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Best Rehabilitation Poems

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Intervention and Rehabilitation by Glover, Monique
The Rehabilitation of Killers ( Two Senryu Trilogies) by Stacey, Leon

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The Best Rehabilitation Poems

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |


Trust not in the words: "In God We Trust", printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God,
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how this isn't good for business.

Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.

People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.

With or without the words, 
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God, 
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control,
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, are all profit margins.

The war being waged upon children, is a profit margin.

If I had been given the chance, 
I would have tried my best to take him out,
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands.
To stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds,
that if crossed over, stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.

When a child survives a massacre,
runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there.
My teacher was killed, I don't have a teacher anymore.
All of my friends are dead."....

....then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is empowered even more.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.

If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire,
fed the beast within, 
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out, pushed it out, purged it out.

Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling 
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity -
not marked by a fairy-tale Devil,
but instead marked by the Money-God created in the image of man;
recreating the image of man through fear.

Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom -
without and within, within and without.

If I had been given the chance -- past tense....

....if I am given the chance,
I will try my best to take him out,
smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out, push it out, purge it out,

until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.

December 14th, 2012 - S.H.E.S:  28 - 2 = 26

January 7th, 2013


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

More great poems below...

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

What is it Good For?

I'm not either victor or defeated
I'm neither old nor young
War... What is it good for?
   Motivations, calculations
   Temptations, negotiations
To protect the livelihood 
To inflict punishment 
To guard the national pride
To prevent the loss of resources
   Accusations, provocations  
   Proclamations, exhortations
To eliminate a possible menace
To preserve the order of the world
To bring an outlet for aggression 
To create mourning, why not?
   Delegations, corporations
   Orchestration, instigation
To justify our morality, Your Honor
To give freedom, Honorable Representative
To protect our interest, Mr. Senator
To make them believe it, Mr. President
   Aberrations, depredations,
   Desecrations, perturbations,
Recruit spics, niggers and white trash
Our country do not discriminate
   Populations, migrations
   Segregation, elimination
To defend our boundaries
To pay for a higher education
To disregard human life  
To use our animal behavior
   Detonations, amputation
   Rehabilitation, cremation
For international disputes
For secret treaties
For balance of powers
For the economic view of war
   Consideration, speculation
   Starvation, exploitation
Who orders the war? Who undertakes the war?
The benefits must be greater than the cost
"Heroes are for Free."
"Order 300 Medals of Honor be awarded posthumously."
   Conflagration, lubrication?
   Confrontation, penetration?
Peace is the lapses we deserved to prepare the next war
Military tactics, strategy, logistics...operational art
We need those angry young men to kill other angry young males 
Between the ages of 18 and 30...we can manipulate them
   Demarcations, evacuations 
   Allegations, compensations
To collect reparations and concessions from the defeated nations. 
To reduce unemployment…To bring our country out of the Depression
   Usurpation, domination
   Victimization, vilification
Humanity's highest activities are courage, honor, and heroism
Anxiety, flashbacks and nightmares?
Difficulty falling or staying asleep?
Anger and hyper vigilance?
   S. S. Administration
For their extraordinary heroism
For assaulting an enemy position and aiding a fallen soldier
For covering an enemy grenade with their bodies to protect fellow soldiers
For the greater horror their parents can, could, may, might, would ever experience
War... What is it good for?

Copyright © Ruben O.

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |


Windows of my life,through
which I see the world.Silhouettes
imaged moments transfigured
forever imprinted upon memory.
Windows of my life,paused moments
in which I live in the land of the living.
Precious gaps of reality,distractions
from the monotony of the repetitive
routine of the cycles of my rehabilitation
a rejuvant restoration on the road to good health.

You may hear me recite this and most of my PS catalogue on Youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro.

