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Narrative Fear Poems | Narrative Poems About Fear

These Narrative Fear poems are examples of Narrative poems about Fear. These are the best examples of Narrative Fear poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

My Heart Sobs

I'm till struggling to connect with you...
It feels strange that you are actually here, and so near..
You...walked past me a couple of times,
Your eyes were glistening, sober, serious...
Rushing by as if something deathly important lie ahead
In that moment, I could hear my heart thrashing in my throat
A victim in a prison, desperately closing those eyes from the fear
Wanting...to reach out to you....
But not knowing how...

How will you ever know the tears I have shed?
How will you ever see the love and care in my eyes? 
Maybe we will never know what we could be...
Maybe I am lost in uncertainty's sea

But, please...
Don't walk by me...
No, not anymore...
My sorrowful soul holds its breath when you do...
And when you are gone again...
My heart sobs...

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014

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Fear of Flying

I wonder if my false smile fools anyone at all?
Perhaps I am pulling it off!
Do I look like someone who does this every day?
Do I seem self assured and confident?
No one seems to pay me notice...
Good

I purposely chose an aisle seat
Yes....I'm ashamed to admit it...
I'm one of those you hear about,!...Go ahead...laugh if you like...
Yes, hate to tell you, but I'm cursed with a fear of flying!

Oh I know....you'll tell me all that nonsense about aeronautics
How it's safer than driving the freeways...yeah...right...
Sorry....I can't hear you....my heart is pounding too loudly
My head is throbbing...my hands are shaky, my knees are trembling...

Ahhh.... a deep breath, ...ahh...another....wheww....
Oh-oh!! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH this is it!!!!!
Ohhhh...ohhh....oooooo ....here we go!!!......

I'll just look at the floor, ...
O.K.  O.K. come on..!! ....Try to think of pleasant thoughts!
Ummmm...green grass, ....uhh, butterflies,.. flowers,  ...dirt,...wonderful wonderful dirt! ...
HEAVENLY MOTHER EARTH!!!! 

What are those for?? Oh yes, I remember,...the small lights beneath our feet
Leading us (HOPEFULLY!!)...( just in case...you know...)
Oh, God...for escaping in the dark!! ....IF escape were necessary (or even possible!!) 
Oh Lord!
Little lights that lead ...to..to...where is it??? Oh, there....the exit!!
That's the nearest exit...(must remember....closest one I count is five rows ahead)....
Hmm...better count again....five rows...
Count them again...yes...one, two, three, four, five...

Do NOT listen to the deafening noise of the engines...
What was that??!!  I said... "DON'T LISTEN!!"....

Deep breath.....ahhh

The couple next to me
So animated in their conversation
They seem deeply enthralled by the landscape below them
Just sitting there...joking, and enjoying and pointing.....
Hmm..just a peek....WOW!...Look at that world...it's shrinking in size so rapidly!
Deep breath....
Hmm....well now, ....this isn't so hard...
Actually, well, maybe just another quick look....hmmm.....

If I crane my neck a bit....wow...I can see the ocean in the distance
I can see the patchwork of man's mark on the earth
Wow!  Wow !! ...would ya look at that???!
Wow, beautiful !!  ....   Gotta get a window seat for the flight home !!!...
Wow!.....Amazing..........!  That view.....................incredible!!!!

What's that....?? "Oh...yes..a coke would be nice..thank you!"

Hey...this isn't so bad....  Wow....look!! I can see the curvature of the earth....Wow!!!
Hey.....this is AWESOME!!!!

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

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this was me

it began so innocently
we exchanged ideas on poetry
his art, the suffering he endured
he preyed upon my compassion
as he meticulously bided his time...

i felt safe as we expressed
our mutual love of words
i was excited, i was learning,
unbeknowst to me, i was his prey..

many months and thousands of hours, 
talking, reaffirmed my trust; faith in him
he shared his life, triumps & tragedies
i supported all he desired for himself..

i understood, i felt his pain, 
his drive i admired, he overcame tremedous odds,
became a doctor so others would not suffer as he had;
he baited me; the innocent and naieve one.

living life with no regret,
i chose to take a leap of faith,
he guided me, alleviated my fears,
of promises to cherish and adore me..

as a tiger waits patiently to pounce on his prey
i was oblivious to his hatred inside,
he was a master of manipulation
his mission - to destroy me..

i felt he was worth giving 
up all i knew to build a life
he so lovingly described to me,
little did i know, his words - poison..

america bound i left everything i knew; i loved.
the terror of his drunken rages, his icy silence,
the cruelty of his words stung like red hot coals.
what he admired most about me,intensified his hatred.

the vacancy in his eyes was terrifying, 
i was alone in a strange country, 
knowing no one, in a house, not a home, 
full of tension, rage, abuse; numb and in shock;
this was my reality..

with each painstaking day of living in terror
dreading his arrival, my fear reached new heights;
i had enough; i was leaving.
his rage increased, his words pure venom..

i was numb, shaking, fear drove me to action
he became desperate, i did not sleep 
for fear of never waking, his actions so terrifying
i felt a strength within, empowering me..

planning my escape, fear became my ally,
i reached the airport and did not stop shaking
until safely on the plane, doors shut, 
moving down the runway to take-off;
i wept, i crumbled, i collapsed.

jubilantly at home, i felt peace, safe, 
and soaked in the beauty of my freedom; my home.
it has been six weeks; i have flashbacks, 
terror still haunts me; i am determined 
to not let another change me.

i am healing and am grateful for every
moment i smile, smell a flower, witness
the marvel of each sunrise and sunset.
i am a blessed girl.

