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Forgiveness Metaphor Poems | Metaphor Poems About Forgiveness

These Forgiveness Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Forgiveness. These are the best examples of Forgiveness Metaphor poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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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 | 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.





Written by: Kelly Deschler

Giorgio V.'s contest - "Impress Me 2" -  themes-gothic/spiritual


Details | Couplet |

Coming Back

Synopsis: The events in this poem never actually happened. I wrote this in a metaphor to 
express what was going on at the time.

The stage lights up,
The curtains rise.
I raise my head,
And look in your eyes.

Sounds come through,
The music plays.
This song's for you,
You're in a daze.

The crowd is vast,
The fans are crazed.
You're leaving fast,
You looked amazed...

I keep on singing,
I don't understand.
Your ears are ringing,
I look at the band.

They're still playing,
I walk off stage,
Drop the mic,
And disengage.

I'm running for you,
And you look back,
You keep walking, 
It feels like a smack.

I know you don't like it,
When i leave,
Pick up the mic,
And make you grieve.

There isn't much time,
At all anymore,
To see you be mine.
The music took o'er.

You couldn't take it,
Thats why you left.
Our anniversary,
I know I missed.

I know you planned,
And I ignored.
Now I'm banned,
From entering your door.

I finally catch up,
Tell you I'm sorry.
You give me a hug,
That night so starry.

I left the band,
We both kissed again.
I hope you understand,
I loved you more then.




Details | Lyric |

Solipsist

Let the Deicide commence.

You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.

I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
your failure!

I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
 
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways

Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own  personal reality 




Details | Free verse |

The Storm

And the storm calls to me in ways you'll never understand
A gentle call that urges my soul forth
The lighting guiding a path for my feet to walk
Between the stones and ash of all that once was
I stand in the echoing silence of the rain 
It drops down upon my skin like the blessing waters of heaven
Soothing me, lifting the weight from my body 
I feel at once as if I am home
Standing amid two dimensions 
Caught between two skies - here and there
The night wraping around me in warmth
The gentle wind lifting me off my feet
Drops from the clouded moon washing away my body
and I am left just a soul, an essence 
The storm calls me forth from beneath my roof
Beckoning me into its depth 
I stand among the reeds in the basin 
They dance and sway as if welcoming me
And I sway with them back 
Caught up in the power that charges the air
That threatens to sweep me away 
If the ground will just loosen its hold
The thunder rumbles a low welcoming growl
And I get pleasently lost within it
I am so small compared to its vastness
I close my eyes and succumb to the skies wishes
Rising higher until my feet no longer touch the ground 
My fingertips touch the liquid color of the stars
A sigh drifts from my lips
There is no need of thought to stay afloat
There is no demand to breathe in air
No crushing weight upon my chest
As my lungs struggle to survive
There are no struggles here
I make my bed on blackened clouds
And give in to the call
The storm has claimed me as its own 
It was such a struggle to stay upon the ground
When the storm would call me home


Details | Acrostic |

Your Eyes

 (Dedicated to Folake)

Your eyes, woman
are like twilight rainbow
amorously bearing aloft passions of mine
toward androcytic ecstacy.
They tell of endless lights.

Night skies clarion the warmth of you
keep me balled-up till
i am tilted to your adorned essence.

May I call up words to adore you,
agglomerate them into a panoply of worshippers
unsandalled before you
like Moses at the burning bush.
 
And now you seem to fall asleep
but you tell me it's the heavy night
bidding toward a sunny dawn
wherein our love is lighted.

Slowly I let you fall asleep
impatient with the long night
waiting to gaze once more
into the eyes of my lovely love.

Then a lip is placed on yours
and you rouse up wide-eyed
smiling at my romantic move.
We enjoyed the night, cruising on.


Details | Light Poetry |

Hot Melted Christmas

Twas the week before Christmas, 
 And all through Wyoming. 
 I was looking for another way, 
 To greet all my homies. 

 I in my jacket. 
 Ma, in sub-zero, 
 We drove to the local sandwich shop, 
 For a hot melted hero. 

 Two for the road, 
 I exclaimed to the gal. 
 Make it snappy, 
 Before Ma gives me hell. 

 We were back on the road. 
 Quicker than quick, 
 Then Ma yelled, STOP! 
 They forgot the Garlic. 

 So back to shop, 
 We rushed right away. 
 Only to find, 
 They done closed for the day. 

 Well, need be I say, 
 Ma was more than a little upset. 
 So she wrote "You A$$H@les" on the window, 
 With her hot melted wreck. 

 I watched Ma kicking and screaming, 
 as the officers dragged her away. 
 So I waved and I shouted, 
 "They say you'll get out, on New Year's day. 

Guess you won't be needing that Christmas present? 

I'll exchange it for ya. 

Love ya Ma."


Details | Narrative |

The Emptiness of Life

Oh how frail is the life of mortals
Look at how our tongue treasures the taste of food
Without oxygen we die
We sleep as though we're dead

I've seen demagogs rising and falling
History hasn't been fair to their very great powers
In our virtues, our pride lights our vice
Oh such hypocrites at heart

Oh how our desires hook us like fish bones
Into doom we gleam
Until we see our fragile weakness on Earth
True repentance is just a dream

I've seen the Light I believe
The truth of God who lived as man
His sacrifice made me free
Oh such a hope of eternity I share


Details | I do not know? |

My Wishes are Simple





My Wishes are Simple


My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.



My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.



My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.





Details | Imagism |

The Red Symphony

A self-written poem begun in Christmas Time,
While it tasting the soup and looking for rhyme.
In the kitchen, neighbor with the quiet tomato paste,
The sorcerer's apprentice, a poet pretty well placed
Near Soups (ciorbe) with characteristic sour taste
With luminous face and much grace added the rest:
As he was sipping and tasting from raw and cooked.
His group had a passionate look at what was booked
For the dinner: These might be meat and vegetable soups.

They had to choose till the coming of the helping troops
For the pig`s sacrifice rite, old mixture of joy and grief
Under the hot and long debrief of the pleasant smell-thief 
Tripe soup (ciorba de burta) hard prepared from beef,
And calf foot soup (ciorba de vitel), with green-gold leaf 
Pickled soup (supa de moare) with pork and big rice;
But use the dice to decide between spice and allspice.

From the slaughtered pig the village` families prepare: 
Carnati - sausages  kept in special aromatic smoke 
Of wet fir and oak burned at small fire as enjoyed by folk;
Caltabos - sausages made with liver sprinkled with beers;
Toba and piftie - dishes using pig's feet, head and ears 
Suspended in aspic like a frozen symphony in red
After cups of plum brandy and before going the bed
Tochitura - pan-fried pork to bid it a farewell, twice
Served with mamaliga - palesta , and red wine with ice,
Or boiled wine with pepper and cinnamon against frost; 
So that the pork can swim and the verse were glossed;
Piftie - inferior parts of the bashful pig, mainly the tail, 
Feet and ears, kind of meal like taken from a fairytale
In which all are cooked and served in a form of gelatin
In this naturalist field, all the poets smile like Mr.Bean;
                                                                              
Jumari - small pieces of pig meat are fried and tumbled 
Through various spices if after all, you are a little troubled 
 And may falter some poetical from the famous songs
Like "So, good people drink…" couples of diphthongs
Since Saturday to Thursday and make colorful the gray.

This poem was written in the Night of Tuesday to Friday.
 
( And later we`d find that the housewife had covered with it  the pickles cucumbers jar.)


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