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Long Sympathy Poems | Long Sympathy Poetry

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Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/light_on_the_devils_chord___day_3_655249' st_title='Light on the Devil's Chord - Day 3'>

Light on the Devil's Chord - Day 3

They say the one you think of last before sleep,
Is the one you care for the most— the one you wish to hold, admire, love…

The two of us…beings of bravery,
Had labored all the night, 
In harmonies livid, longing and bright…
In music so construed in golden blues…
A masterful melancholy in strange, light-stricken hues
He boldly slept, in heavy breath
As I dozed into the deafness of the demons’ wrath

I awoke, unaware of the time at hand, 
As he lay there close beside me, cradled in a beat…
I sensed morning’s marvel, thought the darkness crept
Leaving me in a sinking feeling as our Prince vainly slept

And there, with the drumming of his pulse, 
I began my morning song of Time,

“Oh, how alive she dares to smile,
In the crisp cradles of first thought
Time, with surging love for the dancing dial,
Melts our sleeper from the wars he fought

I tame her humbly in darkness doomed,
For I know the Lord shuns worry of loss
Unlimited life, craftily bloomed,
I dare paths to narrow, and I dare him to cross

Oh, how in sleep he refuses these dreams,
Of Time’s immense mercy and strength
How his eyes rest, in nightmarish filth it seems,
Tossing in pride, and I in faith

He lifts Time’s feathered mess
In an embrace he calls his own consolation
In his deranged, dreadful wilderness,
She waits in ardent resurrection…”

He began to groan in his sleep, 
Tossing and turning… 
His lids lifted, though his eyes were trapped
In a dream so unnerving and unwavering 
I could do nothing but sing again…

“Wake up in the comfort of company
As she gathers the feathers you lift,
I will see too that she is smiling
In the morning mist of bliss
Let the veils of night terror arise
So I may see the life in your eyes 
As the lizard on the rock bathes in warmth,
I suffer with you, saturating cold
Time offers space between, 
As the trees in winter soon return to green…”

He was awake, though grimacing 
Angered by my gentle push
Pissed that I sat there before him
No longer trapped in his soot…

“Time, time, time… 
You’ve bored me in your rhyme, rhyme, rhyme-
Witness wretched reality, sweetheart divine-
Then we can talk about the slut you call Time!

Bitching and raving how she has bludgeoned all these men, 
With the sweep of her arms, she crushes all condemned
She mocks me now, after screwing me naughty
Her feathers scattered across my body
I curse every morning I see her face
I love how she beats me, and then demands embrace
I hate her, woman, as I hate you
I lift her to throw her down,
As the cockcrows coo…

I am in Time, over Time, beyond Time
Cross in her spirit—frail in her rhyme
If your Lord has taken anxiety from your heart,
Have him take your innocence—now that is her art!”

He laughed, cackling loudly,
And the demons chiseled,
The soot on the ground grew hot and sizzled

My lips moistened with tears…
“I thought about how strangely you slept,
Even in your bitterness for dwindling Time…
In our last notes before drifting, 
I thought of you,
And all the days we have left
I want you to know my light is kind,
And we can all learn in the rhythm of Time
She is very sensitive, 
She weeps at every loss, 
Though secretly, though in day she boldly stands
At night she lets down her hair and grieves demands
For not everyone can she save,
Truth it be, she has saved no one
But has inspired men to the end…
No one knows Time better than God
And yes, you too must know her well, 
She labors as we sleep
Though she would be hesitant to tell…
She destroys…though inward she heals
She sees potential, though leaves the action
To the one who truly feels…”

“Stop singing in riddles and nonsense…” He sputtered
“If sleep is so important to you, 
Why do you force me awake?”

He sat up, quaking, his anger loud
I shuttered in his presence, looking down

“Just… sing with me…..”