~this was me~ 

Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2007

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Night Angel

They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
The man.
The child.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
The terror
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Agonizing
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A passer-by.
A doer of good deeds.
He stops.
He sees.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
Bravely
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
He runs.
He hides.
The passer-by,
Believing he saved
A child
From a long, cold walk,
In reality
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013

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The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss


April 14, 2013

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

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IN TOO DEEP

I joined the Brownies when I was seven Oh what fun I was in seventh heaven Having fun and making new friends But in the Brownies my life almost ends We were doing badges - this particular one was for swimming I wasn’t a strong swimmer and was having lessons We sat on edge of the baths in our costumes and hats Then we had to swim along the side of the middle of the pool To gain our badge we had to swim a width all the way across I’d only ever swum in the shallow end before But everyone else was swimming across… So I started off… got halfway across… And then I got into trouble Began to go under the water… Down Down Down I sank to the bottom of the pool Two men dived in to save me My parents were frantic They had been watching me ‘swim’ And were sitting upstairs on the balcony Unfolding before their very eyes Was their worse nightmare Thankfully these two men saved my life All I can remember was being rather ill at the side of the pool As the water came gushing out of me One memory I have is of being given chocolate buttons to eat on the way home AND I was awarded by Brownie badge – guess it was out of guilt I never did complete that width. Now I am scared of deep water If anyone asks me if I can swim… I say ‘yes’… like a stone! 11~02~14 Contest: Near Death Or Near Life Experience Sponsor: Anthony Slausen

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014

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THE OPAQUEST NARRATIVE

In Michigan, the weather can change for the worst in October.
This particular Halloween came a blizzaring.
The lights went out and in a dark, dark room, candles were lit; therein, the opaquest 
narrative was captured.
* With the shape of With figment With look I will invent the human. Through the mind Via light With aspect The being I will project. I saw sadness. It stared directly at me. I gazed back. It begins to glare. I looked away. Why am I afraid? It is an ape, a primate. With child fists, I walked toward this apelike creature and strike out. Finally, I saw more than eyes and it pounces. It is a little child as a man. My hands represented some insight. Would we fight? ** The universe stood as earth. Solar we are to the sky above. Humanity shouts with a hoarse voice. Man, woman, and child stands as an echo. God sent the demons. The sinners are all of us. Through commandment of what Hell is Heaven is not. Demons are with God. The Pacific Ocean is the end of the world. It runs east and west. Why do we not investigate this? [Because our capabilities are limited!] Are we afraid of what we will find? We discovered each other and now we hesitate. Procrastination is a thing that delays knowledge. Are we wise to seek? Demons are with God. Are we? *** Body [body] {Body}! Gut (gut)! Skin and bones wake up! I am a reincarnation of that that is not known. Many have come before me but none was as I am. I am the body for the human to gut a man. However, women are now involved and they want to be in the belly. Instinctive they are but this was only for man to do. Why do they want to be that damned fool? Unconscious to the world that they are within, one would ask self why they want to be like men. The answer becomes to fit in. What if there is one left out? The answer becomes their bodies have been gutted and they are only GI. **** The Moon has no Gods. The Sun is what speaks to us. It tells us prophesy and what the world shall become. We are mongoloid, brown and bronzed spiritual to our existence. Our tribes are of North America. A hundred plus [we] stand[s]. Our land is our strength. We fought. We won. We lost. Died from disease but gave birth once again. Our population stands now and we are healthy. The European man has given our wisdom and knowledge. Our minds are set on our economic growth. We will become political minded. Five hundred nations are we those lost tribes of our history. ***** The mockery of man is a stance of incorrectness. It transforms through government and states that your freedoms are not anything to believe in. You, as people, are nothing but possessions and no one knows who is blessed. You are lucky to be here. Your way of life is given by our nation’s wealth. We are brought together as immigrants and the natives of this country are indigenous. We cannot pretend that we are more than that. We must pedestal ourselves to unity and know that people are only structure to adhere. One came for liberation. Others came via slavery. Nomads were unbound. They let them in yet they were said to be uncivilized. Today we are unified. We are the United States of America bound, bonded, and realized. {We are gratis; free to form our own lives.} ______________________________________________| PENNED ON SEPTEMBER 13, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

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Darkness

My feet are cold; my tiredness lingers;
My back aches from stooping so low.
Dampened by the frigid water below,
I breathed warmth into my numbing fingers.
Again, I dipped my shovel into the coarse gravel
Of the stream dredging up with a gurgle
A mixture of pebbles and sand;
Into a bucket I poured it, firsthand.
In this wilderness I'm not alone, there's bear.
Mindful I am of the sounds around me;
A churning stream, rustling leaves, an elk groan,
Snapping twigs, anything that would put a scare
Or raise my hair. I looked around for a tree,
Somewhere to flee before darkness set in.
Not far from here, I spied a log cabin.
Into this stronghold I placed my supplies;
Nature's calm was just a disguise.
I latched its massive door; and bolted each shutter.
In its stone hearth, I started a fire;
Basking in its warmth worries melted like butter.
Outside, darkness enveloped the cabin;
Strong claws raked its walls peeling away its skin;
Relentless growling resonated through the dusty din.
Suddenly, I awoke huddled next to a glowing flashlight.
Shivering against the muddy walls of a beaver's lodge, 
I could hear the bear feverishly ripping 
Through the muddy grass, and the disjointed timbers 
Above me. Deep beneath the surface darkness arrived
Just, as my flashlight flickered, then died.



Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012

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Evacuation and Loss

The night shone for the full moon,
Sky brewing a coarse monsoon,
Bolted were windows, locked were doors,
The frequency of death frighteningly soared.
But who was this infant high upon the hill?
He denied the storm and just stood stone still,
Eyes shut like blinds and fingers dug into ground,
Felt he could move no muscle, for was sadly street bound.
Shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tight round
His skinny body, battered and browned
Praying for the sake of friends, family and all
However imaginary, he imagined them call
 “Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry, remember our love”
Joining their gaze in the beyond above,
He softly mumbled a song to forget,
The once daily song that was always a duet,
Alone on that hill without any feel,
Of an afterlife he finally accepted, wasn’t real
Tears met the floor, now bathed in yellow light,
As lightning struck him too quick to fright,
Child lay on the floor, dismembered and black,
Though his mouth was smiling and his happiness had come back,
As re-joined with family, head held high, 
He waved his tortured existence goodbye.
Hugging his mum and his dad the same,
Somehow put an end to the incessant rain,
The natives emerged from their homes, safe and sound,
The boy crying for happiness at the new life he had found.
Soul peering at his body, dead at age eleven,
Holding family’s hands they could finally pass on and join heaven. 
The touch of their skin brought old emotion,
 Parents who were torn betwixt war and devotion,
A child whom they gave their best shot,
By train to board and bomb to not.
The grave of the boy with the electric crown,
Who carried a burden he couldn’t live down,
Stood proud in the yard of cobbles and stones,
For everyone knew those were a heroes bones,
When you look into the sky on a stormy night,
Remind yourself of the boy’s plight.
As he is the clouds that damper weather,
Out to protect his town, children altogether,
He wanted a life for them around,
That didn’t consist of being mentally wound,
A life that he could never possess,
But he did not bathe in spiralling depress.
Life is sacred, upon that hill,
Those cobbles and stones bring great goodwill,
For the sun only shines on that grassy land,
Still holding marks of the boy’s humble hand,
Some say that the yearly rain,
Is him up above, the tears of a chain.
The chain of the tears shed on that night,
Of the fear and happiness’ conventional recite,
Up above, being tucked under the covers,
Is a little boy with an injury he recovers,
Mother kisses his head and says her goodnight,
Father over bed, comforting a nightmare fright.
Drifting off, the boy could hear,
A little rhyme to calm his fear,
“Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry remember our love-“
The young man rose slowly in his bed,
Opened his eyes and smiled as he said
“I’m here”

Copyright © Nichola Vincent | Year Posted 2014

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Drowning in Fire


The flames are rising,  my fears have come alive!
Far away, are sirens wailing
I must decide….I must decide…
My head spins, my hands are numb
What to reach for?   What to grab?  
What desperate measure must I take? 
What treasure lost…would cause my heart to break?

I quake in fear…I scan my brain
I see embers burning, swirling as falling rain

Our documents? With taxes due…what will we do without such proof?
The doll I’ve kept from childhood? The crystal vase I cherish? 
The pearls that came from mother, or the photos of our family?
Letters from Dad, when he was far away,
       or satin slippers worn by baby…from way back when, or... was it only yesterday?


I’m calming down,…..
My breath is found,  for now I know that won't drown

Not in fire, not in fear….not today, not in sorrow….
What to take?….. Nothing!
For treasures clutched in trembling hands, are never really gone….
                                                                
I have had them all, and will take them in my dreams for tomorrow….


.......................................................
Inspired by the Contest: Last Chance
Sponsor: Kristin Bruni

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012

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Lover's Love Lesson


You’re the one who taught 
me the words “I love you”
without the fear of losing you
even though my biggest fear 
was that I always lose people close to me
you broke down the barriers
just to reassure me,
that we’re in this together…

You are the one that
always came back 
after being chased away
after being stepped on
you’re the one 
who embraced me when
we were both scared about the unknown
when were both scared of the fight that lay ahead 

You are the one who 
endured the pain with laughter
to stop me from worrying,
even on your worst days, you hugged me
and said “It is okay, I’ll be okay”
that’s all it took for me to know
that you’d never leave me
even apart, we’re still one…

Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2010

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Cold Heart

For years she thought his heart would warm up,
and open the door for her world.  It felt like walking
in summer clothes in the north pole,
whenever she touched his chest;
she couldn't sigh, breathe or move.
It's as though he was afraid her hands would
melt his frozen heart,
and unravel his secrets.
Sometimes she joked, and asked him whether
he was an Iceman in his past life,
which he shrugged off,
as hailstorms gathered in his eyes.
Every day the space between them was becoming colder
and wider; she couldn't tell between winter
and summer anymore.....

