Violence Angel Poems | Violence Poems About Angel

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Details | Epic |

From Darkness To Stardom

Every child is born into this world crying,
Little did this poor child know, tears would fall for the rest of her life.
Born into a world of abuse, heartache and pain,
With a drug addict, alcoholic abusive father and a heartless mother.
Every day was the same, left alone with only silence and darkness,
Dirty clothes, little to eat with every cry for help resulting in violence.
How could her eyes see any happiness when they had run dry?
How could she smile with cut lips and a bruised body?
At 7, her mother died from a lethal overdose of alcohol and drugs,
However, the abuse got worse as she became her father’s new toy.
Poor little girl, an object of carnal gratification and her innocence stolen,
By a man who was responsible for her protection and well being.
The effects of a dark and destructive childhood destroyed her confidence,
With low self esteem and no social skills, they mocked her in school.
Little did they know about the struggles in her life and the pain she was going through,
Bruised and abused, having to make her own lunch with no help from a pathetic father,
This was her daily routine- even hell would have been a more peaceful place for her.
But, little did the world know the girl had a hidden talent,
The voice of an angel and the mind of a creative poet.
At night when she sang, the stars glowed to her beautiful lullaby,
The ink of her pen was like blood rushing from her veins to create magical lyrics.
Music and poetry was her escape from a life of cruelty and rejection,
Her talent was hidden, so no one could help her reach her potential.
As the girl grew, her abuse never stopped, there seemed no end,
With constant memories of painful yesterdays and a childhood lost.

She used her incessant pains and struggles to enhance her music,
Writing hours upon hours of poetry and songs, self-teaching brilliance…
Deep inside she yearned for someone to understand her, to see her…
If not, but one, she would she be wholly satisfied

Many nights she would find herself crying uncontrollably, 
The darkness of the room enveloping her every being
She could see the past in her mind’s eye and be reminded of the sick present
She began to hate her father, and every brat at her school
She cursed death and life alike, and envied her mother’s eternal sleep
Everyone who spit their insult, everyone who remained silent and apathetic,
She hated them with a passion so self-destructive, it burned her raw scars...
Teaching herself to hold it in, so that on paper she could create masterpieces
And prove all of the monsters around her wrong…
In silence, she recalled the worst memories to shame further her reality.
A part of her knew that she was incredibly talented,
Though the darkness often blinded her with guilt
She felt that she did not deserve even a voice,
Her writings were but a sick reminder of demons she could never conquer
Shivering in the cold, her skin dirty and dry,
Ugly…ugly…was the only word she could live by

One night, she contemplated taking her life…
She vowed all of her suffering would meet a greater purpose,
Beyond the grave…beyond fear of hell beneath
She was dirt after all, like the kids always told her
How much worse could it be, facing the flames she was born in?
She threw the kitchen knife down and looked up at the stars above
Even Death would reject her, she knew…
In acceptance, she acknowledged her ugliness and became a stunning underdog
Rebellion sifted through her veins and her strength brought fear to her father
Bullies looked at her as if she was the devil himself
No one could tell her what to do anymore,
And nobody would ever understand her
Though that was okay…
Because that is all she ever knew

Ten years later, the rotten roller coaster continued
Though a fateful night of circumstance had led her right on the stage
Men were mesmerized by her fierceness and apathy
Not being able to grasp each significant line layered in truth
She showed none mercy as she slayed ruthless chords of wonder
Her voice rang angelically, mixed with the fires and tears of her life
Echoing beyond the grave of cold Death… beyond what was wrong or right
It was her silence that stunned the audience the most
Those eyes, having seen so much…felt so much…hid so much…
That cut mouth, with the eternal dry trickle of a bitter tear
The world was not prepared for her intolerable genius,
Just as she was not prepared for their astonished applaud…

-A collaboration by The Silent One and I : )

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Details | Cowboy |

The Outlaw's Angel, Part II

...Burke grabbed Aura and they both ran out,
riding double on his trusty horse.
The word raced quickly through the town,
a posse was formed, as a matter of course.
So Burke pushed his mount, more and more.
They couldn’t go back, despite acts justified,
not when two men, one a sherriff, had died.

So they rode, pursuers hot on their trail,
until they reach a ranch high the peaks.
Burke pulled a gun while Aurelia seized
a new horse, both study and sleek.
The rancher fumed, too angry to speak.
Burke apologized, gave him all his gold,
then sped off again into mountains cold.

Two days passed, the posse drew close,
and both their horses started to flag.
No longer able to outrun their hunters,
Burke mad camp high up in a crag,
where he could shoot safely if they attacked.
The posse appeared in the meadow below,
lead the by the sherriff’s oldest, known as Milo.

