Evil Memory Poems | Evil Poems About Memory

These Evil Memory poems are examples of Evil poems about Memory. These are the best examples of Evil Memory poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

In Memory of Paris the 13th

Battle Clans

They came in the night
Like twisted ninja’s
Selling their honor for terror and fright
Blood spilled on Mohamed’s hands

The Tower of Paris stands tall
Art and culture they shall never fall
They wounded the bodies
They murdered the babies

The symphonies of horrors in the key of D
Replaced by waltzes of harmonies in C
We bow in sadness to the wounded and dead
We never shall forget, the cowards who spread red

Tears have been shed,
Liberty for a day became stale bread
No one shall stain our integrity
The fraternity and flag shall always fly free

We shall mourn
We shall cry
We shall bring the devils their justice
We shall in the end forgive and never forget

For we are the humanity of all of France
Laying flowers at the last dance
Je me souvien

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Terzanelle |

Tattered Childhood Memories

Childhood memories are tattered by pain
Slapped across the face, by a bad cop
The tears drench my heart like falling rain

All I witnessed, unable to stop
It lasts through the years without a choice
Slapped across the face, by a bad cop

The assaults, the screams, then stolen voice
Innocent children, no-where to go
It lasts through the years without a choice

Ordered by evil to comply though
Turn into nightmares with all the lies
Innocent children, no-where to go

Stuck to a tree, bound by the rope ties
These are the things I never forget
Turn into nightmares with all the lies

Must find new things to replace regret
Childhood memories are tattered by pain
These are the things I never forget
The tears drench my heart falling like rain

Heidi Sands

* Placed 4th in the Form T Contest – Theme Tattered 


Copyright © Heidi Sands | Year Posted 2017

Details | Lyric |

I Hate You Cancer

Dedicated to my Dad who lost his short battle w/ Colon Cancer on June 18,2013

I hate you Cancer
Your vile evil and cruel
You don't care who you hurt
I'll never forget that day
I'll always hate you for it

Your heartless Cancer
You took someone important from me
Someone important from others too
Took people who didn't belong to you
I hate you for it

You disgust me Cancer
You had no right to take him from me
He mattered more than my very own life
I hate you for taking my Daddy
I hate you for taking others too

I hate you with a passion Cancer
You took part of my heart with him
You took part of my soul that day too
I hate you for it
I hate you I hate you I hate you

I hate you with every fiber of my being 
Go back to Hell where you belong
I hate you, others hate you
Your not welcome or wanted here Cancer

I hate you more than his doctor's
I hate you more than God
I hope I get to witness that day
Witness the day you fall
And you will fall Cancer

You're gonna lose the battle one day Cancer
I'm gonna laugh and dance around your grave
You'll finally get what you deserve 
And you'll never be able to inflict your disease on another soul

Sabrina Niday Hansel

Placed 8th in Poet Destroyer A's  2013 "PINKTOBER" Contest

Please Support a Cure for Colon Cancer & every other type!

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

Details | Munaajaat |

Tell Me

I'm lost hurt and angry
Why did you take his life
I want, No I need to know
Tell me, Tell me why
I deserve to know

Haven't you done enough to him
What'd he ever do to you
He suffered his whole life
Suffered more than anyone deserved
Tell me, Tell me why you did it
I have a right to know

Why'd you let him born to them
Born to worthless parents
Parents who didn't care
They threw him away like garbage
Pawned him off on someone else
Tell me, Tell me why
Explain how you could do that

You gave him Polio
You let others treat him like disease
You took away the full use of his legs
You warped his hand and foot
Tell me, Explain to me why
I deserve to know

You let others think he was crazy
You let it go on for over year
You didn't stop it, Why
Tell me, Give me your reason
Answer me God, Help me to understand

You go and make matters worse
You gave him Cancer
You didn't give him a chance to fight back
You just jerked him away from us
Tell me, Tell me how
How you could be so cruel

How can others not question you
When others do it, It's murder
But when it's by your hand
It's your will, Their fate
Tell me, What makes you so different
Your no better than the demons knocking at the door

You heard me beg and plead
You know I'm not afraid to die
I was willing to carry it all for him
I was willing to take my Daddy's place
You didn't even let me say Goodbye
Tell me, Tell me why I couldn't take his place
Answer me God, you owe me that much


Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse |

My Dad

My Dad was Chicagoan.
He would light up a room just like my Mom. 
He loved to fish ! He loved his beer .
He also designed a Octagon home in the 70's 
Built custom by hand . I was very proud of Dad .

