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Best Stress Poems

Below are the all-time best Stress poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of stress poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Stress Poem |

THE LAST DAYS

The days seem to go by so fast. there is a void in the air, the birds have lost their vibrant beat, the ocean has lost its luster, the soil feels solid and dry.
 
My soul feels as if it has left my body before my death, my dreams haunt my day, the tears stain my steps, my doctor says that it is depression, I say that it is reality, I am intoxicated by society,I am numb by perscriptions.
 
Why do I feel so isolated within myself? is there no one in my painfully tight shoes? can anyone understand my pain? can anyone melt in my sorrows? why am I this way? why is the world so cruel? why can't I be normal?
 
Wait! I am normal, what am I saying, I know now, the veil has been lifted, humanity is my enemy, the sins that drip from their sweat, the dread that follows their shadows, their souls of black, their intentions of greed pull a shade across their eyes.
 
They are destined for doom, they will not be saved, they will not find salvation, they belittle me, they curse me, they shame me, but they are right about one thing, I am different, unlike them, I will be saved in the last days.


Details | Stress Poem |

Dementia

He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died, 
he has not been the same.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain, 
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best, 
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows 
what happens next.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia


Details | Stress Poem |

A Perfect-

A perfect crime.
The paper the victim,
the weapon a pen.

A perfect time.
The thoughts in my head,
a prayer, I say, amen.

A perfect day.
The mood is right,
it is time to begin.

A perfect way.
So I write, Father please,
forgive me for my sin.

A perfect start.
The liquid poison,
slowly kills the page.

A perfect heart.
Slowly breaking,
from all the rage.

A perfect death.
Please go in peace,
Your soul to keep.

A perfect breath.
For it's the last,
please don't weep.


Details | Stress Poem |

I Need Your Help Daddy

I’m tired
I’m Physically and Emotionally tired
I don’t want to be the strong one anymore
I can’t this time
I don’t know what to do Daddy
I need your help down here

I can’t get back in control of my emotions 
I’m having a hard time dealing with your absence
I’m having a hard time standing by myself
I need your help Daddy

I’m broken and lost without you Daddy
I need your will to want to carry on
I need your strength to over come this
I need your strength to stay standing
Your courage to fight back again
I need your help 

Please Daddy I’m at a loss
How am I suppose to do this
I need your guidance 
I need you to guide me back
To whom I was before
I need your help Daddy
I need your help







Details | Stress Poem |

Seed Of Friendship-A dedication

L-iving in a world of vast 
souls formed from 
another voided world,
E-ntering thru portals 
from their world to earth.
O-ozing spetacular smell 
and wail when the chips 
are down.
N-urtured from cradle to 
adulthood-independent
entity with a new world 
to face.
O-rganizes oneself for the 
task ahead,passing thru 
hurdles of life unabased 
and unabashed.
R-eaps the fruit of labor 
with joy or heavy heart.
A-ge sets in,mission 
accomplished or not will 
dawn on the entity.

I-n retrospect,he thinks 
about his childhood and 
how life was to him.

L-iving in confidence or 
shame,he bows his head 
in victory or defeat.
O-nly the taste of time 
will tell the durability of 
his achievements.
V-oid of preference the 
aim result bears the 
foundation for his lineage.
E-njoyment or lack lies 
with the works of the 
man,for there is no food 
for the slothful.

Y-oung ones,a stitch in 
time saves nine,make 
haste while the sun 
shines.
O-iling your lamb always 
like the ten virgins is the 
key to success.
U-rging you to shun peer 
pressure and focus on 
the course marked out 
for you by fate,so a 
fulfilled life you shall live.





An acrostic for you 
Leonora Galinita.


Details | Stress Poem |

GREAT HEART

It takes a man with fiery guts
To stand the heat of the spiteful lots
Of little greats still untamed
And future stars still unnamed.

The sweat never ceased to fall
And the stress really took a toll
But success came out after all
Making the stress worthy of all.

Though no thanks be said or showed
And no hats be tipped or bowed
Always remember you are beloved
By those hearts you ploughed and sowed.


