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Death Freedom Poems | Death Poems About Freedom

These Death Freedom poems are examples of Death poems about Freedom. These are the best examples of Death Freedom poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Dramatic Verse |

Indian Ink

“Indian Accent”

Hear the whispers inside

Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow

A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices fall from the sky;    -Rising hymns release 
-ancient demons that   CLING to the soul

Darkness dwells under - gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World!
Weaving Native smoke into the barren air
Indian spirits haunt the muddy Earth---
Moccasin makers rise from underneath;    While
  guardians of dream catchers - print the Universe
Smooth thread from the outer world; 
Arrowheads,   Ivory gems,   feathers, and illusions
I stumble upon a florid kiss.......   My veins;
Run Cold, like ice through a desert night.

Winds of enchanted drums - cry out for rain
Hollow chimes mesmerize,  my ties,  my eyes
An ancient rage begins to flare --- MADNESS! 
- takes place among the sanity of  who   I am
The spear of the perfumed buffalo scrapes my skin
I remove the veil that covers my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Drying the scalp that bleeds on my face

KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!

Raven silk braids and feathers on my hair
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
*
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly.

I AM A BIRD!

By; PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013


Details | Couplet |

Freedom

In solitude I dream tonight
And watch a moth in fevered flight.

It’s drawn toward my quaint porch light
And flies consumed with all its might.

Through open window I can see
Its desperation shared with me;

How freedom in this world is light—
And we as souls are drawn to fight.

Though freedom’s light may cause our death,
It’s worth the risk with every breath.

I understand the moth’s sad plight
When drawn to the glorious light.

Though it knows not of human trust,
It buzzes on because it must!

© Connie Marcum Wong

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |

Paris the 13th

Paris the 13th

Tears, my tears fall to wine
As I can not comprehend this horrendous crime
Men filled with such spiteful hate
Islamic teachings seal their fate
Kill and slaughter love and smiles
How I pray tell does this bring about
Any compassion of heart, have they no guile?

I have walked along those Parisian streets
Filled with history and diversity, such a feat
Hand in hand, people from so many lands
Dressed in darkness, blacks and grays
The massacre dancing in premonitions sway
Crusaders never win, for love will take its stand

Hundreds taken from Jesus hands
For nothing more than celebrating their great lands
Food and drink and lovers smiles
Stolen this night by hateful bile
We shall rise again, defend and stand

Our blood may flow in the river seine
However in the end its you, who is insane
We shall defend our liberty
Even if we hang evil from the tree

Père Lachaise has brought me tears
Such history over all the years
Yet here I am faced to visit once again

Paying respect to those dying in vain
My heart is fraught, with you till eternity

Liberté, égalité, fraternité


Notes: Pere Lachaise is a famous cemetery in Paris
Liberté, égalité, fraternité is the motto of France


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Rhyme |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |

A Butterfly Inside

I feel a butterfly inside;
its wings are cramped within my breast.
The weight of flesh, o dull cocoon,
prohibits my free flight. At best
I only soar inside; my wings--
gossamer, light, remain untried.
I wait...I wait...until the day
the barred' cage is flung aside
and airy wings lift toward the skies.

I have felt this graceful creature 
flutter faintly deep inside;
then, at times, so ardently,
I think no way will it abide!
It will be loosed! Its wish to fly
will push the bars of flesh aside.
Determined is this butterfly 
to show its colors multiplied
and wing its way through azure skies.

The time is drawing near, I'm sure;
the throbbing swells within my heart.
The cumbrous cocoon, filled with life,
is bursting now, falling apart.
The butterfly is breaking free;
no more its wings will tightly furl,
but lightly spread upon the breeze 
their filmy webs, gilded and pearled...
and, then, my soul will leave this world.

Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

The Red Babushka

Nineteen twenty-four and the wind was cold,
When men in uniform entered our town;
Forced us to leave in their boxcars,
Made us believe that it was for our own safety.

With no time to fix our things
We hurriedly got in the box.
And when everyone was in,
The doors were locked.

The place was hell
For not even a whisper of wind 
Could enter the place,
Nor could a light shine through its walls.

Our eyes were dry and lips cracked
Plead for just a single drop;
As four nights and days we travelled
Inside the cars with no food or water.

The box unimaginable in its very state,
For dung and human liquid fragranced the place.
Weak-hearted both young and old struggled to live
Even the strong wished not to survive.

