blood, hounds for the killing spree
When darkness overcomes the illumination
Claiming a population, an epidemic
By the hundreds on process of elimination
Resistance is futile to such obvious logic
Retaliatory, uprising insurgence
The masses’ response with strings attached
Casted under a spell, hypnotic indolence
A fearsome adversary, no other can match
Time’s in fast changing pace, turning the wheels of fate
Right up into the very heart of society
An impending apocalypse spearheading straight
The core that dictates man’s unending enmity
Copyright © Jeffrey dela Cruz
This is the final poem in the 'Quartet in Dark and Light'. In many ways, it is the saddest of the four:
She trembled in the dark of her door today
Her hardened heart long ago died
HE swaggered to war where his pride held sway
His heart all so blasted and dried.
She knows what he craves is the gold that all men
Covet and grasp at so fierce.
And why should she not share the treasure then
Though her soul its cold hardness should pierce.
And if he should slap their children so hard
It’s not like he does it too much
They’ll grow tough like him, though a little scarred,
Without tenderness or love as a crutch.
If fierce words and blows passed between the two
It’s only that she was to blame.
Didn’t she see what she made him do?
She was always the cause of his shame.
Now she waits in her home with a heart so dead,
The stones of the hearth not so cold.
The return of the Tyrant she does surely dread
Her sole comfort, his hands....full of gold!
Copyright © Michael Spangle