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Long Forgiveness Poems | Long Forgiveness Poetry

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Long Poems
Long poem by cassie hellberg | Details |

over and over agin

sometimes i talk to myself, 
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all. 
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
FAT
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister, 
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
repeating,
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some unique
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it. 
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room, 
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy, 
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
no
is daddy raping her?
no
is she doing drugs?
not alot
is anyone beating her?
pass...
did anyone molest her? 
pass....
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
more... 
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse. 
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
hated herself
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses 
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
FAT!!!!!!
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
FAT!
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat, 
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why? 
because daddy yelled 
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
smoking weed
doing nothing,
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
 her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
her mom,
her sister,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
 and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
and why? 
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...


Long poem by Scribbler Of Verses | Details |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Long poem by Ruth Sabath Rosenthal | Details |

Sister -- a poem in 3 parts

I.

End-Cut Prime Rib of
Beef,  Crab-
Cake, Lobster Tail,
Sea Scallops.

I feel — no — need
to, eat those foods
you 
asked that I get
you. So I scour the
internet 

for upscale
Manhattan restaurant
menus, listing,
first and foremost,
roast prime rib of
beef, 

confident that, if I
find that, the
seafood items 
will appear on at
least one of them,
too. 

It’s the Post House,
on East 63rd Street,

that has everything.
And, on this day, 

the 1st anniversary
of your death, I’m
eating 
the foods you
craved, yet, I do
not savor 

a morsel. But not to
worry, Renee, 
for next year, same
date, I’ll try
again, 

and maybe, just
maybe, I’ll find it
easier 
to enjoy what you
surely would have, 

if only I’d realized
there was no time
left.
No time left, as I
held your hand 

and watched American
Idol 
while you morphed
into what-

ever it is one
becomes at death. 


II.

Regarding Robert
Frost, I muse, if 
he’d taken the other
road, would he 
have moved to
England, where 

his poetry was a hit
from the get-go; 
would he have been a
constant farmer, 
or teacher, or
newspaper reporter —


not a bard who
crafted the simplest
words 
into mysterious,
memorable poems; 
not a father who
couldn’t prevent 

his children’s
deaths; not a
husband 
who couldn’t keep
his wife from 
sinking deep into
depression.

Every day, since
your death, I think 
about what I
could’ve done and
should 
not have done as
your sister, your
twin. 

How I’d sat on my
laurels and let you 
navigate on your
own, with me never 
whole-heartedly
trying to steer away


from conflict with
you. Me, who 
found it too hard
staying involved 
in that life of
yours. Truth be
told, if 

there’d been two
diverging roads for
me 
to choose one, way
back when, neither 
the worse for wear,
I would’ve sought 

you out — asked you
which one 
you’d take if you
were me, and surely 
I’d have taken the
other.


III.

I sent you an e-mail
hours ago, 
right after
rereading a few from
you, 

out of the many
final ones I never
deleted. 
According to AOL,
the one I sent you 

today, dated
3/30/2014 11:42:47
AM 
Eastern Daylight
Time, was delivered!
 

It’s been 2 years, 1
month, 7 days, minus

approximately 9
hours, 

since you died, and
I’m wondering if 
my message reached
you?  I made it
short, 

wanting not to
rehash what we’ve
said 
and written to each
other since 

the moment we could.
Renee, if 
I don’t hear back
from you, I’ll
assume 

you can’t make
yourself be heard,
or choose 
not to. Although, it
could be, I’m not
listening 

well enough — much
the same as when 
you’d lived. No
matter, I’ll be
writing you 

from here on, and
I’ll stay on
high-alert, 
lest I miss a single
word or whisper. 

P.S.  It’s 3 days
later and my e-mail 
has been returned as
unread: “Undelivered
Mail 

Returned to Sender -
MAILER-DAEMON,” 
which prompted me to
look up “daemon”  

in the dictionary:
(in ancient Greek)
archaic spelling 
of “demon” —a
divinity or
supernatural being
of nature 
between gods and
humans; an inner or
attendant spirit 
or inspiring force;
tutelary spirit;
genius loci.

So, thanks to AOL, I
(tend to) believe 
you’re out there,
somewhere in 

the electronic (or
otherwise) universe,
perhaps, 
in a place
universally known as
heaven. 

You, out there,
watching me
grappling with 
your death 24/7.



Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Deep Down Inside

In my heart, there's a tune dying to come out 
The solitude makes me feel so carefree and you don't talk trash about me like some
I feel like I've been taken advantage of...what's that all about? 
This song needs to have more passion...make me taste freedom 
Don't let the drown...
Deep down inside, 
I need you to leave my side

I'll meet you when I begin my journey 

Deep down inside, 
I want you to set me free from bondage
I need your support to push aside
The waves of fears - it overwhelms my heart
My dreams are nowhere in sight 
Deep down inside, 
I feel your attention is on me
I know you have sympathy...
Deep down inside...

I tried to speak my mind,
But you healed it and I started to unwind
I strayed away into my perplexing maze
But I was guided by your graceful gaze
Deep down inside,
I felt truly happy to find someone who feels for me and there's no need to hide my feelings, though I don't fully abide
In the tranquil light
I should've known that you were right
About where I stand
 I'll be a man...
Deep down inside, 
I think I can
I think I can

I'll meet you when I arrive on the other side 

Deep down inside, 
I want you to set me free from the emotional mess
I need your support to push aside
The waves of misery - it weighs down my heart
My nightscares are gone this holy night
Deep down inside, 
I feel your eyes on me lovingly
I know you have serenity...
Deep down inside...

Feelings of losing you 
Floods my thoughts, burning me with terror and distress
Hoping for a miracle to make me as fresh as morning dew
My blood is at a high temperature...watch out or you'll be caught up in my mess...
is there anything to address?
do you have something to confess?
'Cause deep down inside, 
I know you're hiding something from me 
I believed in your fairytales...
I put my trust in your spellbinding words
You don't have a clue what emotions strike me at this very moment
You made me look like an idiot in front of everybody...
Now I'm considered a "nobody"!!
Your speech enticed me 
You won't listen to my side
Of the story
But deep, deep down inside, 
You care...do you care to tell me what's going on?
All of my faith in you has died
why do you pretend that I'm gone?
maybe it would've served you right if I didn't exist....
You scared away my confidence...now I feel neglected
Deep, deep, deep down inside

Deep down inside, 
I wanted you to know what upsets me the most is hearing you boast 

I need to forgive you to move forward
Passed the challenges in this race - my legs are aching, but I won't complain just like my classmates in my smelly dorm
My feet run swiftly and I'm soaked as if I was caught up in a rainstorm
My gifts have more meaning than it ever did before  
Deep down inside, 
I feel you're ignoring me on purpose 
I know you're suffering from this heartless disease
Deep down inside...
You haven't really put my mind at ease
You were there to please
Your own heart's wicked ambitions and admirations
While I'm taking a while to recover...

Now I feel unimportant and unsure 
And I'm screaming silently... I wish
I can get over you...
I'll get over it... I have the man guts
To move on and find someone else who will cherish me, not treat me like rubbish You erased my fantastic pictures of the joyous future...that was very uncalled for - you act so immature

Do I feel a special connection with you? 
the answer is there, 
Deep down inside...


Long poem by Ndaba Sibanda | Details |

Pledge of love and loyalty

This pledge that l,Ntando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed l am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only lie
in word alone but in action as well.

For that reason in every season
I shall show steadfast commitment
to the implementation of this pledge
with a great deal of astuteness.
I therefore commit myself to be your
devoted and delivering husband for
all the years l shall live with you
on this earth.

I shall treat you with the love and care
you deserve as my wife.
Indeed l shall treat you with
the distinction and dignity
that is befitting of the queen of my heart.
That body, that bone, that breath
shall be my mine to treasure,
for sure;
a dearness to promote and protect
for dear life…and love!
I shall stand by and with you in all the
situations of our life.
If the situation demands that we sail,
sail we shall together.
If the situation demands that we
climb,
climb we shall together.

I know very well what l am getting into:
I am getting into a marriage that is
overflowing with blessings.
This marriage- with our mutual
commitment-
will stand the test of time.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
brims over with a transforming power
of love.

This marriage-with our
mutual commitment –
will transform naivety into maturity
troubles into challenges
pretence into practice
pride into progress
bachelorship into companionship.
I pledge to be your steward and partner
for all times.