Copyright © Brian Strand

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

You Can't Hurt Me

Resounding echoes awaken the child
demons in the attic beckon unto him
stark fear grips his Vick's laden chest
shivers vibrate rusty springs of down

footsteps creak closer upon loose floorboards
while steamed filled pipes play taps
a somber teddybear snarls
causing the world to be still

foolish nuns, God doesn't want to "get me"

the sting of a ruler splinters a left hand
blood spurts upon faces of laughter
evil little boy too wicked for a mother
affliction runs in the family

Florence became flop because she always fell
polio never whipped her ass
just abused her now and then
she healed with a smile

Even humility has its price

Jimmy Dean wore sunglasses
maybe his eyes were bloodshot
or maybe he was a child of an alcoholic
and they became part of his attire

degenerate eye disease, masturbation
spattering or battering
does it really matter when you can't see
or understand the difference between ADD and ADHD

Psych 101: Crack can be Prozac

Iron gates surround a new residence
protecting the innocent who peer from outside
rehabilitation means refining bad habits
like those on the outside who have mastered them

twelve years of bars and games people play
provide an education unto itself
seclusion can be the deciding factor
between murder or suicide

self righteous judges choose life

recidivism is a revolving door
of vicious cycles with no engines
only propellers called co-dependants
or co-defendants, take your pick

life repeats itself over and over
only the circumstances change
yet the merry-go-round stops
when the flowers are arranged

Why are most tombstones gray

scared, afraid to die
are you saved?
from what, ourselves
you can't hurt me

Bob Shank-Nov. 30th, 2006

Copyright © Bob shank

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

Stick to HIS rules, HE not Human actually rules

( On backdrop of current JAPAN tragedy. 
Dedicated to all who lost lives and property in worst devastation ever. 
Our sincere prayers for their salvation, succour to surviving victims, early rehabilitation)


Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Fukushima
Nuclear destination, bombing and self-explosion
Human rant, God is just name for chant
Reign human invention, HE just mythological sovereign

God disliked apathy, shelved sympathy
thought to teach lesson, venue selected Japan
Quake, Tsunami, Fire, Radioactive leak, wreck plenty
65 seconds flat, venue littered with death float

Humans abuse Nature, expect HIM to spare, care  
HIS justice, a show reality sans court, hearing or attorney 
HE delivers salvation to devastation, superpower to roadside pauper
Avoid HIS wrath, stick to HIS rules, HE not Human actually rules      

Hitendra Mehta
March 2011

For Members Contest –   The Rhyme Inside by Debbie Guzzi

Copyright © Hitendra Mehta

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

My Drug of CHOICE

Man-made drugs
Induce an altered state
A psychedelic paradise
Of euphoria
A burst of colors
Impaired reality of dreams
A fix of blissful forgetfulness
Married to ecstasy

What need have I of these?
When I have you
My drug of choice
I will not touch any of the others
But you, I long to touch…
To feel you under my fingertips
To caress before I ingest
And let you posses...

Every way I can have you is good…
I inject
Take you in orally
Taste you laced with everything
Under my tongue...

There…ah….there….it begins
I start getting high….
Climbing and climbing
My roller coaster rocketing high
On your words
On the scent of your emotions
On the presence of you in my mind
Who could ever find
A more wholesome or better stimulant...

Yes, you stimulate every part of me
You excite me
Make me delirious
Bring fire to my veins
Drive me insane
Make me oblivious to the pain
Leave me wanting more than the time before
Wanting a larger dose of you
More dangerous
More hallucinogenic
Unaware of my surroundings
I climax on this induced trip
You….my drug of choice
The drug from which
There is not even an iota
Of hope for rehabilitation….EVER...

Every cell to my very core is under your control
I want you coursing in my blood
Flooding my brain
More often…more intense…longer…stronger…
What drug can compare to you?
My ever present addiction…
Opiate of my obsession
Drug of my choice….

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Was struck by a bolt of inspiration on this one! :)

Belt it out with Amy Winehouse…..”They wanted to take me to rehab, but I said ‘NO, NO, NO’.” ;) When I teach my students a rule or so in grammar, I say, for example, "Can you use a comma to join two independent clauses? Is it enough punctuation?" Then, in answer, I belt out with Amy..."NO, NO, NO!" They laugh!

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

What doesn't kill You only makes you weak

I down poison and sleep for days
trying to take the heart ache away
I swallow rasorblades to take the headaches away
but nothing matters its always the same
what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger
liar liar pants on fire!!!!