And we sang…

“She is cruel, 
She is patient,
Living in darkness and in light, 
I rest her in my trust,
And I in my ceaseless bite
I lull her,
I seduce her,
She calls me, 
I answer:
Time, do not forsake me now…
Let our thoughts nestle in each other’s company
With the clocks that capture us…”

At the tipping of Death’s dark chimes,
The Devil’s mouth salivated in restful rage


Long poem by Darian Rehder | Details |

Love, Death, and Rebirth

The signs started in December
When she started waking up in tears each night
She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes
She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing
Her father. 

Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds
Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes
Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on
But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain
She wouldn't let them.

She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart
In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left
Because what else was there to live for now?
The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left 
She wouldn't let them drown in pain too. 

She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms
Their hearts started to lighten up once more
But hers was just as dark as it was before 
And growing darker day by day 
But she wouldn't let that stop her. 

Suddenly a year had passed... and then two 
It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on
Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care
But she needed someone to hold on to
Anyone...

With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries 
It found a way into her soul
Until all she could see was dark and no light 
But her mother and sister were healed now
They didn't understand

The tears came back and engulfed her soul
Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive
The grief took over like knives 
Piercing her skin over and over and over
It hurt so much.

She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead
She could see him again if she was
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain?
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again?
It would.

So she started to hate herself
All that negative energy was starting to take toll
Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second
She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain
If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself

She couldn't see any light anymore
So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die
Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it 
And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper
She was done living.

That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed
They started to see how deeply depressed she had become
They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late 
So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better
It was a start.

She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly
Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again
Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore
They cared,  and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand
They really were trying

Six months longer she would be treated and cared for
Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face
She had a new perspective
Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember
She had been reborn

Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it
To come back shining brighter than before
And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it
Or known that it would get better
and it did!

And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart
It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be
But at least she knows she's lived through the worst
And it can only get better from here

So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again
She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem
And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression
And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives
Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?


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 Laura Breidenthal | Details |

When a Woman is Just a Woman

Mother’s dirty offender seeded life that demanded nurture, demanded attention….
Demanded unforeseen fate
Twins, thrust upon her…. strained to love, and yet…. 
This happening urged her to live

Her head lifted, agitated,
Soaked from head to toe in the sweat of her labors…
The sight of blood reached her tear-blurred eyes heightening the pain 
As she cried…

“May I toil till love reaches the mouth of hurt he inflicted!!!” 

And, as her thrashing heart ceased beating,
The dear children, were born, one screaming, one gazing…
The other’s neck protruding from a little chest…
Big eyes observing, squinting, shuddering….
Mouth sputtering… and breath ceasing….

This little girl was born, a woman Mother once was—
Her death a source and justification to hate all men 
A dreamy-eyed artist with yearnings driving her under,
Lips pure as newfound blossom, kissed once, though never plucked
Reaching for skies that welcomed her wishes, 
Her seldom smiles brought tears to the sun
Her hair in curls of silk did bounce upon her back,
As every roving eye could not hold back, 
The moist little build-up of awe…
Mouth ajar, for there lived upon this growing girl, surely…. no flaw

Save to her, tormenting imperfection…. 
For there… heavier and heavier everyday….the secret upon her chest—
Her poor dead brother,
Loved religiously by her martyr mother
Whom she hid under layers of clothes with much shame, 
Never to reveal to the men who yearned to see her

Brother was always there, staring into the void,
A tumor child, shriveled, though gazing
A wretched burden to the girl now woman,
Her heart pounding with unanswered questions…

“Father...” She whispered, alone.
“Salt upon the wound, worthless is one consumed,
By death dangling upon my very chest…
I cannot live life like the rest, 
The pretty girls of age, with plump and polished breast,
With skin revealed so freely,
Smiles countless, and genuinely……….

See, when a woman is just a woman,
Her opportunities are as easy as her grin,
And her future is clear as her flawless skin…

She bears no little boy attached to her heated body, 
She enjoys little frivolous walks in arms she trusts…
Chance seemingly on their side…
Chance with me, dying, where Brother has died…
My heart could not bear to remove Brother, 
Though even death I do not fear….
Father, I ask…now why, 
Why am I here…? 
And why are they gone? 
All of them….Mother….Brother…..and…. him….”