And on the fourth day, the box went to a halt!
Survivors were singing songs to God;
“Please end this tormented journey,
And deliver us home safely.”
Light shone as the heavy doors were opened!
We dropped to our knees
Hoping the place was Paradise
But Paradise was it not for we were in Hell. 

Ironically, the gate held words
Like that as ‘Beware of the Dog.’
Written in frostbitten wood saying:
“ARBEIT MACHT FREI.”

My mind was puzzled upon seeing those,
How could labor set you free,
When labor here meant
Dying in force and agony.

Schnell! 
Jew, work or die!
Schnell!
Jew, never complain and lie!

Those were the words 
That became music in our ears,
As we bent our bones
Working for freedom that is bound.

Schnell!
Jew, form your lines!
Schnell!
Jew, the choosing has come!

And in this place we call Hell,
An Angel waits for preys.
Not to feed to its cherubim
But to the ovens decay.

Schnell!
Jew, old and sick!
Schnell!
Jew, to the ovens burn!

As the sun paints the sky red,
A gray smoke danced with the setting clouds,
And in the heavens, the old and sick smile
Grateful to be forever free from the Angel.

On and on, the days passed by
Not faster but years it seem.
Millions were killed by the monsters of time,
Feeding them to the hungry gas ovens.

Then one even night,
I dreamt of food, of home,
Of freedom and safety
And a voice calling me to follow.

I had no choice but to obey,
For in that moment I was already tired,
Sick and losing hope that once was mine
But seem to be forever lost. 

On the 16th of March,
I lied still in my shelf.
I slept forever smiling,
With my red babushka in hand.

But disappointed and angry was I
To share the very day of my death
To the birth of the Malach-ha-mavis:
The Angel of Death.

Copyright © Joseph Sabido | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |

Pompous Pied Piper

Like the pompous pied piper leading the way,
chirping his tune of a dawning new day,
frustrations were championed, oh how we followed,
the ego stuffed shirt of a suit cold and hollow.

From the top of the hill, he showed us the view,
convincing our eyes it was harshly askew.
Nearing the cliffs as if caught in a spell,
he fed us like lambs from his poisonous well.

Touting sweet taste of his truth well embittered,
ignoring the signs of nonsensical twitter,
rot with the smell of the nations decay,
we drank from his cup of a water so gray.

Watching and waiting for gifts of his gruel,
the masses assured we were not made a fool,
his promise of greatness was all we could see,
with great expectations of how it would be.

There's no turning back once we swore the man in, 
believing bright futures were soon to begin,
blinding frustration gave evil its day
for the pompous pied piper to lead us astray.

He led us to thinking, all driven by fear, 
then gave his directives so cryptically clear,
stripping the values by which we would stand
before the American dream had been banned.

Addicted to all the attention and glory, 
swiftly he moved to remain the top story,
insisting on walls made of concrete and steel
built by the anger and hate we should feel.

Then some were shaken, disrupting his spell
and found he was stealing our Liberty Bell.
The fog began lifting and soon we would see
the piper exposed as the fraud he would be.

Time has a way, proven over again, 
of playing its imminent part.
The shedding of light upon every mans soul, 
exposing his darkness of heart.

No longer seduced by the piping we hear, 
choosing to see through the veil,
Democracy once again fights to survive,
let us all pray we prevail!

                              -Jeannie Minor

Copyright © Jeannie Minor | Year Posted 2017

Details | Verse |

Sea of Dreams

The skies become loud and dark
Raining bombs upon us
May god protect the civilians
Take away the rest in rivers red
Let the devils blood flow far from us

We stare always to the skies
Our own tears falling
Thus we created our own sea of dreams
Here inside our prison city
Laughter is hidden underneath the bed


My pink lip stick and smile
I have only hope to eat
I have only the future to grasp
Because my death shall soon come to be
Death for forgetting the past

All we could do, living in daily fear
Is swim in our sea of dreams
Only to be drowned with our own blood
Here is my Photo, here is my dream
I lie dead, my dream I leave to you



Dedicated to Nisan Ibrahim who reported and wrote under the alias Ruqia Hassan.
She lived in the city of Raqqa in Iraq and was killed by Daesh around July 2015.
Hassan came from a Kurdish family that was originally from the town of Kobane, Syria, on the Turkish border. The family had at some date relocated to Raqqa. 

She was never to find that rest and peace. Maybe she didn't expect to. She wrote the same day: "Our biggest mistake was to swim in a sea of dreams... and we dreamt of the next phase and ignored the current phase... we look at the future and forgot the past... #a mistake we regret."