Overdosed and dieing
survived it and now paying with liver damage and internal bleeding

The car crash of the drunk driver
how relaxing
nail biting aftermath
and another reason to go out and party
for the celebration
of the alcoholic
who just took the life of his best friend
I'm the victom
I'm the victom
I'm the victom he says
but low and behold the survivors in the other vehicle
stronger than ever
all crippled and in wheel chairs
know that
they should really thank the drunk driver and condemn
all the hippocrits who know nothing of survival

so here i am
wishing to be more strong
why bother to exercise
they surely have it all wrong
why pay attention to science any way
all those cliches can tell you about apples and sunshine
but we know what doesn't kill you makes you stronger
so i think I'll cut off my leg
go play in traffic
or fight the wars by doing too much drugs
the place inside the fire can tell you
what doesn't kill you will only make you strong

A second lease on life
a new found reason to get up and go
and find god and praise life
and all the things i should have done
and all the newfound glorious reasons to cry
why oh why oh why oh why
thank you lord thank you Jesus
thank you wars thank you liars thank you lies
thank you doctors thank you poets
thank you psychologists
thank you preachers for truly understanding an age old cliche
I'll peel off this apple to keep the doctor away throw out the core
and know
if it doesn't kill me
I'm probably just weak
and after all the rehabilitation and speach therapy i still don't feel like me

Copyright © Troy Nelson

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

A Beast Feast

Lean into me Luv,
abandon the logic of romance,
be naked in the nature of my need,
pant openly as weightlessness prickles your pink parts,

Tonight I do not want your love,
I don't deserve it anyway, a villian in exhuberance,
I just want the secrets of your sex, without plead,
to suck the salt of your secretion, feed on the spray of your darts,

Slaking my savagery with the skin of your submission,
unlocking the vault with nimble pick, to teach with a spanking stick,
having that naughty nook spilling a confession of capitulation, dizzy dilation,
an Angel of excess, I place your safety on a shelf of disarray, caution on delay,

I want to ravage the basement of your beauty, finding hot boxes of remission,
rummaging the attic of your aggressions with the precision of a magic trick,
I don't need you to be my nurse, a Nightengale of negligent rehabilitation,
I don't want the chill of charity, just the alarm of your domination in dismay,

Melt upon the mercy of my meat,
let me take the wet wisdom of your woman's weapon
smear it along the dagger of my undiagnosed demolition,
under a Blood Moon your body will flex without rest, hesitation does retreat,
I gently grip your throat, as I feel your moan in the soft palm of my hand's vindication -


Copyright © Justin Bordner

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

R and R

R and R

Fan those palm fronds a little faster, boys
As I recline here in dignified poise

I’m Cleopatra, your Egyptian queen
I require the most sumptuous cuisine

Not queen for a day, but for a whole week
Surrounded by tall men with great physiques

Quit your bellyaching, why can’t you grasp
I’m not fated to succumb to an asp

Just provide me with every luxury
Or I’ll send your wives to a nunnery

For seven days I’ll be waited upon
It’s my vacation so I can dream on

Classes I miss and work piles on my desk
As I relax, remaining statuesque

Rest and rehabilitation is grand
On day eight, I’ll respond to your demands

For Carol Brown's "A week to do as I please" contest

Copyright © Diane Locksley

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

Why Life

Why does dawn dress morning,
while dusk undresses sight?
Each dawn incarnates another Earth Day
as Easter morning's redeeming revolution,
another day of gift-it-forward light,
some longer,
some shorter before naked covered night.

Why life?
To uncover love's enlighting invitation,
integrity's eco-creative comprehensive meaning.
To discover love life sustained 
as Earthdependent ego-death's belonging.
To recover co-passion's perpetual peaceful pilot light,
decomposing fire's burning fuel rate 
and flow toward warm home health 
and eternal sight.

Why rehabilitation,
repurposing of people, 
permaculturing planet?
Recreation unfolds redemptive revolutions,
dawning/darkening new each moment 
expanding each day to contract each night
and life
and communality 
and co-operating species,
paradigm and meme,
language and information,
form as dynamically integrating function,
inclusive conscience as evolving consciousness,
each loving act of mutual gravity's emergence,
ego-eco zero-solidarity practice.

Therapeutic intent to rehabit and repurpose
to recycle
grows internally nutritious inspirational DNA roots,
externally natural trans-generational branches,
ecological economics healing cooperative Paradise Lost
within our Tree of Life and Death, 
and without our Tree of Languaged "Good" and "Evil,"
comprehensive polymorphic rooted organic landscapes
of Ego absorbing SuperEcoing Earth's co-arising systems.