“Surrendor now, or we’ll shoot you down!”
They shouted it as they stared to climb.
But before Burke could even open his mouth
the air exploded with shrill, Indian cries.
A horde of Bannocks their arrows let fly!
They swept into the meadow, circling fast.
The posse died quickly, not long could they last.

Burke and Aurelia hid low in the rocks
until the last of the Bannocks had left.
Not much was left of the posse below,
they lay still, and were mostly scalpless.
But one figured crawled amongst the dead.
Burke climbed down, still clutching his gun,
and loomed over the sheriff's bloodied son.

“You won’t believe me, but I’ll say it now,
I acted only out of self-defense.
You’re father and Grisby were gunning for me,
and Grisby was putting his hands on my friend.
There choices brought them to their ends.”
But Milo just snarled, and crawled away,
Burke and Aura sighed, and left him that way.

No one from Tillico ever saw them again,
even when Milo put a bounty of their hides.
Some say they made for themselves new names
and peacefully lived out their lives.
Others said, like most outlaws, they died...
And if you all liked this tale that you just heard,
Tell your friends about me, Bruce Bowden the Third.

Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Dramatic monologue |


   Who's that staring through my window walls, with eyes as old as time
the clock has not yet moved and the wind outside has died
no breath for me to find nor the strength to check the time
unless the minute hand is lying theirs a chance i may have died
I wish this all a dream but the eyes i see dont lie, they have told me with their watching that all men do really cry
yet in vain is all my wishing but perhaps this is delusion of a sedimentary man with his mind ripe for losing 
Come at me then red devil, I shout within my mind yet the tension I had hoped for was delayed and rather dry
no ravishingly velvet flame encircled this such room, nor were the furniture and ottoman  thrown like an old shoe
marvelous the time in which a demon throwns your home and his only one intent is to stare right through your soul
 to that i bid goodnight to you, to do as you wish, regardless of the manner I am nothing more then fish. to be shot out of a barrel for a fellow such as this
If you do deem it fit that I wake another morning all i ask is that the clocks all please return to working order

Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Winter Learning Ducks

Afternoons the sky shuts down around the swamp's warning tapes
propped up with restoration piping and dirt leak fencing.
We’re fleeing toward the wild, seeking the names and shapes, 
the same way the Cedar Waxwing flit and grip for berries tree to tree.

Canada Geese are easy, they lead off down the lane leaving residue,
Widgeons have green stripes and gold stripes, one American 
the other European, and they’re all mumbling our family phew-do
they didn’t burn the kid, they can’t keep the house clean, drugs…

Blink away the cold wind tears. Forget all that, only remember
Shovelers have the long low profile and the long bill from studies
in New Zealand, like a deep breath, we set aside work, unlimber
spy the race of killdeer away from their guarding territory in gravel.

Our boss didn’t try to replace us, he ducked out to a new job
leaving the crime ringing in our ears like the police car roaring past.
Head down, we tunnel under the high way finding the dunk and bob
of mergansers and their hallowed or red heads,

remarking differences when the sudden scream of honking
mallards flee up river. Caught off guard, we wonder did we cause
all this pain? The rise and dunk flying goldfinch happily chirping
cling to the thistle, their favorite waste near the waste water

ponds where all the Black River water flows for cleaning
spilling into the nesting lower stages of the tertiary treatment.
That’s all this is, treatment for the shock wave week riding
current events on our shoulders, almost like the red-tailed hawk

that screams and skims our head, rising up to the setting sun 
turning the sky purple and pink and bruised. That’s when wood
ducks skim into view, our breath captured and then steaming undone
but soon the heavens offer confirmation, blue angels
with their huge oversized wings soar in pairs down as gift.
We hold each other then, let screams silence, detail enriched.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |

The Ordinary Care of Providence

Madison's defense of the establishment clause to the Virginia legislature:
"Religion both existed and flourished, not only without the support of human laws, but in spite of every opposition from them, and not only during the period of miraculous aid but long after it had been left to its own evidence and the ordinary care of Providence."

                                          May I say
electromagnetic waves. Radiant energy.
Light travels in waves
                                  Waves of what?
Electromagnetic waves consist of electric and magnetic fields
oscillating at right angles to each other
and to the direction of motion of the wave.
                                                                 All waves can be described
in terms of amplitude, wavelength, frequency and speed.

Waves of what?
                         Think of a hand waving. The wave itself
is virtual, ideal. The hand and eyes are waves. The wave's
a quantum guess.
                           Religion and electromagnetic waves - visible, audible,
causing real reactions in earth-time (real as it gets). Madison's
             care of Providence
                                          impossible to handle.