I shall value the consultations
and decisions that we make as
husband and wife.
As head of the family I shall do nothing

 

to derail our love train for anything else
least of all for personal and selfish reasons.
Now and forever

I am your lawful and loving husband…
This pledge that l, Nothando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed I am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only
lie in pronouncements but in practice
as well.

For this reason every season
I shall demonstrate untiring love
and loyalty to you;
a love and a loyalty that is a living
embodiment of our marriage vows.
I therefore commit myself to be your
honouring, supportive and loving wife
for all the years l shall live with you.
I shall treat you with the love and care
that you deserve as my husband.
Indeed I shall treat you with
the dignity and nobility that is befitting
of the king of my heart.
On my mind it is always fresh
that I am the flesh of your flesh.
Green or grown

I am the bone of your bone.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
elevates me into a kingdom of wifehood.
I shall endevour to put my family first
with all the rights, obligations
and privileges that come with wifehood.
I shall endevour to wipe off and ward off
loneliness and lostness from our relationship,
seeking nothing but your companionship;
banking on your stewardship,
sinking together any hardship.
Since you are mine
I shall not do anything else to undermine
our relationship for personal
or egotistical
reasons.
Now and forever
I am your lawful and loving wife…


Long poem by Scribbler Of Verses | Details |

For Pete Seeger Huddie Leadbelly Ledbetter and Woody Guthrie

For Pete Seeger, Huddie ‘Leadbelly’ Ledbetter and Woody Guthrie


it was a long time ago
when you put your words into song

'this machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender' you scribbled on your old guitar

and you wielded that banjo & guitar as weapons, 

fiddling out a hail of truth

of solidarity

of angry, vehement calls for peace

you said of Leadbelly, that that Huddie Ledbetter was a helluva man

you sang and spoke through dust clouds and relief lines

you taught us all, to seek out hope wherever we can

and when they tried to call all of you goddamned reds

you sang on ever louder and louder, rattlin' their prejudices as they slept in their plush beds

you rode and you rambled and thumbed your way around

the land that is my land and your land too

for you believed all this earth was shared common ground

and when you sang of overcoming one day

the injustice and pain that you witnessed along the way

they further branded you a commie, a pinko or a nigger-lover or a jew-lover, or an enemy of the state

while your banjo and your guitars continued to surround their blind hate

'this machine kills fascists' you etched on that guitar as well

but they were all deaf, for they could not hear the tolling of the bell

'the bell of freedom

the hammer of justice

the song of love between your brothers and your sisters'

and they knew not that they were the ones who would sizzle in their own bigoted hell

and then came the marches and you were there too

with dr. king in Birmingham and Selma, and you faced their spit, their venomous rage, their clubs and sticks and knives, but you always knew

that your cause was just and that the truth must one day prevail

however long it may take, you never gave up, you sang and you marched and you strummed yourselves, victoriously, into their jail

and then they shot him, they shot Dr. King dead, as they burnt and lynched many more

yet you stood firm, you never wavered, your blood was red after all, and they could not tarnish the truth's core

and so it came to pass, that woody went on his way, to his pastures of plenty up in the sky

and Huddie too, said his last and final goodbye

and you were then one, and you may have felt alone and overwhelmed, by the battles and with all that was wrong

but then you saw that the people were with you 

as they had been, all along

and so you continued to fiddle with that old banjo

dragging it through Newport and Calcutta and Dar-es-Salaam

and through countless unknown halls in numberless unknown towns

across this earth, turning, slowly, putting smiles of togetherness, on faces that were once pock-marked with disillusioned frowns
so...
today as I jot down these poorly scribbled words for all of you
for Woody, Huddie, and Pete
I do so in gratitude, for after all the travails that you've been through
I know that you know that this world still has its fair share of hate, and of loss and of injustice and of gloom
but I also know that you know that though all the old flowers may have gone
there always will be, as there always must be,

a fresh flower somewhere, that will quietly bloom.