Language both fertilizes and farms,
produces and consumes
echoes and enthymemes
nouns and verbs
subjects and objectives
grows and harvests 
induces and deduces,
inhales and exhales
yangs and yins
optimizes and purges
lives and decompositionally dyes
universalizes and unites polyculturing vision
polymorphs and polypaths.

Speech and thought can both rehabit and repurpose understanding,
comprehensive comprehension,
co-passion feeds con-science
as anthrocentric peace fills out ecojustice.

DNA's temporal analysis decomposes to recreate cultural memory, 
image evolving imagination, 
hope co-arising faith,
despairing dreams predicting sintaxing cultural decay,
raping eco-screams restricting life's potential,
universal dark negentropy swallowing and regurgitating
inhaling and exhaling
Earth's teleosynthetic life of time-squared light,
both dissonance and confluence,
chaotic energy swelling complex matter,
double-negatives justifying ecological positive,
contentiousness challenging co-operating contentedness,
fearing ego-death inviting beloved full eco-climax life,
longing creating belonging.

Noticing dipolar relationships,
Ego-yangs within not-not Eco-yin's Earth flight,
enriches polypathic fields of analogical Win-Win reiterate perception,
growing consciousness of interdependent iconic-ionic paradigms,
Double Dark dynamic love between weeds and seedy flowers,
brother and sister transparent organic farm
of deeply resonant ecologic.

Bi-id-entified RNA rests simply silent void
growing confidence in SuperEco's compelling righteous revolution
resonant resolution
spilling discontented longing roots
investing regenerate co-passion's peacefilled leafing NOW.

SuperEco is to Yang/Yin integrative power potential
as Id-entity is to Yang/Yin voiceless harmony, 
listening discernment to and of and in and by DNA's regenerative systems,
as non-violent intent is to recreative peace and ecojustice practice,
as inclusive intuitive conscience grows co-passion's Beloved Community.

Decompositional function of polynomial binary/binomial language 
grows information's reverse hierarchy QByte octaved bicameral systems,
where Right-brain not-not polynomial 
rediscovers binomial space as fractal time's construction,
revolving double-boundaried resolution of eternal time, 
co-relational meeting of infinitely omnipresent past with omnipotent future.

Regenerate function of language creates,
subjects objectives to empirical scrutiny,
nouns verbs toward analogical futurity, 
brights dawns both ecologically wise and economically (0)-summed co-operative,
fueling Earth's Win-Win co-passioning power toward globally peaceful justice.
Eco-systemic comprehension both fuels and farms permacultural love,
organic ecotherapy for all four economic seasons,
including advent's winterish purgation,
winnowing Identity's weedy monocultural/monomial root assumptions,
composting Earth Tree's rehabiting spring branches
stretching out gravity's mutual gratitude 
toward Omniscientific Eco's radiant bi-temporal light.

Why regenerate living?
Why not decompose co-arising light?

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |


Tacloban City, 
Heavily Damaged: 10,000 feared dead, 
cadavers of ripped children litter on the streets, 
Ormoc City, 
Totally Devastated: People are desperate, 
the streets are infested with terrible hunger, 
looting is everywhere, 
The whole city: State with anarchy, 
Most of the communities on the coastal areas around the Visayas region: Literally wiped out, 
defaced from the map in a blink of an eye, 
washed away into the ocean by tsunamis of 15 feet higher, 
After the apocalyptic deluge of super typhoon Yolanda, 
sufferings plagued with painful sadness reign, 
dead mothers hugged by crying children still wet with gushing blood, 
a confused father carrying the cadaver of his young daughter, 
whole families uprooted, 
died in a split second, 
an old woman eternally searching for her dead sons and daughters, 
the old man shedding tears before the church's sacred altar, 
his mind could not imagine the magnitude of the devastation, 
an unthinkable natural calamity, 
such a tragic phenomenon he just experienced in his lifetime.

My heart bleeds while watching these heart breaking news flashed 
on television, 
in every corner of the victims' eyes are unimaginable sufferings beyond human comprehension, 
not even a poetic thought could find a word to describe the sorrow they are going through, 
even an artist's passionate hand finds it hard to portray on canvass the agonies of homelessness, 
worst than nightmare is that their dreams are swept away by heavy flooding.
how depressing to see them trembling under the bitter coldness without clothes.