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 

Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |

JE SUIS CHARLIE -- Afterthought

JE SUIS CHARLIE — Afterthought

The shock of this most frightening tragedy is practically beyond 
the pale of any reasonable or adequate attempt or effort to explain
it or to rationalize the horrible circumstances surrounding it.

Let me just say that all of us who are writers and poets ply our
poetry, “our intellectual wares,” if you will, in a common written
medium that expects the same unrestricted level of freedom of
speech and expression exercised by those extraordinarily brave
artists at “Charlie Hebdo” who were recently murdered in cold
blood by self-styled Islamic extremists in Paris. 

It is also equally saddening and deplorable that some courageous 
police officers died in the line of duty defending these freedoms 
as well as some other security people and hostages caught up in 
the midst of these most terrifying circumstances. 

The heinous actions perpetrated by these armed extremists
destroyed innocent lives and affected the lives of a number of
loved ones whose burden of sadness and tragedy is unimaginable. 
Their actions also were an attempt to strike at the very heart of 
those sacred freedoms that all of us who live in open societies and
democracies cherish as part of our everyday lives. The armed 
extremists, by their actions, also personified and demonstrated an
obvious affectation for barbarity, stupidity, ignorance, and cowardice 
that were all on ample display as a result of what they did.

Freedom of speech and expression are among those certain
historic inalienable rights given to all of us by the divine hand of
God himself, and certainly not by the generosity of any government 
or religious group (regardless of faith). The brave souls who died
at Charlie Hebdo, died exercising this most sacred franchise.

The point I’m driving at is this: Those extremists who committed
these most reprehensible actions of recent against their fellow man 
did not win in spite of their collective efforts to destroy lives and to 
sully these precious freedoms that all of us as writers and artists 
hold so very dear.

The outpouring of emotion and sadness in support of these slain
heroes in the face of this most despicable crime is quite compelling, 
and underlies the continuing determination of all of us who love
and cherish the freedoms of speech and expression to continue to
speak out and to exercise these sacred rights without reservation.

With all of this in mind, I humbly and proudly conclude my narrative 
to all of you here by saying and echoing as loudly as possible:
“Je Suis Charlie” . . . “I am Charlie.”

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (January 10, 2015)
(Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Terzanelle |

An Epic Battle With A Simple Question

A beautiful heart pines from afar. To parallel freedom, we choose our master. In Love, the Dragon and Unicorn are! Celestial winged heart beats faster, Over mountain and ocean meet polar eyes. To parallel freedom, we choose our master. Embarking from sun brewed and moonshine skies Two alien races, in war, collide. Over mountain and ocean meet polar eyes. All brothers' swords raise, marching with pride. Sisters of heaven let feathers fly. Two alien races, in war, collide. The angered clouds rain blood from the sky. A new path finally found. Sisters of heaven let feathers fly. Brothers' swords low now to the ground. A beautiful heart pines from afar. A new path finally found. In Love, the Dragon and Unicorn are! In universe Out bound energy Where are we when we die?

Copyright © Edward McCormick | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

The Undyings' Curse

Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku |

How Fast it Dries

the jaguar's tear
slides off his single whisker
clouds do sigh

three offspring
dragged into the river's teeth
one remains

they both stretch
the moment of sorrow lost
life leaps on

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |

A House On the Cliff's Edge

There is a house on the cliff’s edge,
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
At night, the tide lifts high against a foggy moon
In the morning, gloomy clouds settle with the sea
At times, not even the birds are seen or heard
The house is left to nature’s caress

Home-crafted seashell chimes sway and sing with the wind
Crushed sand dollars lie together on the back porch
The shells were once whole, collected by the former owners
Long gone are they now, smiling with the moon
The owners are the very sound of the ocean spray,
Striking the rocks, announcing the cool dawn of day
They are not the dark, empty rooms,
The rooms that nobody thinks of as they go about their lives
The quiet owners are long gone—thought of only by one
A stillborn legacy about as tiresome as the sun,
When the clouds crisp out its beams . . .

A seawater puddle is in the middle of the dining room
Nobody knows it sits there, sinking in the floorboards
It used to be a far larger puddle after a storm,
Stealthily leaking into the house
But now it is small—so small—and the boards are moist,
Moist with its only companion amongst the instilled silence

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
They were not much for socials and gatherings
They always lived their quiet, happy lives
Without a care of the outside world,
Far from anybody’s thought
Miles from the nearest home
Where the next generation comfortably lives 

He never finished fixing that leak . . .