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016

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I am HIV - AIDS

I AM HIV/AIDS 

     
Saint Luke predicted me long time ago,
While the Book of Revelation warned you about me.
I am raging like a wild fire,
I am growling like a lion,
I have spotted you and I will pounce on you!
I am HIV/AIDS!

I attack people in all socio-economic and educational classes,
I cut across cultural and religious sects,
Graves and hospitals bear this testimony.
Despite significant medical accomplishments,
I remain incurable,
I am HIV/AIDS

From Africa to America, Australia to Asia and Artantica to Europe.
From  Cape Provinces to Limpopo and Mpumalanga to Kwa-Zulu / Natal.
From Bekkersdal to Grobblersdal and Makapanstad to Marabastad.
From Sun Valley to Sun City and  Mamelodi to Mametlhake. 
From Witlagte to Langlagte and  Suiwerskuil to Kromkuil.
I am reigning, I am HIV/AIDS.

Woe for the earth and for the sea,
Because I have descended in great anger to devour you!
I refer to you, who do not abstain,
I mean you there, who are not faithful,
And you here who do not condomise,
For I am HIV/AIDS.

Media has warned you,
Priests have preached at the top of their voices,
Politicians have cried loud,
Organizations and institutions have given you warnings,
But all these have come to naught,
Now I will kill you like flies, for I am HIV/AIDS

This is not news to you,
You will certainly catch me through unprotected sex,
Shared infected needles and syringes, contaminated blood,
And from an infected mother to her unborn child.
I then multiply in your blood, mercilessly attacking
Your defence system and leave you for the dead,
For I am HIV/AIDS.

You know this fully well;
You cannot catch me through
Sneezing, sharing toilet seats, coughing,
Or shaking hands with an infected person.
Behold, even if you are not infected,
You are affected by me, for I am HIV/AIDS.

Even though I am dreadful and mighty,
I will finally die and my heart is sore,
That will be when sense is finally knocked in your head,
That will be when you abstain from sex,
You remain faithful to your partner or condomise,
Remember, prevention is better than cure, for I am HIV/AIDS!                                                 



Copyright © SIMON M MATLOU | Year Posted 2012

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What Kind of People Are We

What Kind of People Are We

In a Shakespearean sense of tragedy and doubt the well-used
“To Be or Not To Be” from Hamlet is not the question I shall
discuss in this narrative. Rather, I shall consider a few things
concerning the current Middle Eastern and European migrant
situation that has riveted the attention of the countries in those
regions as well as the rest of the world. And it’s my opportunity
to reflect on some of the things that have occurred (and are still
occurring right now), that I find quite troubling and morally 
offensive to me as concerned person and citizen.

As a writer and poet, and as a moral human being, I can say
that I was truly shocked at the sight of an innocent, young Syrian 
refugee boy named “Aylan Kurdi,” who had drowned and was lying 
face down on a Turkish beach near a resort with his head turned
slightly on its right side, as the ebb and flow of the salted waves
pushed and pulled on his little body. A real tragedy for sure that
might have been prevented, if humane, responsible, and responsive
migrant immigration policies had been in place so his father
would not have been compelled to put his wife and both of his 
sons—who all drowned together—on that fateful boat at the very
mercy of ruthless and evil human traffic smugglers.

The horrendous scenes played over and over on the 24-hour news 
cycle of the migrants and their innocent children from Syria, Iraq, 
Turkey, Afghanistan, and other countries being treated like cattle
(or even less than cattle), and indiscriminately pushed around and
tear-gassed by unfriendly and unwelcoming jack-booted Hungarian 
Rendorség (Police) were certainly most shocking and disgustingly 
revulsive by both their malicious tenor and insidious intent. The
actions also of some right-wing Hungarian demonstrators hurling
loud and abusive comments at the refugees was also quite tragic
and disturbing. I found the actions of the Hungarian Police under
the direction of Prime Minister Viktor Orban to be similarly
reminiscent of the actions of Hitler’s Gestapo and Sturmabteilung
or the SA Troops after 1933 in Nazi Germany. Shame on them!
Shame on them! This is the same old tired bigotry and stupidity
on display today.

Despite these despicable actions of the Hungarian Police and many 
of Mr. Orban’s governmental officials, a number of Hungarian
citizens still showed their kindness and humanity in helping the
migrants at various junctures on the autobahn as they trekked
toward the Austrian border in route ultimately to Germany. This
caught my obvious attention as well.

For me, the “so-what?” here turns ultimately upon the following
philosophical and human question: “What Kind of People Are We?”
The migrant problem as we know is largely the result of the massive
displacement of people that has occurred (and is still occurring) in
in the war-torn countries in the Middle East and in certain areas of
Southeast Asia. This tragedy is one of many of our world’s current
and future 21st-century challenges. How each of us as “concerned 
citizens,” in consonance with the policies and actions of the various
governments in the countries we each live under, will certainly
play a role in reflecting in the end the kind of people we really are. 

For me, the nationalistic actions of the right-wing parties and
extremists, in many countries (including the United States) and 
particularly now in Europe, provide no real solution at all, and 
become a convenient excuse for many people to forsake their
conscience and basic humanity—and to stick their heads in the 
sand like a bunch of frightful ostriches lost in the reveries of
their hate and prejudice, and disgraceful cowardice! There can
be no apology and justification for this ever! This type of
behavior is a deep-seated cancer ever-lurking in the genes of 
our human society and in mankind’s soul—awaiting its chance
to metastasize and reek its horrible destruction upon its victims.  