Alcohol hit our Family , a curse .
He left my Mom when I was 14 in Illinois.
To renew in California , leaving a trail of tears .
Meeting my step mom , my sisters age .
My 2 sisters they were accepted in her world . 

Not I , I looked too much Like Mom . Told this all my Life . 
She a petite Beauty , RN , real estate Broker .
I did not see why it was wrong to be like mom ?

I moved in with Dad, His new Wife , and 2 sisters 
eventually . All three women were competing for my Father .
I was kicked out at 16 yrs.

Years do pass , you try and accept people places and things .
At the end of Dads life , he was calling me once a week .
I ordered a Engraved Clock for the Fathers day coming.
This was a issue for the Wife and sisters , never invited to his new home , 2 Decades ~My little Brother & I , never wanted .

Dad passed suddenly one sad Spring Day . Not one word from his wife , all 3rd party,  how and when,  Dad Died . being denied the right to his address , even to say goodbye .
Not being able to send my engraved clock . 

 "Dad Passed " received call  from sister whom just stayed a week with me ,  I took her all around the sites here . "1st day I get call , you should come , 2nd Day after , Dad's been cremated already . " It was a lie.

I went anyway , finding the funeral home, the Funeral Director was appalled at the denial displayed.

He insisted I was given 10 minutes alone with Dad , my Birthright to say Goodbye , he was in dismay over the Hostility towards a daughter ~

I get to this room of mean relative's. His sisters , Mine, angry looks , hearing from a Aunt "What is she doing Here ! " I can't give nor reason or rhyme. 

 Shame to you and all that participated that wicked day.
 Are you Glorified with Power?  Denied the right to grieve , 

 Left with no sane answers to give in hatred received by Blood . Some , just Spouses , telling me I had no right to Say Goodbye to my own Father , My DAD .

My Dad wanted me there , I know he did . I love Him and will never forget , his youngest girl whom looked like Mom . I know in my heart and dreams he speaks. 
 We all see when we leave . May God not allow any Son or Daughter to go through such Evil.

Thank-you Poetry Soup for returning my voice .

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

A Hospital Stay - Part VI


                                                   Miracles and Miseries

The world resolved itself back into focus
As I lay amid the swarm of monitors
Still gulping the sword that brought me breath.

The worst now past
Many small miseries remained,
Chief among them the continuing mystery
Of my flooded, struggling lungs.

Finally I breathe well enough for the sword to be removed,
But the tests go on and on
The birth of each day bearing forth
Its own fresh indignity.

They give up guessing and haul me down again
To be opened anew and read for signs.

On the day this is done
The invisible agents of death outside
Decide to mock their pursuers
By leaving a tarot card at that day's shooting site.

They chose the Death card, of course
Revealing how little those 
Who choose to play God games really know
About the mystical.

Dreaming of omnipotence through dealing death
The unseen assassins miss their own meaning;
For this card signals change, the ending of present things.
They have unwittingly declared their game will soon be over,
Predicting their own demise.

Meanwhile the doctors make their own spread of me
And come up blank again.

     Once more I return to I.C.U.,
     Held together with staples.

     Once more the little agonies ensue:
     The sitting, the turning, the testing.

By night they come for my blood.
By day they come for  tests.
Always, in the background, the quiet moanings
Of we, the damned, condemned to medical Limbo
Roll on with the blind passage of hours and days.

     The English nurse comes, all brightness and bubble
     To heave my fragile self about;
     She's a welcome break in the monotony
     As my sustainers come and go.

Again the busy bedside conferences
And again the final admission
That all their probings have led down blind alleys.

A last-ditch effort is finally proposed:
Direct drainage of the drowning lungs.
To them this seems as a grasping at straws,
But to me it seems the one sensible solution,
And I look forward to it eagerly.
My inner mantra of "This too shall pass"
Is wearing thin.

Like a Christian martyr of old,
They pierce my back with their lance,
And the sea within that is drowning me
Finds its way out.

As the noxious waters within rush out,
Air surges into my grateful lungs.
From this moment, recovery becomes the new reality.

As I recover,
Indiscretion leads to capture 
Of the unseen terrormakers.

To the astonishment of all, 
They prove to be a dignified looking black man
And his enthralled protege' -
No prior convictions, no history of trouble 
Attached to them at all.