Long poem by tattooed writer | Details |

Stolen

Stolen
He used to write to her, doing pen pal letters in his spare time, when not on duty.    She replied back in-between marking her students' work.                                                                                      Nothing special, you understand, it’s good to be friends and have fun.                                       Over a year’s worth of letters sent both ways, something young people do.                      Talking about music and films and their lives.                                                                                     He was Israeli, a soldier and Christian, she was Palestinian, a teacher and Muslim.                                                         A year separated them.                                                                                                        Out of the blue they came and took him from his homeland, to her land, but he wasn’t destined to meet her.                                                                                                      They took his colleagues, too, and killed a lot more.                                                             Her letters went unanswered.                                                                                                 She received one of his sent before all of this.                                                                           His side retaliated as they had to do; after all, they had to be seen as strong by one-and-all.                                                                                                                                Over one month of attacks to free their boys, we’ll show them, no-one will be spared.                                      True to their word, so many died by their firepower, wrecking a country with little done in return.                                                                                                                       He remained a prisoner, her photo hidden in his wallet.                                                           She wrote letter-after-letter, all unanswered.                                                                       She cried at his silence, missed his words and talking.                                                   Why can’t our countries talk instead of having this stupid war?                                            They took my friend and started all of this.                                                                                 If only they would talk and not fight.                                                                                     How stupid they are!                                                                                                            Bring my friend back to his people, I want his letters, to meet him!                                                              We’ve never met due to the border, a line made by politicians.                                             We are not so different, could this be love, stolen by war?


Long poem by Poetryof Providence | Details |

Bonds

I was raised      in a prison of darkness
along walls of cement      have I groped
the hearts here      deep scarred and callous
no dreams of a child       had I hoped
 
Starved             for affection and famished
though surrounded by people           alone
sixty four rooms       I could roam in
but that place               was never a home
 
Just one more workhouse            to live in
my duties                   to serve and to clean
no pay                 for the labor was given
I was here to work         and be not seen
 
I could go days            with seeing no parents
went to school        and to work            and to bed
my breakfast                 was in my room coffee
the feral cat           entertained in the shed
 
This building                   has so many toilets
even the master                   one I must clean
I drop like a stone             in my bed at night
I sleep so deeply      to dead to dream
 
Though I live now this place            with my father
it's no different             than with strangers I slept
they too              used me like a work horse
their houses the places               I kept
 
Somewhere was lost to me             childhood
not a human            soul I could trust
I do not know love              it is fiction
as into this life        I was thrust
 
There were times       I wished mother successful
where in the peace            of death I would sleep
the pain of knowing                       I'm unwanted
was to much        for this child to keep
 
I suppose it's                this very reason
I recognize             the true face of Love
the nigh hundred people               I lived with
qualify not of that place         to be of
 
I've been exposed to violence              on children
and all their secrets           I can confide
recognize the damage                it does you
and those who these secrets           do hide
 
It is easy to remain lost here
where no true tracks            be seen on your road
where life             has not direction or guidance
and one is broken           by the weight of its load
 
But there are so many rooms           in this prison
and each every one          has its own trap
the master of death                 who has forged them
place these obstacles     in every path
 
So while your searching           for life and its answers
the only one worthy            to steadfastly teach
should exist       every day in your dealings
and your connections             from greatest to least
 
I'll not care about          the labor I give you
as long as love            my load is light
we will share         in living together
in our unity       we can delight
 
I learned               to take care of your body
but it takes two            for the care of the soul
I could live alone here             without you
but it's the sharing         that makes us whole...
 

COPYRIGHT © 2012 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC


Long poem by Poet Destroyer A | Details |

Your Judas Like Tan

""Child's Play""

You keep going down like rain,
A wishing star in disguise, 
You cry bloody murder, my face in disgrace
Your lips forever stain, 
A smooth dance of manipulation, 
Your eyes, hide the truth, like an unseen domain in space 

Darling, however, that will never cut what bleeds from a mother's heart
My precious darling, your feathers are in mourning like a flightless dove
Is this to be love, standing there, while I fall apart
Our younger years, display nothing but love,
Like the wonder years, you will remain more precious than a stone 
From one betrayal, right after another, a heart colder than winters zone
That never counts as a failure, when it comes to unconditional love
Darling, this pain and secrets were never yours to absorb alone 

"My sweet darling, Let me hold you once more!"

