Violence Son Poems | Violence Poems About Son
These Violence Son poems are examples of Violence poems about Son. These are the best examples of Violence Son poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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Father, oh, father can't you see what you've done.
Your hate has destroyed the lives of everyone.
You treated us bad and cheated on our mom.
Your temper was like trying to disarm a bomb.
Everyone said what they thought you wanted to hear.
Why you were always so angry was never very clear.
When I was four I saw you throw an ashtray at mom's head.
That was the day I new you didn't care if we were all dead.
I had to live with that knowledge my entire life.
It was clear you never should have had kids and a wife.
Once I was surrounded by a gang of street thugs.
Terrified, I talked my way out without throwing a slug.
You were watching in disgust from across the street.
You couldn't wait to get me home to begin your browbeat.
Instead of being happy that I didn't have to fight,
You made me feel worthless, chicken, and anything but alright.
As strange as it sounds I'd like to say thank you.
You were my anti role model as I got older and grew.
You showed me in many ways what not to be or do.
I knew I had to become just the opposite of you.
Here I am many years later, proud of what I've become.
Your lessons of anger and hate I was able to overcome.
Copyright © Scott Williams | Year Posted 2016
I'm begging you, please don't hit me again.
I'm not able to defend myself, I'm only ten.
Please don't hit me again, it hurts both physically and emotionally.
I don't deserve to be hit and if you were in my shoes, you'd agree.
My emotional scars can never be removed because of what you've done.
You've been a terrible father but I haven't been a terrible son.
Please don't hit me again, your blows bruise my body and make me bleed.
Being taken out of this house and put in a foster home is exactly what I need.
(Even though this is a fictional poem, many children are victims of child abuse. If you see a child being abused, please do what you can to stop it.)
Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2014
I am fire cooked in the belly of a barrel
An inferno like a messenger of death from hell
Somersaulting like a ninja assassin wilding his sword unsheathed
With double edged precision and ill intent unleashed
In my clear trajectory I target any would be shot stopper
I spit fatality and finality, I am the showstopper
There lies power in the pull of a trigger
An on/off switch of life at the tip of a finger
I entre the air with a loud Bang!
I express death like a bulletin
Collide and split air molecules with gun powder
15 calibre to penetrate fragile body armour
I shoot off my mouth like a machine gun
Two syllables, death by numbers, one by one
I recoil on my words like a liar, then silence
Steal lives and leave behind bullet clips
I laugh at your gun laws
I am the Lord of all wars
Copyright © Thabang Ngoma | Year Posted 2014
Even young people like Fred
went from sad to mad,
thinking that happiness
was a wish not grated;
he succumbed to sickness,
he wished he were dead.
Changing moods in him persisted
and created a split personality;
he showed thoughts of insensibility,
a pitiful man unloved and afraid.
His mother stood by him and cried,
friends and family kept their distance;
once he was so loved and admired,
his grey eyes exuded confidence.
Resigned to his fate, he became a wreck
it got worse until he went completely beserk;
smashing everything he found in his way,
he impersonated an actor in his wild play.
He found pleasure in destroying a memory
too bitter for him to endure with gentleness;
when his fury was appeased by madness,
he calmed down and laughed deliriously.
At only eighteen, his destiny is sealed forever;
in a wheelchair he spends his days in distress,
not even his mom can comfort him with hugs...
he looks at her sadly, then bursts into laughter.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016
A man acquainted with sorrows and grief
be it then was bruised for our relief
the ones ruling over them kept them in pain
but struck was he so we might Life regain
All like sheep have wandered astray
but he announced to the crowds Gods new day
no violence could be found in his actions done
he spoke of peace in the kingdom to come
He fed the hungry and gave to the poor
tender of heart and kind to his core
oppressed was he and sore afflicted
falsely accused by traditionalists indicted
A quiet man who spoke of verity
taught of loving kindness and mercies charity
the man he was did the broken draw
in every point did he fulfill Gods Law
The works of his hands righteous and clean
his judgment was pure and never mean
a candle whose light has dispelled the dark
his praise for his Father did all his works mark
Jehovah pronounced this the Son he approved
to him was beloved and the World reproved
no harm could be found in his heart or hand
those who follow him will the same stance stand
He sought not mens praise or their vainglory
yet acquired Gods love but by man treated poorly
unlike the kings who Lord over their kin
washed the feet of disciples those lower than him
Did demonstrate he how to walk Truths Way
by example showed traits his disciples display
with accurate judgment in all that he did
to become like him to his disciples he bid
We are not worthy of God to approve
if we do not from our lives violence remove
those who hate and practice manslaughter
cannot become his Son or his daughter
To become like him the Truth you must drink
it must cleanse from you what the world think
upon his teaching consume as your bread
without his life in you , you are still dead..
sources Ps 18 , Is 53 and the gospels
COPYRIGHT © 2010 C Michael Miller
Copyright © Poetryof Providence | Year Posted 2011
Why did Kathy Griffin post that horrific photo...
To show her hatred or to get tweets of sympathy?
Think about Barron's trauma: he shivered terribly...
seeing his dad severed head held up by a psycho
who played with his childish emotions so inhumanely.
Written on 6/3/2017
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2017
Lately, I've heard many stories of teens
taking plunges into the pristine waters,
but some just sit chatting with their peers...
while someone is contemplating suicide with blank looks;
Billy was one of them, perhaps the wildest one...
he never listened to his parents, they worried for his son!
The chalk cliff over the Seaton Bay wilderness
is a favorite spot for kids who are disobedient and violent;
life means nothing to them, their curiousity is intense:
dying is a cool adventure, just to have their names in print!
I met billy's mother who mourned her loss hiding her rage,
" My youngest son was a darling! " and holding his picture
lots of tears fell on that tender, sweet and innocent image;
" I warned him to keep away, he thought I was insane! "
I returned the next day to write an article about
the dangers that these kids faced daily, by they still swimmed
and had forgotten that their friend had died hitting a fishing boat;
now, a sign reads, " No Swimming. " Will it be heeded?
The chalk cliff over the Seaton Bay wilderness reminds all of fright:
a grave for a teen who defied fear and ventured in perilous waters;
a candle vigil is held on the anniversary of Billy's death, candles and stars
flicker while eyes look up and hearts pray in the stillness of night!
Written on 8/29/2017
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2017