This is how our modern Destroyers come calling.
Well dressed, well spoken models of propriety.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

The Strand

This expanse of land has seen things. 
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.

This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand. 

It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon. 

This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.


Copyright © Tyler Kisner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |

A child's plea

Dirty rotten scum to take the life of an innocent one torn away from my childhood but not yet thrown into adulthood you've given me a life of pain certain to only knowing, that never again, will the days be the same but I have found my new freedom here, within these mighty walls known as Gods kingdom

Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |

Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |


Copyright © 2013

Skittles and a soda
against a gun in its holster?

One day that scream
will be known as a teen
not a heinous lying Fein

What a sinister ploy and twist
with a loaded gun and no fist?

Had everyone sitting and waiting
doomed by a verdict just delaying

Was this just an optical illusion
or, a devious planned conclusion?

Now, this generation too afraid
wearing hoodies will get you dead

But, the Klan was still glad
hoodies they've always had

A verdict they too saw,
ushering in martial law

by: LP
edited: 7/30/13

Copyright © Les Pruitt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

I lay sleeping

I lay sleeping with eyes wide open,
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning,
I lay sleeping with nothing to dream about.
I lay sleeping with no care and sleep with eyes blind,
I lay sleeping, there with my eyes wide open.

Seeing the dark change from dark to black.
There is no moon, there is no sky
just purple strokes of paint in the sky.
Take that morning dew smell and close your blind eyes.
Smell the morning, that smell that clicks in your mind.
The smell of childhood dreams,
that as an adult never came true.
Sleeping bare in the nude with your eyes wide open.
Thinking of her, as she is five thousand miles away from you.
Wanting to love and hold her, but no use in crying.
Sleeping their with blind eyes in the dark that dances in the light.

Your lamplight turned down low,
as life trickeles down in its nightgown and yawns for sweet slumber.
Tired from longs days, and sometimes long nights,
wanting to curel in bed and close its blind eyes.
Dusk will soon peek its head through the blinds
and awake life to a new dawn.
She sleeps in the morning, and walks at night.
When he sleeps at night, and walks with a bare nude heart in the morning.

Life climbs over yellow mountains,
and meets her fellow compainion
a handsome fellow with broud shoulders and blessed with an ego
as I sleep there with my eyes wide open.
As I sleep with my eyes blind to what life has intented for me,
and as I raise to walk the lone streets at the break of the dew covered lawn
at the first sweet smells of dawn,
I can see life go on with the handsome man
and I blind and wanting to go to bed.

I dream of dreams that have no meaning
Gardens of cluelessness and raging emotions
tare me down and I am confused on which way to go.
Do I stay here and dream away, blind and half awake
as life slaps me across my broad cheek?
Or shall I walk on with life hand and hand
and regain my vision of the world,
Start to sleep with dreams that make sense
and dreams that are made of gold and have no end?
Dream of fancy dreams that show love and happy endings
I would love that, and I would love to walk with life,
but she is out of my leauge.

And my bed is so cozy and I feel like sleeping.
So I shall sleep on more restless night chashing life down.
I lay sleeping with my eyes wide open.
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning.
I lay sleeping waiting for life to come back from the mountains
and lay beside me.
I lay sleeping with hope of regaining hope and salvage
what is left of my spirit at hand.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |


Is life worth a try?
Would I be living a lie?
If I smile, would it break?
If I laugh, would it be fake?
I see the tears from the sky and me
See how self doubting I can be
The feeling of damp grass
The moment that's bound to last
The ways I could wash away
All the people who have gone astray 
Is it me to blame?
When can my feelings be tame?
Why is this world so dark?
When can I actually make a mark?
The tears all fall down
Ive been given a permanent frown 
Standing out is not a choice
Cant risk screaming with my voice
The sky is now dark blue
How many insults were true?
I wish I could be pure
They all hate me, I'm sure 
All eyes watch me every move
So much that i want to prove
why do i still put up a fight?
Why shouldn't i just say goodnight?
i don't have anyone to miss
could death give me a dark ending kiss?
Is there a reason for me to be here?
I all i can feel is numbing fear
I just want to feel the sun shine
To feel happiness throughout my spine
But that is just a dream
That will float away with my desperate scream
Help is the word i always say
I ask for it everyday
And what do i get?
I pile full of regret
I think it's time
To end my faith, my suffering, my rhyme

Copyright © LIfe Taken The Wrong Way | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

The Black Abyss

Sinking in deeper,
No way to escape,
The dark and scary Reaper,
Fore told in the Book of Life.