Standing up, her face hardened
She put on her clothes and makeup, as was her routine,
And with a multicolored scarf she wrapped around her neck and chest
Covering the outline of her ever-gazing Brother
She could not think away from the scarf…
From what was gazing under…
And upon meeting another,
Anxiety raided her every being…
So afraid….and so unsure….


We are born, 
Either man, or woman…
Acceptance of one another’s differences and flaws
Reduces fear of self, replenishes the soul
And love, above all,
Must meander through complications, defects, and serendipity
With a grace only leading one to fulfillment and happiness

  
-Inspired by Justin Bordner’s ‘When a Woman is Just a Woman’ contest


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

Glisten in the Moonlight

Your glorious emerald eyes 
Glisten in the moonlight 
Glisten in the moonlight 
Delight dances in the water
I watch it joyfully
You are set free from the cage...
You're like a dove soaring in the sky
You are the rain...
drizzling down in ecstasy 
A hint of ecstasy is shown in your reflection...
When you caress me... I'm relieved... 
From the stress that forced me in chains
I knew we'd be on the brighter side of tomorrow 
We're glistening in the moonlight 
I knew we'd become candles in the heavens above us
We're glistening in the moonlight
For a moment, I felt your presence...your radiant with sympathy 
I saw at first glance the dark side of you
Tonight, we'll be together and fly through the horizon 
We'll watch the sunset say its last goodbye...
We'll wave a greeting at the moon! 
We glisten in the moonlight...
What if I was as handsome as the lion...
Roaring with pride and pure courage
What if we were glistening in the moonlight?
Would it bring health to our bones tonight?
Would it make our heart rejoice and overflow with delight?
Would we be able to survive this horrifying plight?
Would we be shimmering like a candlelight?
We're glistening in the moonlight... (6)
Ohh...yeah...ooh yeah...ooh yeahh...
We reach to the stars and hope we can trace a shooting star
I feel the coolness run down my fingers...
We're glistening in the moonlight
You're the dandelions in the fields
You're the gorgeous view that I marvel at everyday
When you kiss me, I live my dreams
We glisten in the moonlight
In a quick moment, I sense a feeling of endless renewal 
I roam inside of your illuminating maze 
Glow on... sunshine... 
Glow on...sunshine...
Glisten in the moonlight...
Listen to the truth and rub it in
You are ravishing like the sunset
But you're ascending while I'm descending
I feel extremely guilty
I wish I could glisten with you in the moonlight
You're glistening in the moonlight (6) 
Ohhh yeahh... oohhh yeahh... ohh yeahh
You're glistening in the moonlight (4)
We go our own way
I wish we can glisten like the moon
Glisten like the sun 
There's a dream concealed inside of me...
Reveal your light and pour it upon me
You glisten in the appealing moonlight
While I'm subsiding... you're fulfilling your dreams
Of gliding across the horizon 
You're independence... keeps on scorching with satisfaction
While I'm below you... 
Your emerald green eyes
Stared me down like a hawk...
Your emerald eyes
Gaze down at me genuinely...
I wish we could flee together in reality...
That could be a possibility
To glisten in the moonlight in glee
We were glistening in the moonlight (3)
But that was only a dream...
I'll pray that it turns into a reality
We were glistening in the moonlight 
Now, I've misplaced my delight...
Will I ever experience such a brilliant night?