My beautiful girl, the nights grow random like sin 
Your mind's fast at switching grapes on a vine 
Fault, from a mother to son, too much exposure from the sun
Insanity and sin remain, from a mother to daughter 
Soaking in salt, that protects me from your loaded gun
A shameful way, to sunbathe your skin like a shooting star
My beautiful daughter, you put my heart behind bars

My dearest cry baby, you're all grown up, these days
Sweetheart, I don't see you running home no more,
These towels will not dry, 
The feeling of fresh pepper, floats from the center of my core

Your man made drama, spread out every window and doorway
Leaving the light to reach the floor
-- Once again the sun, has revealed your Judas like tan
Your tears have fallen, one too many times
Here we are, covering every bruise
Raising every brow, in hope everything's gone
Darling, no one will love you, like I do
I still whisper your name, and wish life had nothing to lose

Sweet darling, your eyes are rolling like dice
A small roll of dominoes misleading everyone the wrong way
This time I can't cover your mistake with a blanket, 
My little darling, you have gone too far
Your paper dolls aren't cutting smiles from this frown
I've always known your the Iscariot, 
Selling your soul for a simple quarter
These tears, were never yours to sell, for at the end, 
Our sins, will have more weight than a thousand pounds of gold

My beautiful darling, I forgive you, every day, 
I want you to know, I'm Sorry about the things I had to say
I don't understand how easily you trampled our bed of roses
Posing over the moon, in your treason white gown

Darling, Mommy wants you to understand,
My voice, was for your own good, 
The knife, in my back's all rusted,
The father clock, continues to stand still,
Sweet child, the allusion you left behind faded long ago
Contradicting your life, with your infamous pretty face logo

My dearest cry baby!
Why the tan lotion, where's your sense of guilt?
Is this another game of child's play?

Darling, it's time to put them toys away,
In the name of Jesus, I pray!

"My Sweet Darling, I need to hold you once more."

By:


Long poem by David Meade | Details |

Wind From The Sea




Inspired by Andrew Wyeth Watercolor Painting -- Wind From the Sea, 1947




Standing in the old house
A strange mixture of feelings erupt within me
My roommates Depression, Loneliness, and Hopelessness
Greet me with strangling arms and leering grins
I don’t fight them anymore – somehow they are a part me
So together, in this house, in this room
We endure the somber solitude of the day

A sudden chill fills the room
Death enters – its foul breath chokes me
My three companions prostrate themselves
Pressure builds in my bowels
Bile rises in my throat
A heavy weariness fills my bones
He’s calling – hissing my name
I can’t breath

Death surrounds my soul – crushing me 
I hear groaning  . . .
Strange guttural sound -- it’s coming from me
Deep painful darkness fills me
I beg Death to take me . . .

Through the open window
A gush of wind enters
A sheer curtain hanging comes to life
It’s spirit lifts inwards and up beckoning me to dance 

What is this wonder?
A limp ragged curtain – faded, stained, frail -- has life
Reaching toward me . . .  frayed fingers of thread motioning
Old friends rush to me – Joy, Hope, Love
Death’s grip slips – I gasp a breath
Looking up I see the open window
Boarded by old bare wood, hard with age

I realize it’s daylight now – soft shadows 
A curving road leading to the water
I can taste the saltiness in the wind
Trees in the distance
A calling from the sea
Seagulls, waves, laughter

Joy breaths into my nostrils 
Leave this place – Depression cannot hold you
Simple pleasures I will give you
   Cool breeze on a summer afternoon
   Laughter of friends
   A walk in the garden
   A book
   The Sea . . . 

Depression laughs in my ears
Through that window lies heartache, treachery, poverty, misery
It will chew your insides up – blood will pour from your lips
Pain and suffering awaits if you leave this house
Death waits to take you home 
An end to this constant noise – the peace of total emptiness 

Another breeze and Hope fills my eyes with light
I see colors – vibrant alive filling me with warmth
Leave this place, take a journey to the sea
Let light fill you and be your guide . . . see -- opportunities abound
For laughter, love, forgiveness . . . for life – abundant life
See the rainbow upon the Sea

Hopelessness rushes toward me
Kisses my lips and whispers
Light burns and blinds
Enslaves you
They will see clearly your secrets
Spotlight focus – ridicule scorn . . . ugly disgust . . .  self-hatred

Love rushes in and embraces me
Light, fresh, empowering
My heart leaps with pleasure
Arm and arm she leads me to the window
Much pain and sorrow – yes . . .  also Love
A powerful love that transforms, refreshes . . . frees
Breathe deeply of the Sea air – fill your lungs
Go – you are loved deeply and completely

Looking out Looking in




David Meade
01/07/2015


Live Generously


Long Poems