Details | Stress Poem |

WHAT AM I

I hurt so bad, yet I feel no pain;
I've grown so numb, I must be insane.

Is anything real, Does anyone care?
I'm lost and alone, flooded with despair.

I have a hole inside, there's so little hope;
I'd scream and cry, if it would help me cope.

What am I, is this what life is?
I can't deny, I'm angry and confused.
Kept alive, with food and shelter;
What a lie, why my soul rots away!

This isn't my turf, in this small courtyard;
Horrible things take place, everyday is hard.

Spare me your moral standard, I hate excuse;
The unseen torture, and the mental abuse.

If God had a people, they'd fight for my escape;
Not slam hope's door closed, until it was too late.

What am I, is this what life is?
I can't deny, I'm angry and confused.
Kept alive, with food and shelter;
What a lie, why my soul rots away!

*I AM AN ORPHANED CHILD THAT WAS TRAFFICKED INTO SEX SLAVERY! 

Dirge Poem of Bitterness and Distress
By: Dave Wood

Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: WHAT AM I?



Details | Stress Poem |

Still In Progress

How can I be selfless without being used? 
How can I be demanding without being so rude? 
How can I open up without closing back down? 
How can I speak if you don't hear a sound? 
How can I trust without being betrayed? 
Yet how could I leave... even after you stayed? 
But how can you love me when I won't let you in? 
So many questions.... where do I begin? 
-------- 
Memories now blurred, flying through my mind…… 
Now, I’m trying to repress the days of being youthful and blind. 
Every morning I pull on my armor, right from within, 
Preparing for a war, that I intend, to win. 
If my heart is my comrade and my mind is the enemy, 
Then in the midst of this battlefield, 
Life is the remedy…
 --- 
Trying to stay sane, knowing that although this is temporary, nothing is vain… 
Learning that there is always a purpose and people will try to corrupt us, and bring you great shame… 
Being told that ‘Victory isn't given to he who starts the race the strongest, but he who endures until the end.’ 
Trying to suspend you from learning to depend... on yourself, 
instead making you depend on the wealth, 
Of someone who doesn't even know who he is, 
while you’re grasping the stealth of your true identity, in your right hand, in your heart, the knowledge…
Never been withheld 
… 
.. 
. 
Feeling the world come crashing down on you, compacting into a mist of air so cool, 
The breeze passing right through, right into the depths of your pores, to ensue, 
The burning and broken and fragile pieces of the inhabitants of the earth from your birth til' now.. 
Physically becoming everything that you breathe, touch, conceive, munch, perceive, every aroma... 
And every great or insignificant trauma, reflecting off your skin oh so temporarily, the mark so paper thin… 
Physically, THAT is what you are… 
Because we only see the physical, right? 
Yet, behind every movie is there not a director… a cast? 
And behind every painting is there not an artist, combining colors and lines so vast? 
And behind every child is there not a journey, a past? 
...
That you did not walk, yet you know that it’s there, not by sight, scent, taste, touch, or hearing... But something inside you, that says it makes sense, KNOWS that all of that is there, 
KNOWING
...
..
.


Details | Stress Poem |

Treasures of my soul

Treasures of my soul

One day I had an old age moment
My world went kind of crazy
I really wasn’t thinking straight
My mind went kind of hazy
I gave away all worldly goods
And left loved ones behind
Looking for that greener grass
That most do never find.

I spent a year just hanging there
In  a  nowhere kind of land
What had happened in my mind
I did not understand
But soon my soul was called on back
To the wife I’d left behind
My darling one let me return
She was sweet, and she was kind.

That night I held her in my arms
As her tears just fell, and fell
My heart just bled, my soul screamed out
I knew I loved her well
This lady who would die for me
She cried into my soul
That day my world was born again
My being felt more whole.

Now as I write these words, the tears
Are streaming down my face
And yet these tears come from my soul
These tears are filled with grace
Because that day my lady cried
My life was turned around
I live now just to love that lady
Through this such joy I've found.

27 July 2013 @ 0405hrs.


Details | Stress Poem |

Reality's Angel

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


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