Long poem by James Clark | Details |

The Babaji Wheelbarrow

It was a dry, dusty day when I saw the wheelbarrow, with long handles made of dark wood. 
The wheel is struggling as it carries its burden, but it manages the job that it should. The man pushing appears to be crying, his eyes all puffy and red. It’s time to move on, but I wait,  I wait for him to reach me instead. The wheelbarrow has a dark green cover, such a sickly, metallic sweet smell underneath,  such a heavy lump in my throat,  “don’t lift the cover!” but regardless, I pull back it back to see.
The first thing to strike me, such a tiny hand, tiny fingers all bent into a fist, and an inch below there in my big gloved hand, the smallest most delicate wrist. Her face is held together by bright orange thread, her eyes are searching the stars. Her crown should still be there, on that beautiful head, where she lays, crumpled up inside her Dads cart. I put back the cover, swallow hard and just stand there, my head, Jesus Christ I can’t think,  my pounding heart tearing itself apart inside my trained body, at this beautiful little angel in pink. 
Her father, his eyes screaming toward me sobs gently, silent rage and yet deafening shock. Why can’t I bring myself to look into this man’s eyes, oh Lord, grant me some breath that I may talk. To say sorry, to ask why, to just speak in his tongue, to show him that I really care. I realise that I could never find words, I’ve no such tragedy to compare.
I walked away from the blue wheelbarrow, thinking that I could leave it behind. But every night as my daughter hugged me, that wheelbarrow crashed into my mind. Whenever she cried my stomach went tight, when she laughed those dark clouds disappeared, whenever she told me she loved me, I knew that I had nothing to fear, but yet so much. The wheelbarrow changed me forever, drank me to illness, and brought my whole life to the edge. I couldn’t switch off from that sweet smell, and I couldn’t explain that to friends. 
 I will never forget, such a small wrist in my hand, such beautiful soft lips kissing the sky. Such a pretty pink little dress, though stained red with blood, those clear and lifeless brown eyes. I wish that I had asked for her name, what to call that three year old victim of war, so small and so beautiful with those innocent eyes, my body aches that I can’t wish so any more.
If I could explain to people, about my demons, in one image to make them understand. I’d draw that blue wheelbarrow with the green cover on top, and that sweet delicate wrist in my hand. Two days after the wheelbarrow I became a Father and to my comfort, for the rest of my life I will know. No matter how often the wheelbarrow returns, I have my daughter, here for me to hold.


Long poem by Denise Hopkins | Details |

JESUS WITH MY FAITH I SEND THIS PLEA

written 14th July 2013


My sorrow, is overwhelming my 'entire' soul
 for in my jaded life, my dear "Nath" would be the last breath taken away
Why does God, continue taking those that play the most 'critical' roll
 my life is 'never' going to endure, any hint of ease.. no way

Heart heavy, loss and pain all consuming me 'again'
 God, I plea with you leave me those that I 'love' these day's
It's become 'that' part of the year, my Nathan was taken due to 'my' curse
 tears flood my entire being, why do you always insist I live entirely 'alone'

Sorrow just in this year now at 'half point' has finally taken the 'full' toll
 I no longer see, any thing as my destiny that I shall 'exude'
When, will it 'ever' be my turn, I wait..to become the next called to heaven
 "am" I not worthy, of your abundant grace?

You, seem to take 'everyone' I 'entrust' to a faraway land
 Nathan Reide' these are my tears containing, the 'most sorrow' I've ever let fall
But, every memory of you and me, stop all of the pain
 just, another pain and despair to add to my life's endurance 'till'

I long, for peace, joy and 'any' kind of life would do me,
 at this point of my life, I can not take anymore, seriously, lighten up on me!
I fear in new friends, how long..before you conclude they too will end
 You bless me with a loving husband, mother, father, niece
 
When.. do you think you might, 'let' me see them... this  is my plea
 returning me back into church, I am in need off being blessed
How 'come' you did take that away from me? 
 faith, in me stayed 'strong' you alone know the extent

I need to move 'now' I have stayed still, and achieved what I think I was to 
 poet, I assume that was 'my reason' why you kept here
With that now in full swing
 can you now spread my wings

You are 'overpowering' my soul, and I now do as I am told
  patience, never was my best strength, have I 'not' proved to you
I'm completely at your mercy, you are the entity that drives the heart of me
 with all that, I need a break between all these sorrowful times, 'may I now move'

This is the deepest of despair, I have ever endured, please see me through
 I am more than 'positive' I WILL NOT make it through, another emotional trial
Not to be left here, still bleeding the way I still am...
 darkness has taking more of my light I'm loosing all sight, of who is me...