Sometimes the puddle gets bigger after other storms
And when it does, there is almost life there again
You can see the chandelier reflected on the unperturbed water
As a crystal dangles and falls from on high
The dark silence following the drop is as deep as thought . . .

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
There is merely a house on the cliff’s edge
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline

-March 21, 2013-

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

The Lily

The grove within the forest leads to a river,
Where sings the frogs, dragonflies, and birds
And there they die away, quietly, welcomed by their young
Decomposing in the ground, their smells lost within others

The lily, drenched in dew, dries slowly in the sun
Near the water, soft, sweet-scented, true
She dries more and more, till dawn gifts her gloss
And again, she has beyond what she needs

Dripping, crying, the darkness cannot consume her elegance
Even in dying days, she shrivels with eternal fragrance 

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

THE OLD WEST

Lord what I'd give to go back in time.
Meet historical legends Wyatt Earp,
 Or Jessie James, let them leap off 
The written page, and live again.
Rough riders, shooting the colt 45,
Learning swiftness by the draw.
Badges brethren, gather up,
The madman’s posse,
Gun powders equalizers,
 In there bloody hands.
Wanted men, flee to,
 Parts unknown,
Horse thieves, and 
Cattle rustlers,
Trying to evade the long,
 Arm of the law.
 Fate decides whom lives,
 And dies.
It makes no difference,
 Innocent or guilty.
After all it is life’s truest rule,
An eye for an eye, blood shed,
To give the devil his vengeance,
Behold survival of fittest,
Heavens gates, are made from,
Twisted metal.
The hangman's tree stands ready,
Hollow nooses swing in,
 Destiny’s winds,
To bid found ado unto evil men.
Strong limbs bare heavy weight,
A scaled balance of ropes,
 Tenuous strength.
Blind lady liberty turns,
 Her gaze away.
At histories hesitation towards,
Real justice's justification.
Hard men ride ahead, 
Leaving behind
Legends tin stars, 
Amongst trail dust,
Remnants.
Behold the old west breath's,
 Again,
Between books binding,  
And words harsh black ink.
Hardened steel vs. freedoms,
 Expansion.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose |

HEART OF STONE

A time may come, when heart, which is said to be a soft piece of flesh, turns to a stone. A stone beating in your chest doesn’t just free one but opens a shell with magnanimous appealing for solidarity from world. While a smile is wore on the pale face and sound of giggles made back and forth, loud enough, the sound is most relatable to a laughter, but , void of life and energy. In short the sinking holes under eyes which must had ‘v some time given way to a river and the crow lines, gaping emptiness of soul inside this rusting body explicitly trying to define itself in that lifeless forced laughter, but see, a smile and a puff of powder hides everything and frees the mind from the uncomfortable conversations one always want to avoid. So then, smile and wave, sit with a stone in your chest, and be very content with it, because a stone doesn’t feel, nor does it break. Here it is then, free from the conventionality and space in which you breathe, which pledges your personality though the luxuries and beauty on name of blessings, still be grateful on them and fly off from all the possible uncertainties, raging inner self. Then with time, slowly, this nourishment of terror leaves, but with a gift, a heart of stone.                       HN

Copyright © HINA NASIR | Year Posted 2015

Details | Political Verse |

I say it how it is in my eyes

Strange this all falls on deaf ears 
a mockery of justice twist whichever way you wish 
people killed in a hospital act of terror yes or no 

Where those blind cannot ever see 
the gospel truth an act of terrorism 
Countries are invaded including their treasuries 
Arms seized they go on the black market 
sold to terrorists to create revolutions 

Forgive me if I am wrong 
Executions some aired 
as snuff videos on line 
tortures aired on television 
extreme violence showing 
shows demonic practices to me 

This world knows its all to do with energy 
invading countries that has been mapped out 
for years by past leaders from their mouths spoke the truth 
relating to their soul's identity in words 

Building a pipeline 
costs the lives of many innocent civilians 
rapes on a daily basic tortures and worse 

Greed you seem to like stirring the cauldron 
with your hate filled tactics aimed at people's ideas  
Destabilising this world all the time claiming its for peace 
Control is your domain climbing a ladder you seek power 
as now the beast inside desires to be number one 

Egypt is where this dynasty began 
then the Roman empire 
followed by Hitler from facts I read 
history repeats itself once more 
reaching above the clouds living and dying 
struck down by a weapon 
used in battle once before choice 