Even the wrath of nature is terrible, 
the very nature that we abused for so long, 
but never loose hope, 
there will always be calm after the storm, 
as beautiful rainbow appears after the rain, 
you'll never walk alone through your endeavor towards rehabilitation and restoration, 
in spite of the political scandal of corruption that afflicts our country, 
the politicians that put us in global shame, 
the disease that we are trying to cure day by day, 
but always remember, 
we are filipinos born with a spoon of resiliency, 
deep in our hearts are true compassion for others, 
the spirit of bayanihan still dwells within us, 
hand in hand we help each other like a one big family, 
together we stand united, 
this tragedy will be overcame, 
and realize that this enemy is just but a small problem to beat.

Copyright © gianni pansensoy

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

1st world hypocrisy

We may have won the battle, but they never fought the war.

we are living in a rose tinted nation, 
Trying to live up to our own declarations.
Avoiding participation in our own rehabilitation.
Yet we still choose depression as our safety station.

We surround ourselve with distorted imagery.
Illusions and delusions of how we ought to be.
Fighting for democracy and unrealistic dreams of equality.
yet racism still a well known philosophy.

We place our goals just within our reach.
We use empty books to educate and teach.
We memorise our perfect speech, tick the box 'donate to aid relief'.
Yet obesity is our number one retreat.

We follow the rules on how to behave .
Make notes of what and to whom we gave.
Pray to god and you will be saved, for all our sins he did forgave.
yet a mortgage pays for the tombstone on our grave.

Our eyes have closed in this rose tinted nation.
As the economy rose we sacrificed our identification.
Lost our salvation in the walls of our self built concentration.
And we pity them with their lack of complication.

Copyright © Gillian Hewitt - Stubbs

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

Mom's Malaise, part two

A couple of years later, at age 19, this farm girl married and, true to her Catholic
upbringing, began having children. She had four live births and four miscarriages over the course of less than seven years, long before the idea of “post-partum” depression was even a gleam of understanding in anyone’s mind.  After the birth of her fourth child, a girl who would grow up to study environmental sciences and eventually draw the correlation between that first atomic explosion and her mother’s first episode of mental, emotional and physical distress, that infant had to be taken by her aunt and uncle to care for lest she perish from failure to thrive because by this time, mom was so deeply depressed, she was unable to care for her newborn.  

In those days there was no such thing as mental health care, no understanding at all of how to nourish the brain or detox the body from the effects of poisons and radiation…for indeed these advances are only recently gaining traction and still only in the realm of “alternative health care”.  With no understanding of her condition, or of what would even constitute appropriate care, her state of mind and body continued to deteriorate. After more than one suicidal episode and losing her children to foster care while she entered a treatment and rehabilitation facility, she was eventually diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic and manic-depressive, giving her husband sufficient justification to divorce her and blame her parents for not telling him that she was mentally deficient before he married her. Even the Catholic Church agreed and granted an annulment of the marriage that produced his four live children and four miscarriages while he served in the Air Force and left her to care for his children while he was away for years at a time overseas on unaccompanied assignments. But nevertheless, the marriage was officially annulled so that he could marry again sanctioned by the Church and his Catholic bride could continue to take unholy communion in mass.

Copyright © Linda Witt-King

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

Cruel Agony

Cruel agony!!
The brazen breath of your holy anticipation… writhing…conniving…
I am spent… so, so spent…. 

Terrified of your superior countenance, I crush these words in the mortar of your eyes closed tight
Good eye, black eye…. averting side to side

Where is this mess taking me next?

Tantalizing fury!!
Your fingers clasp about my throat, astonishing the gods on high
I have never seen the angels so irresolutely fly! 

Bite me and let it be over!!!
This pain I have inflicted upon you is far beyond my conception
The ink being squeezed from me in tasty inception
Your teeth sinking in me and pulling….stretching like liquid elastic
The less of me makes certain of my love for you—so drastic

Your breathing mightier, more intentional, strove in the soles that tread for eons! 
You have me dancing on your razor-sharp ledge…
The sledgehammer waiting for the moment you make your pledge

Testify!!! Or die… 

Cringing, singing, dormant in disparity 
My words strive so illusively, vainly for clarity
Smoothing the edge of your lips— two swords that clash
I hasten within the slit to the tongue that dares such confirmation…

