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Peace Metaphor Poems | Metaphor Poems About Peace

These Peace Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Peace. These are the best examples of Peace 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 | Free verse |

Reality's Angel

I am Reality’s angel resting on the broad shoulders of discovery the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you there is a creator of all things He is just and patient many still have fallen into the masses of shadow wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy I have seen grown men fall like rose petals and weaklings rise into unjust leaders forever the follower of furtive evil dominating only to remain inferior the most important answers lie in the unseen regions where no sense can fully give assurance the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn grows weary because of the distance it must take and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates it is knowing we are seeking something far that could very possibly not exist, that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense it is knowing all we really think we know is meaningless and yes—even a lie all that has been written thus far rests under my wings under the warmth in which you refuse to feel can you believe in me— though I am completely unseen? how much more difficult would it be to see Him?


Details | Free verse |

Who Am I

A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment 
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.

One after another they arrive
Single file,
Steeping my eyes in the world 
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering 
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.

My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?

Jacob Reinhardt
10/3/2013


Details | Free verse |

Just Be

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass. 
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are. 

Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment. 
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers, 
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.

Jacob Reinhardt
10/07/13


Details | Narrative |

The Dancing Stars

I would like to imagine there
are poets on planets Moon and
Mars. It's often wrote in poems 
of the universe and stars. That 
would be nice to imagine some
poets writing about us here on
Mother Earth . Tonight I will gaze 
towards the Milky Way and say; are
you looking down on us with a smile,
 or are you hopeful for us with a ~~
 simple solution towards peace,~~
and contentment among the people.



03/26/14  written by, Larry Berdoo
                      WRITE ON! 


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 | Epic |

Simply being

Simply being
Nothing more than 
Than it is gone out of hand
No winds to flow to grow in land
Given bright stars in darkness

Nothing more than  
Light years rose hope
Back flush riddles in game
Only hope once to face to face

As seen bleeding in tears


Details | Haiku |

Haikus About God: VI

The body: sacred
We’re all made in God’s image
Hence... circumcision?


Details | Haiku |

Haikus About God: IV

God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.


Details | Free verse |

Wyoming Fall

It happens every year around this time. 

The winds starts to pick-up and change from a warm westerly direction, to the chill of the Canadian north breezes that ice over windows on the inside. 

It seems, that these old bones can tell, as well as these old eyes, when the trees start whistling a-bit 

to the chilly Wyoming skies. 

But the last great photo of natures camera, before the howling of winter is at our steps. 

Is the Wyoming colors of fall, that nature delivers to us. 

Now it's nearly impossible to describe, what nature has spent eons learning to do right. 

Blazing the colors from green to orange in the aspen groves of a mountain morn. 

The cottonwoods shimmer their hints of tarnished bronze and copper leaves, 

it seems damn near ridiculous, to try and describe these. 

One can't even come close to drawing a picture with words, to the chaotic beauty of a Currant bush, 

wrapped in buffalo berries that seem to defy gravity, hanging there all by themselves. 

Not to mention the golden coat of a milkweed plant, overflowing seeds that glisten rainbow colors in the light. 

It just wouldn't be describable, it couldn't be imagined in words, 

The colors of fall, my eyes have heard. 


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