The point I’m driving at is this: The current responsible actions
of a number of world leaders, to particularly highlight those of
the European Union, appear to be taking several of the right steps 
in helping these refugee migrants and their families undergoing
this terrible strife forced upon them by the tyranny of war and the
resultant poverty and dislocation. Being stupid, hateful, and clearly
prejudiced as some people and certain governmental leaders are in
our global community today is not the answer and it never will be!

To people who really do care about this ongoing migrant tragedy,
it’s time to rally and act in support of local, regional, and worldwide
efforts to help these migrant people and their families so afflicted
by poverty, disease, war, injury, death, and territorial displacement. 

For me, I desire to make my voice heard loud and clear as a writer,
poet, and concerned world citizen on this matter and in my own
most humble way. Keep in mind that many of us are descendants
of families who at one time or another were migrants from other
countries escaping the whip and lash of cruel dictators and their
terrible regimes masquerading as legitimate governments of the
people. 

In my estimation, the kind of people we should be or aspire to be
are those who relish the winds of freedom, the certainty of justice,
the spirit of friendship, the values of fairness and fair play, the
magnificence of humanity, the desire for cultural diversity and
inclusion, and the love of our fellow man under the very eyes
of God Himself. 

What kind of people are we? With this, I rest my case. 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
September 11, 2015 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

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Just for Me

In the past I remember how things were so simple
When I was little my cheeks had such cute dimples
Looking back I remember how sweet I was as a child
When I think again my heart told me I was so wild
Yet, in time my simple choices was revealed as true as anyone
The reason I was the way I am today, I did things, to get done
Finishing lots of my undone ideas was so incredibly hard
So I figure my heart and choices should never hold in no bard
I never thought I would learn heart aches and pain
With such under statement I did things for no gain
I was a child who held true to what he has learned
But as we got older those kinda perspective would get me burned
When I made up my mind that people was not kind
I led myself in a confusion that I was blind
In the past I do recall that seeing is believing
So I was the one who stood their with friends leaving
Alone, I felt I did not belong, I cherish each person who knew me
I got older too see how the world works it stung me like a bee
The feeling of tingling ran through my vain
My view of the world and people who knew me was stained
Now I know they are out for their selves with no kind feelings
Life I know is just a joke because of who I hung out with seeing
Today as I look at the world it is in such shambles and astray
And rather fallow everyone I just walk away

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

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The Sad Truth About Life

Oh the horror! For people, it's just fun!
~Reecie

Copyright © Theresa a.k.a. Reecie | Year Posted 2012

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That Spark of Hope

A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came 
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way… 
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.

The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways… 
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013

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The Cook and His Dish

Pity her as she cried 
On the floor, ragged, she lied
She's covered with odd bruises
And hell things on mind cruises

She was there left alone
Mourning for help at home.
Hungry and parched she was,
Hoping someone would pass

“Click! Click!”, the door knob sounds
At last someone’s around.
Who’s there? Who could that be?
At last! She will be free!

But it widened her eyes
Scared and again she cried
‘Twas a man who appeared
Went to her and she feared.

He touched her hair and said
“Hush! Hush! Just go to bed
Stay quite, don’t be a heck!”
And kissed her on the neck.

Poor girl, she just abide
To the man whom she feared
“Why is he doing this?
I’m his daughter, why’s this?”

In the bedroom they were;
Father started kissing her.
Poor lil girl can’t defy
If she speak up, she’ll die.

“Oh my Lord, please help me,
I can’t take it, save me.”
Said her mind as tears flowed
Grieving in pain; she moaned.

Then suddenly she smiled
From what she heard outside.
A sudden hope in her eyes gleamed
From something she perceived.


She heard her mother’s voice
"I'll be saved" she rejoiced
“A miracle for me
Lord replied to my plea.”

And the door opened
Mother saw what happened
Shocked and startled she was
Then screamed for help, at last!

Mother bellowed and slapped him
Outraged and said to him
“She is your daughter!
Why did you rape her?”

Then neighbors came
Naked -- poor girl was ashamed
Dazed and shaken they were
Staring at poor girl and her father.

Then two cops came along
Grabbed the father for his wrong
He panicked and dreaded
Denied all he acted

Livid and offended 
Lil girl stood and stated
“Oh yes, that man raped me,
Not just once but many times.” 

Then her father uttered
“My dish is my daughter.
I’m the one who made her,
So I should also taste her.”

Wretched from what she heard
She spoke not a single word
Woeful and quite, she sniveled
Suddenly collapsed and fell

At last poor girl’s now free
From nightmare and agony
Yes she has a father
But she’s his dish not his daughter.

Copyright © Flora Mae Gudez | Year Posted 2013

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A Naughty Little Girl

I sleep. The hours tick by mercilessly; unfilled, purposeless, full of potential "What to do? What to do???" I mutter, tumbling, like Alice, down the rabbit hole. My hands push down ballooning petticoats, careful not to show or touch anything. I twirl beneath the pile down comforters. The hours tick by crimson red and in the dream, the rose Queen shouts, "Off with HER HEAD!" An eyebrow is plucked whole from my face. It falls matted and to the ground leaving me, brow akimbo, surprised, and horrified. "What to do? What to do? What to do???" Half shorn. Half drawn. Half born? A painter's pallet appears before me. A brow is drawn… for me. Yet, the Rose Queen still screams on. "Off with HER HEAD! Off with HER HEAD!"