You are my only, 
Without you, I am so very lonely..
Look at these tears feverishly fall
When truth denies the wretchedness of your livid calls

In futile reserve, it seems I have made my mark
Misery is central in this looming, squirming dark
You devour my mind’s passions until all that remains is yours
And for a moment, I allow the rehabilitation of your force

AGONY…..cruel AGONY….
Hold onto me, again
I have dulled those swords, the entrance to your mouth
So that when they pierce me again, 
I will fall to the earth with no doubt…
And you will penetrate me with all of your strength, 
You will utter your love to me again,

Then I will close my eyes in peace, 
And the gods can again breathe…

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

My Salvation

I had just reached the summit of the mountain;
The final reward for my four hour hike up the steep terrain.
There was still snow in abundance at the peak
Even though the summer sun bathed me in light from the cloudless sky.

The sweat, in which I was fully drenched,
Was turning cold against my aching body once I sat down for a rest and a view of the wondrous landscape below.
Each deep breath I inhaled further cleansed my soul; further restored my spent energy.

I sat and contemplated.

Even though I was alone, atop this glorious mountain;
Even though I passed no other hikers along the trail on which I labored for four hours;
Even though I was so high up, I could not make out any signs of human life in the miles and miles of God’s green earth that stretched out before me down below;
I somehow felt less lonely here than I do when I walk amongst the hordes of people in a mall;
Or, sit in a crowded theater;
Or, stand on the train because there are no seats left upon which to sit;
Or, walk the hallways of an office building full of employees just waiting for the time to go home.

At the same instance, while in awe of the beauty in the scenery I took in,
I felt so miserably insignificant and yet, so magnificently important.

My legs ached.  My heart pounded.  My feet throbbed.  My back tightened.  And, I had never felt better in all my life.

I sipped water from the bottle that accompanied me up the mountain.
I ate the power bar with the knowledge that going back down is no easy proposition.
I watched the sun slowly get closer to the distant horizon.
And, I smiled.  And, I cried.

Then, it came time to head back down.

I felt like I was leaving my best friend on my way back to prison to finish out my sentence:
Found guilty of having accumulated debts that must be paid; 
Found guilty of having responsibilities demanding my attention;  
Found guilty of embarking on a career path that rewards me monetarily while sucking away the spirit of my soul. 

But, I will be back.  Not to this same mountain, but certainly to this same state of mind on another peak.

This is my rehabilitation.  This is my church.  This is my salvation.

Copyright © Joe Flach

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

Demon Whispers

Brains excreting pictures

"Chia Pet Poets" 
exploring emotional trade winds
escaping reality 
for SIX minutes
for seconds
for SIX hours
from fingers
for days
for nights
grins hidden deep 
beneath booger eyelids
wipe clean morning's green sleep 
disappearing dried dreams
wetting the head 
in bed 
freeing sick insecurities 
for years
horror flicks 
on repeat 
since haunted childhood
frozen within vaults 
SIX feet thick 
wrecking ball rehabilitation 
cannot promise demolition 
for good...
diffusing demon whispers

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

Four Years Gone

Of my life it’s been four long years of never-ending trips to the facility, you name it, in and out and up and down and over.ARGUMENTS? Don’t get me started. Every doctor and nurse on the planet. Wages war with my attempts at keeping you alive.BONY your hand was, and FOUL your British mouth. Demanding you acted and entitled calling everyone a yellow *****.
“Do this not that and see that it’s done properly!”NO HELP. That’s what I got for my thankless job of rescuing your sorry ass out of the
gutter they called Rehabilitation on Riverside Drive.SALVATION. I saved your sorry self. I fought off your greedy nieces. I dove into Hell
and pulled you out.  And now finally…FOUR YEARS LATER, at the nursing home, ninety minutes after they found
your body lying cold on the floor they called me. “We were unable to resuscitate her.”
PENNILESS.MONEY SPENT. So went their service.DEAD NOW. At last, I breathe and call the Executor.PARACHUTING! That’s what he called it, what he was doing out of town. Couldn’t assume responsibility. Couldn’t do what he promised the de-thronged former Gramercy Park Club President.
LEFT out in the cold. That’s what I was. My name as back up executor.RELEASE the body. That’s what I told the nursing home, that’s what I told the
 funeral director.GREEDY BASTARDS. It’s what I thought when they said I didn’t plan for poll bearers
or music at the service. CALLED THEM OUT ON IT. Called the whole God damn world out on it. And I rose
and took over.STELLAR is what you looked like lying in that coffin. They did a bang up job making
it look as if you were well, and on the way to the Opera or a party at the Grammy’s and jewels looked real enough. It was as if you had stepped into the coffin and passed out cold from too much champagne, remember when you did that?
ARDUOUS AND CUMBERSOME were the services where the six good looking actor
poll bearers carried your coffin and stood while Mother and I, the only one’s
there, sat through the service in the Cathedral. NEVER ENDING is what the ride seemed like as I drove out to nearly the Hamptons,
 Nearly in Calverton.QUICK was the service there. They don’t pay as much homage to the wives of sailors.
RELIEVED is what I felt when I left and finally came home.
UNLOVED BY LIFE. You delighted in torturing people.