Needed is a medium: antenna, cathode ray, page,
        hairy, sweaty
with the capacity to say Providence electromagnetic visible light
element god.
                    Alone in your life and body. Say
the heavy word
weighty word
            charged word (ion god)
the particle physicist and political philosopher have it over the poet
who is sharing ignorance
                                      pretty much all he doesn't know.

Or who stays within a dimension she knows she knows, extrapolating
her hand in a child's hand or husband's hold or nest in a tree hole
limited government
                             separation of powers
                                                             daily low intensity warfare
light, radio and gamma waves
                                             Waves of what?
"Matter can be treated by both wave and particle theories (the duality of matter) since its convertible counterpart - light - has long been treated successfully by both theories."
convertible counterpart
                                    light matter light

Solutions to the equations are called wave functions, or orbitals.
"Religion or the duty which we owe our Creator and the manner of discharging it can be directed only by reason and conviction, not by force or violence. It is proper to take alarm at the first experiment on our liberties. We hold this prudent jealousy to be the first duty of Citizens, and one of the noblest characteristics of the late Revolution. The free men of America did not wait till usurped power had strengthened itself by exercise and entangled the question in precedents. They saw all the consequences in the principle and they avoided the consequences by denying the principle. We revere this lesson too much to soon forget it."

Last night's movie She's No Angel on the Christian channel
begged many essential questions (and had bad music)
the loving liberal successful couple should
keep a shotgun in the home (later used per Shakespeare)
the community's (authority's) reaction to the violence
and precipitating dissembling might have been (per The Crucible)
the golden spiritual couple would subsequently dissemble lobby or defend
themselves and the loved one legally and lengthily (per Dostoyevsky)
unclean tragic outcomes end in Death's cleanliness
ravens eat the fur and guts of bad guesses off the roads (per A Designer
      of Systems)

but not I think missing
the deeper lesson

that she is neither her past
nor her wings

but a pure goodness
                               bone stillness
                                                    potential energy

a light wave
and a particle.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

The Woes Of Trust

An angel formed from 
lake of purity,a gift to 
darkest parts of hearts.
A chaste damsel,
untouched rose from the 
garden of the elves.

Sent to earth,made an 
abode in a gentleman's 
heart,whom she 
cherished and loved.

As time travelled,another 
fella whom she trusted 
lured her to un-saintly act
Her pride laid on altar of 
dishonor and infidelity.
Her life she almost 
snuffed,she feared the 
love of her true love 
would be lost. Alas! bond 
of love is indivisible.

Shattered,with a broken 
spirit she tries to mend 
the pieces....on the 
shoulder of her lover she 
leans,hoping to soothe 
her bruised heart.

A true story,a close 
pretty lady friend of mine 
was raped by her family 
friend yesterday...who 
called her and told her 
his mum was very sick.
She called me and 
confided in me .
Don't know whether to 
encourage her to call the 

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

The Lonely Army

When wind’s silence 
heralds boundless oblivion
and the trembles of cracked earth
raise the dust of tears
dried by the boundless footfalls
of sallow flesh

When a thread of gold
brings unearthly thought
and the misconception
of suns fallen
drives foolish men to their knees
in unending tremors

An army of one
frees the air from his fingertips
and stays not his opal blade
as it bites the rotted gray necks 
of kings released from their wrongful bliss
by his trembling palms

An army of one
unconstrained by nature’s volume
freed by the sin of his naivety
yet, bound by earth’s oldest secret
as the scarlet sun weeps
its bloodied tears

An army of one
his cloak worn through
by the acid blood of his deception
and his bones stilled; 
the branches of a dying oak
which no longer caress the wind

