Sacrifice Poems - Poems about Sacrifice

Empty, that's all she felt She hated the numbness that would blindly attack She did so much for others But she couldn't help herself She carried the weight of being black Where racism would slowly break her back She couldn't even go to a hospital they'd probably throw her out Calling her 'dramatic' Saying she should go somewhere else This...

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My heart shatters with every harsh word, saddened glance, and argument. I can feel it being ripped from my body and thrown into the depths of my stomach. The only thing that ever heals it, is your love and kindness. I am forever grateful to you for every breath I take, every sight I get...

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She might have painted the sea— or a golden field of wheat beneath a hazy summer sky— but he took her brushes, left the bristles splayed, the paints dried out, and the turpentine cloudy. And though she said nothing, her easel disappeared one day like a wispy cloud no one missed. After that, she painted nothing but dinner. They had imagined themselves sharing a studio but he needed all...

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One day a year to mark a sacrifice profound One day a year to visit the ground One day a year for the bugle to sound One day a year a nation’s memory is found Hardly enough for the terrible cost Hardly enough for the lives that were lost One day a year for the flags to adorn One day a year...

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(She taught while her child was sent home in the tongue of olden sorrow) She stood before the class— chalk in hand, heart in shards, yet her voice did not waver. The sun poured through cracked windows, spilling golden lies across the floor, as if the world outside cared. But behind her calm, behind the grace stitched in her wrapper, a storm raged— not of thunder, but...

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Looking at her is like a grainy old romance warped in a bathroom mirror— time distorts in her footsteps. She’s always smiling, even when tears circle in her eyes. Only on certain nights will she pull off the mask and fracture in hush, splintering inward. She speaks little— perhaps the quietest soul I’ve known. Her days revolve around his breath, his smile...

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I’ve always dreamed of painting with fire— lash the canvas with embers, watch the smoldering orange spread, chasing white into flame— before my chaos dies into silence. It feels natural, this need to see my art burn— they’re not complete, not before the charred ink is bathed in heat. I paint with alcohol then ignite— so my work is no longer just raven lines on pale...

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R-eap O-r V-ictory, E-ither L-ets Y-ou N-icely C-hase R-eward U-nder Z-enith ©bfa051325 Monocrostic (Birthday of Rovelyn G. Cruz)...

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They came with dust on their boots and a morning star, Shadows of boyhood still clinging to their shoulders— They were sons of the land, faces bright with the dew, Carrying small, cherished photographs in their breast pockets. They rose with the sun’s trumpet call at dawn, A summons to arms, to fear, to death— Yet they did not tremble, They carried...

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An old man once said: Freedom isn’t free As a child, I grew up, never understanding those words. As an adult, I learned, the tree of freedom is watered with blood. I thought we had paid enough. But as trees wither without water, so does freedom without its tribute. As such I hoped, we could pay with sweat and duty. But once again-we choose red......

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Inspired by Bob Dylan's "Mississippi" I was the backbone of your dream— ribs shaped into beams, my blood seeping slow, cementing your tower’s base. You promised a sky of stars, a rise beyond all shadows— but I was just a ghost etched in your blueprint, a whisper beneath your tower. We built forever on lies, stacking stones on my shoulders— I was your ground, your silent sacrifice, the...

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Duty calls from valleys deep and wide, Wide like hearts where brave resolve does bide. Bide the storms, through fire and endless rain, Rain of trials met with a calm refrain. Refrain from fear when darkness clouds the sky, Sky holds hope where eagles dare to fly. Fly with honor carved in steel and soul, Soul forged firm in sacrifice and role. Role...

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On board ...

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They do not march now, but they still stand-- shoulder to shoulder in quiet granite lines. Each flag breathes like a memory fluttering in the hush between heartbeats. They are not just names, not just dates-- they are echoes of last letters, mud-heavy boots, songs sung beneath a foreign sky. We walk between them, heads bowed, and feel the weight of freedom we never had to earn. This silence is not...

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In moonlit skies, the night awakes, The call of Eid, the morning breaks. Eid al-Adha is drawing near, A time of love, of faith, sincere. Ibrahim stood the hardest test, His son he offered, at God’s behest. But mercy came from skies above, A tale of faith, a bond of love. Markets full with goats and cows, Children cheer with playful vows. Eyes gleam bright,...

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