Copyright © Richard Smiraldi

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

For every month of March in every year

For every month of March in every year

For every month of March in every year
Of course marks days to my renaissance
Refurbishment, metamorphosis, rejuvenation

Every day of my life is never a dearth
Virtues are ample in each of them
Even I befriend and I reciprocally befriends
Revelation, rehabilitation are fine things
Yes that usually surround most of my day

Moment by moment I sense reasons and purposes
Of why precious is my being to this land of living
No matter coma, the what though
Till now that not all envisage comes to pass
Happy I am for those ones that come to pass

Of every month that revolves the year, aside
Full moon counts, is my month of April

Mind loves sharing the joy of half of that month
At least with hearts and eyes that give succor-
Roommates, family members, friends near and far
Comportment in consternation, plus compensation
Have to be my compilation till that day departures

It's in my day, meant to set aside by me 
Nay, all day stand and bring the best to me 

Even at work that I'll always be occupied by
Visitor's wants and needs, and by colleagues' things…
Elders' summon demanding full attention to their plights
Resting intermittently with siesta and dusk
Yes, all of these are pertinent and need to be orchestrated

You see when I tell you I do have time, not to check time...
Etching some of the things I believe will guest and best me
Anywhere, everywhere ...all times, so long as the world continues to live
Relics too relevant to living -the leader, the lead- will the encomium me be


Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

Mind Thought Determination

What is mind thought determination? 
It is the sophisticated thoughts of a individual wit self-taught mental sophistications.
 It is the chemical mind thought process brain inspirational enhanced created word creations.
 It is the one thought that keeps your hopes from being eliminated by your own weak minded self-doubt double eliminations.
 It is the the thought that can turn your own pains into pleasure of our own sensified sensations. 
It is the thought that can turn you into a leader of tis lost generation to inspire my reservation and maybe even in others parts of this nation to get your own redemptive vindication of those who took away your aspirations.
Mind thought determination is for your embracing not to be forsaken, 
you are your own movie in the making, let not your hope in the mind be shaken.
 MIND THOUGHT POWER over all tis senseless hating, we got to stop all our senseless
 chasing, you are forever a leader in this free world racing. 
If you locked up it don't matter how much time that you facing. 
 It is the thought to use what is against you and turn your hateration into inspiration.
My mind has but one destination of all mankinds fascinations .....and that is to finally use my MIND THOUGHT DETERMINATION.........

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

I Shoot up on Words- Sweet Addiction

I shoot up on words
Feeling the surge
Living the psychedelic transformation
Of reality...
Bursting into an explosion of colors
Surreal existance 
I ride it high
This wave
Knowing my addiction
Is devouring my soul
My mind
My heart
My body
My desires
My dreams
My essence

Withdrawal symptoms…
I’m sick
I wretch
I scream
I flail my arms
Ravaged by nightmares
Fixated by one thought
My next high
My next trip
Into a better place

But the drug is withheld...
To punish
To torment
To subjugate
To tease
And I become part of the living dead
In hell….

Until…the next dose is prepared
My fix of words…poetry…LIFE
And I shoot up
Multiple times

Pure and Sweet
From which
There is no release
And no rehabilitation.