Lets be straight in all this 
countless people are dying
 each and every single day 
God be merciful 
Stop killing the innocence of this planet 
acceptance of guilt a must 
 
I read cluster bombs are being used 
a banned weapon 
why are the terrorists selling these weapons 
not put on trial by this so called security council 

Also the road to Damascus enriched warheads 
poisonous to the soil a chemical weapon 
Imagine the irony of it all pot calling the kettle black 

World bullies are at the centre of all this stage
elite fascists governing rule is exposed
titles gained from stealing rape torture 
murder in those that cry to heaven for his mercy 

Its a list as long as your arm cut short 
The devil has taken reign in most peoples hearts 
beating drums of our Saviour's grace 
holds strong immaculate heart
 
No one can ever argue with the truth 
because in the end it will shine the brightest light 

I am right winged and stand against world tyranny 
also injustices as for years a person suffered 
at them hands himself 
the scar in my soul will find its peace 
at the gate of two truth's we all know the answer 

If we seek knowledge into the riddle of the spinkx still stands 
where sulphur lies a vision is strong proof 
when the head is not buried in the sand 

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2017

Details | Quatrain |

Echo

Many voices from the past,
Always echoing in my head,
How long can it last,
I thought you were dead.

You always tell me what to do,
So I don't make a mistake,
Somehow you always knew,
How many I could make.

Because once I hurt you,
And you'll never let me forget,
But what can I do,
You're not quite dead yet.

Why won't you leave me alone,
Will you never forgive me,
I wish I could atone,
Please, just let me be.

The hollow echo of your voice,
Will linger on forever,
You've given me no choice,
It'll never stop, ever.

The sound of you used to make me smile,
But now it tortures me,
I will always be in denial,
So an end I'll never see.



Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

A Belfast Story

Come hold my hand and tell me lies
Infuse the hate and woe betide
Tooth for a tooth, pluck out their eyes
A soldiers duties exercised
Let's kill the child, from the inside
 
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight
 
Not for the strong, to sit upon the fence
Let's take the hate and killing to their door
Self righteousness screams out in our defence
Christ knows it's hard to take this anymore
 
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight

Copyright © peter walsh | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |

Freedom

A blackened soul stays so cold. Is there warmth? 
She needs closure.
A life she once knew was so cold. 
She looked within herself to find saving grace, a safe place. 
She found  something as warm as the Son.  
Her soul is set free. Now she is warm.
She stays put in silence, now confused in the light she has longed for.
A new dimension approaches. She has finally broken  the silence.
She wants to be heard! She wants to be heard! 
Through everlasting eternity where she can be so free.
Her soul is now as a bird. 

Copyright © Jewels DeNyle | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? |

A Soldier Coming Home

He received the call in the middle of the night,
be to work by sunrise, you'll be taking a flight.
Go to a land where freedom will rise,
men will stand proud and wipe tears from their eyes.
Suicide bombers for a man who controlled,
brutality to the people, dignity he had stole.
The soldier would travel to a far distant land,
where oil was vass and towns made on sand.
He fought for his country, he life sealed with fate,
his family remembers  the call on this date.
It was warm in Sepember, he was out on patrol,
explosives were used and would  soon take its toll.
He fought the good fight for freedom was sought,
much food and some water, America brought.
But he would come home boxed with a flag draped on top,
violence was something that he tried to stop.
He left earth the hero, he had fought with much pride,
Joined Jesus in heaven, and walked at his side.

Copyright © Kimberly Ghadeer | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse |

The Dark Artist

Death,
A fate foretold 
Since the beginning of time

Master of time,
Misunderstood, 
And feared by many. 
Some say your power is a curse
Some a blessing

Emancipator of souls,
Bestow freedom 
On my poor soul.
Trapped in this prison of torture
Called a body, 
Which places limits on my true potential

I understand you, 
Hiding behind broken hearts
Are benevolent intentions, 
A noble purpose

Bringer of peace, 
You give rest 
to those tired.
You free those soldiers
Trapped in a game of kings

A dark artist. 
I see the beauty in your work.
With your scythe
You paint a masterpiece,
With your scythe 
You write a magnificent tragedy.
You are the perfect ending
To our tragic story

Copyright © Andres Rocha | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric |

School bully

She is slowly slipping away, 
She sees no point laying waiting to decay,
Tired of the names shes starting to beleive,
The thought of leaving for good gives her relief,
Shell do anything just to get the slightest peace,
Were ever she goes shes used as a punching bag,
Shes sick of it wants it to go away wanting payback,
She tried to get away with drugs but theres no impact,
She wants to paint a red mural at school hoping it add some abstract,
Ptsd takes over she is done with the flashback,
Feeling desprate She plans it out on a scatch pad,
She cant stop the heat from rising she gets mad,
She doesnt care shes maping out her ending,
Shes tired of everyone disrespecting,
They pushed her to this shes done pretending,
Theres no more heart left for mendind,
Theres a assembally today she knows theyll all be attending,
This is her idea of defending,
This time theyll be the ones accepting,
There they all seated like targets,
She says this is what you started,
Most of you watched did nothing to help your all the culprit,
She steps on stage the whole crowd bursts into laughter,
She said get ready this is a disaster,
She pulls out a gun blows of rounds,
One by one the students fall to the ground, 
Finally thetes no one left to make a sound,
Shes finally is set free she lets out a smile,
A happiness she hasnt felt in a while,
Shes on the news today shes the only survivor,
It all planned out they call her a fighter,

Copyright © Ashley Poole | Year Posted 2017

Details | Verse |

At Last Freedom Reigns


God Knows Where I Am A Tribute To Linda Bishop ________________ Within the inevitable passing of time The seasons fled like a distant dream ~ With the coming of spring The apple blossom's rose of beauty And softly along the winding stream A sad song played a tribute to thee For now she had gone, gone alone Through autumn's endless rain And Winters relentless snow Her life but now a story Through words etched in time In moments that had vanished With pencil, held in time..... She scratched her insane memoir Little notes within her head Bleeding upon the torn remnants Of hope her only pledge And now in sacred silence The ones who came to see To ponder of a broken life To live a dying dream ~ O' misery Sweet misery At last freedom reigns

Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |

Freedom from the Wall

Clouds unite
they end all fight
darkness prevails
the bride with no veil
to see with no eyes
why do we despise
as the world does turn
our minds they do churn
thinking too much
my mind loses clutch
and the wall does grow
so high i cannot throw
my words at your mind
they fall short then behind
frustration sets in
as the sun goes to fin
the darkness will win
not i as this is my sin
i will glance with no stare
find the pain that is there
and the wind will be fair
as it carries my prayer
one day you will feel
what i meant to steal
as the darkness will peel
my pain from this real
communicate i cant
i try but its faint
i turn on my pain
i turn on my pain
i turn on my pain
i cannot regain
i want to show the day
that the sun will remain
as the clouds unite
they don't end all fight
it is i that must cite
it is i that must fight
for only i can prevail
only minds can grow stale
if not used you will trail
if not used you will fail
if not seen its your grail
if not noticed your in hell
i will try to tell all
i must try to not fall
only you will be seen
in my eyes of ever clean
that the tears will one day fall
down my cheek in all glory
as they will be of not pain
but rejoice as i gain
and rejoice we shall reign
to the water of no shame
as i finally can blame
no one else for my rain
and all the world will see
it was i that was freed
it was i with no creed
that was released to bleed

Copyright © Penn Kname | Year Posted 2006

Details | Haiku |

----


old bayonet—
I wonder if one touched
my grandfather’s body






June 12, 2017

Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)



Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:



Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.


He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.


After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.


In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.


Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.


He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.


Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.


On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.


Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.


His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.


In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.


On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:


‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’



Mahlangu died for a cause!



Salute!



The Struggle Continues…




(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |

Oh Syria

Reality is lost and I fear…
That someday, somewhere so near…
I will fall amongst the people so dear…
I fear…that I’ll just be another one…
Another one lost…

I wonder what the cost of my life is
not to get political…
But I want to know what the cost of my life is
Is it money, is it land?
I do not own any of them, I’m just a simple man

I remember, when I ran across your land…
I remember when I kissed my grandmothers hands…
You ripped me away from her, from my home
You took me away from my heart, you took me away from my soul

I feel helpless, I feel low
It’s hard to play along when I know, I have no role
I have become a slave.
After all the love I gave.

When I look at my country, people I want to save
When I look around me, people I wish to change
It seems like a hard thing to do…
When the world around is bigger than you

To the fools who dare murder in his name
When God gave us life…
He warned us, only he can take our lives…

Oh Syria, my home
Oh Syria, my all
Oh Syria, what did they hurt you for?
I am Proud to be your son…

Copyright © Zeki Majed | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013