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012

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Mask of Insanity

Mask of Insanity July 24, 2011
Masks are a masquerade between what’s real and things hidden behind them. 
Disguising one’s life behind ornate masks chances the fantasy and real mixing 
confusing the two. Mask can be beautiful and filled with dreams brought to life. 
What, when the mask becomes you and you the mask. Is this the mask of insanity?
 I wonder did I just say that out loud or was I thinking it? Why are people looking at 
me? Maybe they know I’m wearing a mask or maybe it slipped. I know someone 
called out to me; no I guess no one is there.  I am nobody, nothing at all. Have I 
now gone mad? I try to check my sanity as fear creeps up on me hidden behind my 
life full of many masks, confused and unsure; what mask if any am I wearing?
People and life continue to change around me. Changing mask often desperate to fit 
yet filled with screams, tears, and fear more often. Only these masks can hide such 
horror and mirror the fantasy from within. 
Insanity at times just under my mask waiting to expose me for the world to see! A 
masquerade of mask creating a fantasy filled life kept me from losing my mind. Being 
safe behind these mask left me not knowing who I am. Always in life I wore a mask 
not knowing what to do, now afraid I may be insane. 
Life has always hurt and distrust is all I know as pain and sorrow filled my heart and 
soul. I put on a mask to escape, to live and fit in. Now I wonder is this another mask 
or am I Insane?
						Debbie Knapp

Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2011

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TROUBLE ECONOMY

The american economy is on life support has been for years. Sad it makes my heart fill with tears. The land we live the land we love. America is in trouble no doubt but i don't worry about it i let GOD take care of it that way i don't got to figure it out. I want to see my future but not as a blur.

Copyright © craig schaber | Year Posted 2011

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The Face In The Window

Many years have passed on by since the 'happening' on that night.
Long before huge bigfoot feet were causing such a fright.
A humid eve and very warm, yet simply summer fare. 
I'd left the draperies open to let in late cool night air.

My spouse was in the land of nod with me not far behind.
That feeling one gets just before sleep makes the mind go blind.
But something caused me waken and I did so with a start.
The lump I felt deep in my throat was the pounding of my heart.

For peering through my window and pressed up against the screen,
Was a face of neither man nor beast, but something in between.
And was I fully on my game; I think I might have fled,
But reflex over came my fear, as I lurched from out my bed.

And in that following instant, lacking reason, rhyme or grace;
I grabbed the draperies in my hands and slammed them in its face.
Next I raced from out the room and every light got lit.
Collapsed with heart still pounding to ignite my cigarette.

I used my freshly muddled mind to think about the sight.
This creature need be nine feet tall to peer inside that night.
I reasoned with myself the facts, contained within the scene 
And then convinced my addled brain, it had to be a dream

No way could I describe him, nor for all the years to come.
But when I learned of bigfoot; I surmised it might be one.
I kept the 'happening' to myself, so not to scare my sons,
As summer slowly strolled on by with blaze of fall to come.

Then nearly two weeks later; I was awakened in the night, 
As the screaming of my oldest son, was subjected to my fright.
A face peered in his window, even though his bunk was tall.
The creature was the one I’d seen, same face, great height and all.

My son is now a granddad with slight memory of that time;
The summer of the creature thing, when he was eight or nine.
With all those years behind me; I still wonder what took place? 
In the open bedroom window, with that awful bigfoot face.

© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

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Nightmare of The Past

I looked out of my window, disturbed from my sleep
I was startled when I saw water knee high deep
I saw troubled people get out of their rooms
In front of their faces there was nothing but gloom

Lurking in the hallways, were cries of the dying
I could hear nothing but the shouts of the living
There was no need to proclaim, "The ship is sinking!"
I could hear loud and clear that the waves were rushing.

As I walked through the freezing icy cold waters
My whole body's shaking, from my face to my nerves
When a ferocious wind blew, I shook and shivered
Thinking survival's the only thing that matters

The sweat of the people arouses in the air
With the smell of adrenalin, fear and despair
Some fought for their lives beyond the hopeless moment
Some gave up and accepted what was truly meant.

Copyright © Eunice Adrados | Year Posted 2015

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The Old Man

Up on a hill there was an old house and in it lived Abigail, a young lady without a spouse. One day her doorbell rang and she went to the door. There stood an old man, his head to the floor. He appeared scared and weak so she let him come in, for if she didn’t it’d be a sure sin. The old man smiled and gave his thanks, and she said, “Not to worry, there’s no need to thank.” Abigail and the elder talked for quite a long time. Sharing story after story, and soon drinking wine. The two became very good friends and laughed, and laughed, ‘til night came to end. When the next day dawned, they went for a walk, down at the pond they decided to stop. It was frigid and misty, but they enjoyed the stroll because their friendship was warmer than the wind’s dreadful cold. As they stood in front of the calm, cool pond, Abigail asked, “Where do you come from?” The old man laughed a deep, dark laugh, “I come from the boneyard, the place of last breaths. I am the man which many name Death.” The creeping old man then pulled out a knife and slashed Abigail’s throat before she could fright. Her life left instantly, her body grew cold, and the elder’s smile sparkled like gold. The pond was hungry and the old man knew that Abigail’s corpse would have to go soon. He tied a brick to both of her feet and tossed her away into the deep. As her body sunk into the watery blue, the elder stood there and felt renewed. Back on the trail the aged man went. Not a worry in mind, no remorse ever meant. He did what had to be done, to the grave his soul belonged. The elder approached another ol’ house. He rang the doorbell and waited, innocent as a mouse.