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

Sweet Surrender

A sweet grain
Softly tasted upon my life
Turned over in my body
To enhance, increase, its longevity

Beginning to dissolve 
Wishing it’d stay
Slowly gone
A small taste lingers

Moments pass
The memory of deliciousness escapes
A craving formulates
A need, a want, an essential

This time it’s different
One grain is not enough
A more fulfilling amount is needed
To sate my hunger

An addiction forms
Repeated actions and results
Until the resource disappears
In the end rehabilitation

Relapse shifts life
The bliss outweighs consequences
Its flavor engulfs me
Unable to escape this love

Copyright © Jillian Veitenheimer

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

My Mind

My mind        

My mind is a prison
Overpopulated with remorse
Incarcerated by images of sin
My mind refuses rehabilitation
It cowers in a concrete corner
Face in hands; protesting parole
My mind punishes me with guilt 
Terrorizing my thoughts 
A reoccurring rape of recidivism
My mind is unforgiving
It confiscates my hope
Segregates my dreams in isolated darkness
Allowing occasional one hour visits of  promise.
My mind is a complicated collage of convicting confessions
Callously castrating my continuing calls for clemency
My mind mocks mercy
It Mimics moments of misery In a mental mirror
Molesting my mild memories in a riot of regrets
My mind wants no truce
It gladly guards my goals behind gilded gates of grief
Giving me a life sentence of worry
My mind is a prison that I cannot escape
Every night I am summoned from my dim-lit cell
And violently beaten into submission
Here, I repent
I pray for a pardon
And although the Almighty has given me a reprieve
My mind assures me that death is my only release

Copyright © Willie Wright

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |

Standing Again

         Standing up Again
Just Like a national history book
Our moment is sticking on me
Like some weird painful cicatrix
That are bitting my corporal soul

You took me from the shiny sky
And you buried me in the darkness
Alive, with a knife set in my heart
There, I met the unconscious condition

I was worthless, I spent two years 
In the sensational rehabilitation
While I was motivated to see her    
Magic happened, I was Standing up again
I stood up again and I went to her
She saw me and sent a desolate face
Inside me, the reason was against the love
However, I was ready to be hitting again

Highly, she smiled and erased the past
I felt her sorcery power over me
I kissed her and knew she'll be more 
But I want to stay even though she'll burn 
me to ash

Copyright © Gregory Azor

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |


My hands shake
I am drenched in sweat
I can feel my eyes rolling back
I slip into unconsciousness

I awake 
Engulfed in excruciating pain
My body screams
Screams, for a new dose

My cheeks glisten with tears
The reality of what my life has become, is a death sentence
I have to change
I want to change

The rehabilitation centre is hell on earth
But I will fight, until I have nothing left
This is not who I am
And not who I want to be

Months and months of fear
My quality of life is gone
By the demons inside me

Each day is pure torture
My physical suffering is immense
But my regrets, are killing me 

I have replaced myself 
With a monster
Destroyed who I really am
But giving up, is not an option

I will fight 
Until I am the victor of this war
My desire to change burns inside me
Flames of determination in my eyes

I suffer immensely for my recovery
I rise every time I fall
Becoming stronger than before
Fighting with courage in my heart

I begin to see light in my dark tunnel
I am now in control
Drugs becoming a ghostly shadow of my past
Fading but, never completely disappearing

As I walk away free of these monsters
I know my weakness to addiction still lurks
Deep inside me
But my new found strength and determination will forever overpower it

I am branded with scars
A constant reminder of who I was
But the encouragement
To never return

Copyright © Amy Sullivan

Details | Rehabilitation Poem | |


1.Scotland has 20,000 methodone users-Double any country in Europe.
2.Our Government has spent 105 million pounds on it in 4 years !
3.After a 3 year programme only 3% of users ARE TOTALLY DRUG FREE.
4.Parking addicts on methadone is clearly not getting people off drugs.

Tommy"s parked on methadone,syringes all at sea.
This heroin substitute to make him drug free.
Saved from the gutter and no more petty crimes.
A body torn with needles,not like yours or like mine.

Drugs get the wrath and the public condemnation.
Now we"re spending money on his rehabilitation.
Our countries funds continue killing fellow man.
Its a costly failure,its a deathly plan.

Drug deaths happen all over this land.
Twenty thousand users,get our heads out of the sand.
We deal with the symptoms and not the real causes.
These poor wretched souls,we are poisoning their bodies.

One third of drugged corpses,contain that green curse.
From you and me given, from the public purse.
We have blood on our hands but its not too late.
Tommy"s still alive,what will be his fate?


Copyright © William Willis