My heart full of anguish and grief, depression takes her advantage, of the ease
 I have nothing worth finding joy or enlightenment anyway, she will have me...
I don't have any strength to even consider the thought of even trying this time
 in defending myself against her this time
She only win's by default...

Denise Hopkins


Long poem by Heather Hill | Details |

Murderapolis Streets, Claim Two More Young Heartbeats

Native, Liteskin, sun kissed
smiles
sit, talk, get to know me 
a while
for I am not my skin and 
even though the tan pigment
runs deep
I am my heart, thoughts
and actions,reflection of
company
I keep
A car accident took
my Homies brother this morning
and as we sit and talk to him
now, through faded room mourning
Young man, stole pop’s keys
from sleeping pockets
joy riding with friends
headlights beaming, MN
summer star sky gleaming
Dad's unaware, boy & friends left
 till woke, by early morn’ meeting
God opened the skies and took
two good ones away
I felt it rained, clouds crying briefly
for them today
70 miles an hour, Murderapolis streets
took two good homies heartbeats
jus’ a mile away, a close
friend heard the tires screech
Driver yells to him, “get a knife & cut me out!”
Neighbor, like doe eyes in headlights
filled with doubt
ends up dying after all
at the hospital
down 29th Ave and McKinley St.
Two of the Five Souls involved
God, now, does keep
I recall seeing the drivers smile
less than one week ago
why Mista Watkins & White Jr.
was it yo’ time to go
your loved ones may never know
We don’t always understand
the Lords plan
but He surely knows
heartache and sorrow
is how July fourteenth does go
two significant young Southside sons 
at 3:30 am, drove into a utility pole
crushed glass ridden streets
two homies, with us no mo’
I pray Jesus be with them
and theirs
as they grieve, and friends
surround them with the love
they need
car accidents & tragedies
like these
close to home to you
tend to place things in perspective
defrost a persons mind
set it into view
cuz’ its not about the color, of
your skin, or where you came from
it’s the way you impact the world
in the end, who you’ve grown to
become
the lives lost, were good peoples
Stood for good values like Church steeples
vibrant athletic youths of the future
barely 14 & 17, gone too soon
I hear the sad, cry, lonely night of our
Loon
Murderapolis streets, claim
two more young heartbeats
you will forever be remembered
and loved, keep an eye on us
from above, we know you’re
in a better place, were all running
an impossible to win race
for we all have a time card to punch
under the Lords undying grace
your Influence and charm, young men
is locked within us
Safe
and we shall all party again
in the Kingdom of Heaven
our final resting Place

7/15/2010: R.I.P.- Patrick Watkins (17) & Duane White Jr. (14)- South Side, Minneapolis, MN
you are forever loved and missed, but not forgotten, watch us from Heaven, Amen