Copyright © Bruce Coates | Year Posted 2013

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End Of Life - 2012

Senior citizen wakes up
Looks in the mirror
What's happened here?

Time has caught up
The end could be near
Nothing to calm the pending fear

So much left to do
A feeling of dread
So much left unsaid

Must be a dream
This can't be right
Visions of Heaven's eternal light

Here the children
Their beautiful laughter
Wonder what comes after

Memories of life come rushing back
Like a sideshow; a play
Wishing for one more day

Too bad the young don't know
It's all fun; They don't care
Life happens; not always fair

Twilight is here; No more time
Fading out like the setting sun
No matter our plans, our life is done

Copyright © Margi Spurgeon | Year Posted 2014

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The Old House And The Specter

The pale apparition swirls in on night mist.
It envelopes her body, then breathes out its kiss.
Cold to her cheek as the fog to the shore;
She utters a sigh then sleeps deeply once more.
 
She’s new to the house, uninformed, unaware.
But soon sleep will not come for she’ll sense it is there.
Soft scuffs on the staircase, strange sounds in the hall.
Doors opening and closing, pale face on the wall.
 
Something behind her: she’ll turn now aware.
The cold then surrounds her, first taste of despair.
The house knows her panic. The house knows what’s there.
What lurks in the hallways, haunts bedroom and stair.
 
The house is aware of the present . . the past:
Knows happiness here in its walls cannot last.
The old house remembers the lives through the years.
The pain and the sorrow; the sadness, the tears.
 
It creaks in the darkness recalling such woe,
Of year upon year empty lives growing old.
Of dreams never realized and youth gone awry.
Of death without warning . . spilled blood left to dry.
 
The house wants to warn her, “Get out while you can.
This thing that now haunts was a strange, evil man.
A man with no conscience; a man without hope,
Who murdered his family then died by the rope.”
 
But death could not stop him returning from hell:
Five years in the future, dead child in the well.
Then another new owner deceased on the stair.
His wife dead of fright in her soft, easy chair.
 
And the time added up along with the dead.
The old house became empty, forlorn, full of dread.
Long years in the passing, house silent and grim.
No hope for the future as 'it' waited within.
 
But tales of the hauntings grew thin though the years.
A new owner then entered, unaware of old fears.
Threw open the curtains to let in the sun;
For the house a new chapter had surely begun.
 
But the house bides its time, for it knows 'he' is there,
With his festering hate and such wanton despair.
It watches and listens as the terror begins,
And it knows it must act, or he'll kill once again.
 
So it waits for a night when the owners not home.
Just the house and the specter are there all alone.
And comes the hard time the house faces the fact;
The hour is here to rise up . . to react.
 
A window slides open, as if on its own.
Then a breeze enters in, ever gently it’s blown.
And a thin gauzy curtain flutters soft like a sigh,
Nearing ever so moth like, a gas lamp nearby.
 
The inferno erupts climbing woodwork and pane.
It roars up the walls; this malevolent flame.
Then spreads to the hallway burning evil one's lair
And consumes all it touches, both bedroom and stair.
 
And the shrieks that were heard by the gathering outside,
Was the house as it withered, combusted, then died.
Of the tenants who'd perished so far in the past;
The old house had made certain, they would now be the last.
 
And a weed covered hillock is all that remains,
Of the house and its memories . . of the sorrow and pain.
With an evil dammed specter that lurks as before,
Guarding over an empire which is present no more.
 
And on that last day when the Lord calls us home;
The specter must stay and guard his old bone.
He'll not be allowed all that venom to quell.
He will never know heaven, for he’s made his own hell.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

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Dark Twisted Dreams


I've been having the nightmares for a while now each night,
      Although I know in my heart there is no chance of escape;
I really pray that this night will be different and that he won't come,
            But let me start from the beginning of this story.

A while back, my friends were bugging me to start dating again,
      They said it was unnatural for a pretty girl to be without a man;
But I had buried my one true love and was quite happy with my life,
           But they nattered on and on about dating sites and love.

So one day I decided to give it a whirl, why not at least try,
      I went to a site on line that had been suggested by many;
And I entered a lovely profile of my likes and a sweet picture of me,
            Within minutes I was receiving comments and emails.

But in reading the profiles, I felt that they were not for me,
      This went on for weeks and I was rejecting every single one;
My friends said, you have to meet them before making a judgement,
             Well I supposed they were right so I decided to go for it.

The next man who contacted me seemed to be perfect,
      He wrote that he came from London, loved everything Victorian;
Well I love everything Victorian too, he said he worked in medicine,
           Well I am a nurse, he said he liked tea, well me too.