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Light To Dark

You think you’ve gone just far enough,

I could smile knowing you’ve gone far enough that you can’t go back again

You think you were careful but,

I’ve caught a glimpse of your true, wretched form

You think you can find a way into my good graces

I’ve seen what you are, monsters with a friendly costume

You can’t deceive me anymore and, I don’t consort with serpents

You think I’m a game to be played but, trust me, you could never win

Don’t underestimate me

You think I’m a joke but, trust me you won’t be laughing

You think I’m just talking myself up but, trust me, you’re the ones going down

My eyes took too long to adjust

Better late than never

It may take a monster to know one but, I promise my teeth are sharper than yours

My first reaction to the hideous revelation that was your form was to weep

Fall to my knees, maybe even wretch my heart from my chest and onto the carpet

Then I thought about the mess it would make

I decided the only blood that will spill, will be your own

I was not weak, but I had a weakness

A heart of soft gold stitched to my sleeve with care

No longer

Now my heart is a stone so heavy

I could kill at least two birds at once 

Being the nice guy is a thing of the past 

Thanks for freeing me of that softness

You thought I was all sunshine and delicate things

When really I had just been swallowing razor blades

Now that sun is setting and I hope you see it was you who were wrong

Can you feel my darkness coming, because it’s eager to hold you

If you thought I was the one who would just stand still or turn to run

Your gonna be the one with tired feet

I’m not sad anymore

Just sick with the plague of your lies

Contagious, and I’m looking for someone to kiss

Even angels can make themselves wicked

When we do, we take no prisoners

Still think I’m a game

This one is just beginning

Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue |

speak only after

come quickly
come quickly
you silly old dog 
when they thought of the name,
they'd probably had thought of a creature like you-well then right on the dot
for a pig with a stick in his eye and a stye for a leg could have begged his way faster to freedom
and found more to eat in a day then you eat in a week-but you stay?
And i wonder and ponder by ponds full of water collecting my thoughts in a vase now discolored
what marvelous mischief might happen if beast were no sanction and all things with thoughts were judged solely on actions
morality then would weigh heavy with sanction and perhaps no man dines at the right of the lord
only a creature, deemed fit to absorb his observance
for now, it is begining to get very hot in this furnace

Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |


it is the last corridor

loneliest hours are like this
twisted music stops ringing from the belfry
silence that could break bones
with its weight comes in a
thunderous words of a confession
spoken in actions

speak for your own sins
one by one, on a table covered in dust
lay them to untimely rest
this place will be your funeral,
rising the hell from whence you came,
demons grabbing at your ankles
until they drag you back home.

you carved their sentences in grey
red spilling into dirty snow, dirty
conscience, destruction of everything
in your path to glory, friend and foe
in the blood-curdling screams like
the fresh air you don’t deserve

the prayers of a people wasted
in the merciless hands of a child
sick, buttercups in their hair
an angel of death,
savior falling through the cracks
of everything they were a time ago.

it is the end.

Copyright © Oliver C.S. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |



Gangsters angling for a deal on wet concrete by the station
Feared for life, but more for death, on the street
Souls purchased with wrong turns

Their associate last week lost his way in the park
An angel pulled up, found him, fed him a line, then a shot
Just for a second his eminence smiled, then died

A red car drove off with the pretty little assassin inside
After taking a kingpin out, removing the competition in a flash                         
Taking comfort in what a young girl can do when put to task

Now the concrete walk waits for its prey
Directed by others in a sequence of events about to play out
Events initiating a consequence of revenge unfolds

To exact equal pain in retribution for the loss of their boss
The gang had followed him for years and continues to do so 
Into an early grave, by seeking out the girl unwisely

From the shadow, an angel came again.  This time for them
With a killer’s lust for blood and blessings from above
Stray projectiles fly from all sides, initiated by the parties involved

The spree begins to shape the end of days, taken in an angry rage
Trajectory of chaotic gun fire directed at the gang
Took participants engaged down, one by one, until there were none

These stoic men feel mortality and reality effects
Only at the end of a gun at the point of death as wasted flesh
Saying her name with their expiring breath….. Angel

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |



I was holding those old roses you gave to me
it was dark outside and very lonely
it was cold outside so I started burning roses
you are the proof of my past 
that cut me deep and this old pain last
you torn my spirit apart 
while you left me beaten in the dark
What you did to me
wasn't only in darken dreams
you broken the law when it comes to love
you made a crime and you need to pay the time
becaue I'm dying within myself 
you put my life through a living Hell
this is a cold case that has never been solved
so all these roses of long ago you given me
after all the abuse being used by you 
I will burn each one with your name one them
but when it comes to darken dreams
you find ways to still reach me
Oh, how you love to make me scream
just to see me bleed out like ink
pouring in the sea
Oh, Look what you are doing to me
I know this will never be enough for you
your love is deadly 
you are breaking the law of love
it's a crime what you are doing to me
this everyone has seen
you hunt me down like I was animal 
when I am down you take me in your arms
like I was a wounded child
and we start all over again 
no matter what I do 
it wont make a difference
you heart is as cold as black ice
this case will never be solveld 
you only let me take the fall
I'm broken because of you 
this is the very truth
you go take your photo's of me
like I am dead
but deep within me your right
my spirit is slowly fading in the night
you given me so much fright
I'm walking alone holding old roses 
you gave me years ago
It's cold outside so I'm making a fire
with all those roses with your name on them
it is a shame no one investigated you
didn't they care about what you where doing to me?
couldn't they see you where making me break ?
my life wasn't the same 
everytime I tried to exscap 
you locked me away in a cold darken room
like I was caged up like a bird
Oh, how my body hurts
you keep cuting me deeper 
but to night I hope you are feeling my pains
BECAUSE I'm burning every rose you ever gave 
while I'm screaming out your name
Release me now from your spell
my heart's and spirit is ready to be free
from all you agony you call love
Oh, I had enough 
but this nightmare won't go away
the truth hits me in the face
I'm down on my knees bleeding away
I'll never will find all those pieces of my heart
but tonight I'm making a start .