Long poem by Anthony Thomas | Details |

I Hate Aunt Floe

NOTE: This poem is a humoruos stab at PMS from a mans point of view

I can see your blood boiling
through  the blades I once called eyes,
they were once beautiful  like jewels
now they hurt my deep insides.
cutting at my guts
and like a noose on my  lungs;
your words seek like bullets 
your mouth like sniper guns.
I’m hit with each inaccuracy…
Being killed by words untrue;
and you even got the nerve
to tell me what you think I do.
But let me get mad
and try to plead my case;
then suddenly the world
is a f--ked up place.
You got tears running down…
What the Hell did I do?
We were just sitting and laughing
I could swear that we were cool.
Oh God…
Oh no…;
I should have seen it… 
It’s Aunt Floe…,
This battle can’t be won or reasoned
I think its best I go.
Cause I hate Aunt Floe 
and she hate me too;
she sit and talk sh-t
about the gum I chew. 
The color of my shirt…,
She say my look is a stair;
She say my best has no worth
And she doesn’t stop there.
I didn’t change
I’ve been the same 
these 28 days,
 but now I’m f_ckin A__hole 
Aunt Floe gave me that name.  
She said get out my face 
This aint your home no more,
But I’m more puzzled by 
What was said before.
I love you 
With her glossy eyes 
I knew it was true, 
But horribly sly
You see these words
make me the fool.
The one that’s cruel
That a__hole dude,
That sparked the fuel
To this f__kin feud.
But I swear to God
I didn’t start this sh_t,
Why would I give up my love 
To live my life like in a pit.
 This is horrible sh_t 
Wasted days spent,
On nothing but the worst
I could be bathed in your sent. 
You could be laughing 
While I’m smiling
But Aunt Floe Won’t let this be,
And the only way to make this right
Is hold my tongue  a week.
And that ain’t gone happen 
I’m a person too,
Not soft
But I got feelins
and don’t know what  to do.
Now its been six days
Unbelievable  rage,
She locked herself 
In the room
I call it her cage.
I smell a sent in the air
It wasn’t there before,
Now lookin down the hall
I see an open door.
Is this a trap 
I’ll guess I’ll see,
If I fall for another
 You know that’s dumb ass me.
Curled in the bed 
I think I know that girl,
But where’s the hells Aunt Floe
The one that f__ked my world.
She packed up and gone
Didn’t even say good bye,
Just came wit gang of bullsh_t
And vanished in the sky.
Is that you my dear
Can you please come here,
Listen close and crystal clear…
I hate Aunt Floe
 Next time she here
Make sure I’m stocked
with weed and beer.
I love you punk.  ?


Long poem by Keith Jefferson | Details |

I God Myself and I Guide Myself

Jesus versus me makes this world brutal. Its a crucial
worship. I am main master of this ship cell called
Earth. My version of God being first is I am original and ahead of
world and church. Makes me head world leader. I am
always in the lead. People bleed just cause of nobody
accepting me. I want to feel equal its simplicity of
respect see how much iy menas to me by testing me
out. I make the future. I am a creature that is 
always in advance placement. Want to make an altartercation on all altars and 
add kitchens.Leave my blood alone. I am in the auto zone.  Lettuce 
prey upon an apron for cooking. I am a predator. A mentor. The world is under my 
man age mentor. My supervision. The world is under devolpment, with a devils 
judgement. I hate to be alone and in the zone. Jesus cross means to me a grid 
of aim. X marks the exact act. From any angle of longitude and latitude, to the grid 
of forming a face, and tile of a structure. I never retire. Plus you cannot fire me, but 
praying to the wrong creator ignites a demon. Will demonstrate from the 
beginning to end and start again.
T(he aven)ger. You will not see me coming. I know where you are. What you 
wear. Next celebrity to say they are the author, you will wear dirt. You will not see 
my shirt. My bet is the again street. You against me makes you an enemy. You 
cannot flee me. Celebrities are fleas and I want to approach these roaches. 
Hand them a shovel and say can you dig it. My digits are accurate for accuracy. 
Blast for me=blasphemy, is like my PHD.  I never do the time but commit every 
cfrime and condemn them in a cell, I fell. Bucket,  Cry me a river.People in jail or 
in the grave this is worse then slavery. MY calvary is people worried about 
calories, Sorry you were examples that I sample.  My trigger is hot. My shot is just 
read, as I tread my form, I rule the tv screen and the reality scene. I form the print 
with my eyes.Never can slow down, calm down, and come down from this higher 
power. I can make you like sour. My choice of your likes and dislikes is like yikes. 
I can possess the lady with a skirt to flirt, and burp. I am King Author. I am the 
Authority.  The real version. Its real. Revealed here in the light of my Fort 
Lauderdale.My Light of day. I want to collect before I resurrect. Isarel you sin 
surely by the titile of your scared land. I am sacred. Rape me. I will continue the 
menu. Omen. I design trains, plains, planes, transactions, explosives like 
landmines. South Florida is my landmine. Mine own design, baby.


Long Poems