So I made a date with him to meet at a tea shop not far,
      I took a lot of time to look pretty, washing my hair, makeup;
I saw a man enter and a horrible feeling came over me, oh no,
          And yes, he was walking towards my table, smiling.

I wanted to run but he was blocking my way, I was trapped,
      He said hello, he had a pleasant voice all right, and was polite;
But the problem was he had no neck and his skin was horrible,
            His body looked distorted, like a big bloated potato.

Somehow, I made it through the tea and strained conversation,
      He said, he travelled a lot and was looking for a companion:
Did I have a passport, I lied no, I said, your picture is different,
           The more I had to look at him the more awful he became.

I was screaming inside of me, oh why, did I listen to people,
      This was a living nightmare and I had to get away from him;
I excused myself for a moment and I just headed for the door,
            And I literally ran home, I was weeping while I ran.

Oh my, what had I got myself into, why had I listened to others,
      I went to my computer and deleted that stupid profile;
I even took a shower to wash off the scent of him in my mind,
            That night was the first of the nightmares I was to have.

I would be sleeping like an angel and then wake to that face,
      The face with no neck and a bloated body naked in my bed,
There seemed to be a slime coming off him and a nasty stench,
            And I would wake up screaming and screaming.

Those dreams have haunted my nights for quite a long time,
      They frighten me so much that I try to not close my eyes anymore;
I lay there in my bed waiting for this real-life monster to arrive,
            But he is waiting too, waiting for me to close my tired eyes.
                    
                           Because, he really was a monster searching.

___________________________
September 21, 2015

Narrative   

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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into the wedge

There are some things, we will never forget


....

the sound of a phone call, still rings in my ears
squeezing my chest.....squeezing my chest...

the sun was sinking low, into the west
along with my heart
cold, under a blood-red sky

as we drove into the wedge of dusk
on the edge of our seats
in a frozen state 
on that icy slope
I was holding my breath in the liquid silence
coping........not coping
engaging in warfare
of knowing, without really knowing
how to hope, ...or what to hope for

but deep down
already knowing, the war was over...

my torso was rocking
without my control......forward and backwards
a life of it's own
a balm for raw nerves, I couldn't calm down
something to do, something to do
knowing, but not knowing
be hopeful, or be resigned?
coping? not well
 ...knowing, but not knowing

yet, somehow fearing
the war was over....

-

on that night that would change all...

he clung to the wheel......I clung to the seat
we clung to our prayers, but what was done, will be done...
what is gone.....will be gone

as we drove into the wedge of night
watching the moon replace the sun without remorse
we stayed on course, without a word between us said
but a slither of light on the horizon
filling my head with visions of birds on the wing
flying into the clouds
like a sign
as a shroud
taking my eyes
taking my hope
taking the doubt
taking instead
my own resistance
to what I already knew
it all
meant

what was done....will be done
what is gone....will be gone
losing hope....is losing hope
the war was over...

what is left 
we must accept




_________________________________

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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Scars Left Behind

Story of a boy.....

I was to go to bed at 8 that night
When there was firing at the door,
Heard mom gasp,"God save my son."
I had no idea of what was in store.
We ran to the basement and shut it tight,
Mom pointed to the passage where dad hauls in wood
Sternly commanded me to go
While still as stone there she stood.
The sinners banged the door hard,
Through the passage there was just room for me to fit
So I sat down and shook my head,
There was no way that on my mother I'd quit.
She looked at me in the eye and gave me a kiss
And said,"Darling please listen to me,
I love you so very much
As fast as you can, do get to daddy."
'I'll get Dad' I thought and started to crawl,
I had to hurry,the door had almost gave way too
Noticed a sharp thing in the way and stopped,
But mom, in haste pushed me through.
I yelped in pain as iron cut my arm,
But what hurt me more was the door falling with a 'thud'.
Scars on my soul left me nightmares for years to come
Mom's cries and final scream echoing as I ran in the mud.
Fifteen years later, in the same but better town,
I show my arm to my wife and say
"If not for these scars I was left with
I would be with mom today."

-Sadaf Syed

Copyright © sadaf syed | Year Posted 2013

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World Economic Report, April, 2012

Fear feasts on our insides
And wrecks decision-making
Evil jumps in with glee
And another one loses trust

And another one down
And another one down
And another one loses trust

Evil grins
At what might have been
As another one loses trust

Housing fails
Markets, too
And countries follow suit

“Be afraid
Be very afraid”
Used to be a joke
But now it’s the match
That lights the glint
In Evil’s eye

Every day we’re fed
Too much detailed
 information
- Perhaps true;
Perhaps not -
With stated directives
To be
Very
Afraid


As Evil laughs
And Fear cavorts
Through our souls

With another one down
And another one down 
And another one loses trust

I will myself to turn off the media
Not to ignore the warnings;
But to avoid overexposure
To the cancer-causing
Smoking gun
Of fear




According to Article 37, Section 202 of the Code of Federal Regulation, the Congress states that “words and short phrases such as names, titles, and slogans; familiar symbols or designs; mere variations of typographic ornamentation, lettering or coloring; mere listing of ingredients or contents” are not copyrightable.
So thanks to John Deacon of Queen…

Copyright © KJ Hooten | Year Posted 2012