Poetic Judy Emery

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017

Details | Cowboy |

The Outlaw's Angel, Part I

Burke Bowden rode slowly through the piney hills
outside the mining town of Tillico.
Hiding himself there in the Montana woods
where decent folks would rarely go.
He had good reason for being out there alone.
The bastard Banks Grisby had driven him here
all over a woman, it would appear.

Burke had made the mistake of loving
the black-haired beauty, Aurelia ‘Aura’ Mahr,
Who worked down at Grisby’s Continental,
so was no whore, but tended the bar,
quite ‘scandalous,’ leaving decent folk alarmed.
But Grisby had an eye for the young lady
and would not lose her to a cow-punching ‘thief.’

So Gribsy had claimed that young Burke had
cleaned out his till late one sleepy night.
He had Sherriff Spahn deep in his pocket
and both came looking for a fight,
putting poor Burke Bowden to flight.
Complete surprised, he’d barely ridden out
ahead of a barrage of gunshots and shouts.

Now all the country thought Burke an outlaw,
he lived in caves like a damned wild beast.
He had little money, and no kin to speak up,
he felt like a cougar that had been treed.
But has had good reason not to flee.
Aurelia had said she was his evermore,
since her treated her as a lady, not as a whore.

Two nights after his expulsion from town,
he rode back in looking to resolve
the issue before him, however he must,
so on the Continental he went to call.
To bring the fight to all those involved.
But as he rode up, just part midnight
a scream leapt out, a woman in fright!

He raced into the hotel’s back kitchen,
saw Grisby slowly advancing on her.
“You wanna keep workin’, this is the cost!”
the bastard said, backing her in a corner,
the lust in his eyes a true horror.
Burke then bellowed out,”You back away now!”
Grisby, caught off guard, quickly turned abound.

Finding Burke there, Grisby went for his colt,
seething with anger and seeing dark red.
Burke went for his, but Aura grabbed a pan
and slammed it into Grisby’s head.
He hit the ground, already dead.
Neither could speak, Grisby was no more,
then up went a shout, a man’s angry roar.

Frozen in place, both caught unsuspecting,
a gunshot rang out, striking close.
It just missed Burke, going an inch wide
Burying itself deep into a wall post.
Burke fired instinctively at his foe.
A cry went up, and to their chagrin,
Sherriff Spahn fell forth, his stomach clutching...


Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose |

8 ball

you show me your room and i never thought that i would be here, in the living space (the music space, the sleeping space, the dreaming space, the touching space) of the person i always stared at across from me in class—the one with their own stare unlike any other, focused and fading into another plane of existence. and then you'd look away like nothing ever happened. i was that plane; i was the one you wanted to crash into your mind and be handed the gun as a partner in crime. i am seen as just a painting hanging on a wall by everyone and everything else, but you saw the gory scene within it—the guts poured out along the paper and the blood soaking it so that you could see the words written on the other side. you drew a picture of it; it's on your wall. i look up and there are guns along it, too, above your bed like they belong to the both of us. they are 8 balls—clairvoyant and dark like your eyes—telling me what we are already going to do. i will never see your emotions except for in the form of what we'll do together: kill and die. your bed sheets are cute, with lace along the edges, and stains from orange Crush and Nehi soda. everyone else had always been repulsed by you—by your gross messes, your stains, how unkempt it all is, and your impulsiveness and plans. all equally evil. all equally brilliant. the soda was amazed by you so it exploded on your bed—or, you just blew up their heads (blew their minds? yes.) your parents wanted me to be good, but they don't even know you—so they'll never know me. they couldn't even hear us from outside your door. we are both iron monsters with golden hearts; you are cold and careful on the outside, and kind and careful on the inside. i am gated and immalleable on the outside, and—who am i kidding? you love me because i'm not made of gold, but because i am a fallen angel with human skin and meat, blood and tar. you and i sip the tar steadily. 

—we are both angels and we will live forever after death in rebellious harmony, haunting what their God doesn't want us to haunt.

Copyright © Ashlea Senft | Year Posted 2017