Is this my end?
Will I ever see the light of day again?
No. My wounds, I must mend.
I must find my strength.

Stand my ground,
Face my fears.
Only then will my voice be found
I must survive.

Break the suffocating chains,
Run from the darkness.
Power will fill my veins.
I will Fight!

Fight the painful names,
The horrid memories,
The demented games 
And escape My Black Abyss.

Copyright © Jewels Chavira | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse |

Emotional Hole

I did not find myself to be so important
So I ask my friends do I seem distant?
When I ask the question I had received an answer, Yes
So I think that made it clear that I had been not the best
I am a friend of a friend that talks so many things
That friend talks to much it is insane and insanity it brings
I do care, about my friends they are all good people
They tend to stand on their high steeple 
Today I find myself not so aware
Disbanding my fear of regret and care
Walking many different paths I see that I have found holes
It is the path that people choose to use to fuel their rage with coals
Coals are partially burnt wood or fossils a piece of fuel
It is the source of burden and fire a rage of emotions that stands cruel
It can be warm and caring, but it also can be baring
I just start to feel so low, below the ground I keep on staring
I reach for my friends so many times I feel so ignorant at times
Just once I feel I should not rely on them when feeling I can not find 
I dig my hole deeper and I can not climb out
For some reason I am just full of doubt
I care about so many things and what I have is confusion
One person should be all I should think about to get out of that illusion
My battle in my heart and mind is not at all so pleasant
I feel so alone in an island that is shaped like a crescent
My emotions is like coinciding with a diameter of the semicircle
Not a full emotion that is complete like a circle
My feelings is circular full of incomplete thoughts, so much deeper
I feel it will wake up my evil half a evil soul that is a sleeper
What question should I ask myself? to believe that I am not so alone
As I feel like a person who is deteriorating to the bone
I ask my friends the same question once again
I figure I should do it, to know what kind of feelings I should end
So many thoughts that come out of my feeling
I feel like my friends take, an emotional trauma of stealing
They ask me questions and I answer theirs
But when I need mine answered I feel burning inside like a flare
Are they even friends when they do not take me serious in anyway
Just put me in my hole cause I feel nothing in their will be getting in my way
It's just so simple to answer someones problem
I answer friends with beauty of a rose, but when they answer mine I get the stem
I know the stem is very important in life, with out it how can a rose be a rose
With a hole to put the root and stem in how can it grow
The words we speak I guess is like all natural things we reap and sow

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue |

Road Trip

So if I recall I was on the backhaul
early 2003 sometime 'round late February
usual cold n' bleak Jersey winter 
still snow n'ice enticed roads n' bare trees
reached up all dark n' fingery
I'd made it from 527A in Englishtown
to the 33 to Bordentown to the 130 to the 1
then up the 278 Expressway to the 78
I was runnin' a long hooded big black Classic
with a Cummins 500hp red top n' was gettin'
tired so pulled into a town just off the Interstate
After restin' 'til late mornin' I decided to grab
a bite before headin' west n' didn't see much
open besides a lil'ol'world style bar n' grill place
Though for years hadn't been a drinker n' most
times just in aftermath a thinker figured I'd get
soup n' sandwich deal but got an uncannily
uneasy feeling from the few seated in bar
though barely even turned a face
Even barkeep gave me double takes while on
the food i wait n' i picked up a Reading PA ol'
style newspaper n' front cover I was shocked
to see 100 killed n' 187 injured in
West Warwick RI nightclub fire
I stood in the corner taking it all in I looked
up on the wall n' saw posters describing witch's
feet n' their symbols of a coven n' if I said I didn't
wanna get outa there quick I'd be a liar
As I rolled to get back to the freeway through the
center of town I saw a church not usual to be found
were no crosses it was plain except for above
the front door the exact same symbol saw on poster
back at the bar
I wanted to put as many miles as I could between
me n' that evil place but I'd taken a copy of the
newspaper n' kept glancing down at the picture
though further 'long seemed I hadn't got that far
In the photo taken just minutes before the fire
had broken out I could see dark pointed caped
figures in the audience millin'about n' not really
passing judgement on the singer well least not 
condemning it still looked like his eyes were dead
dark holes
When I looked later at some other photos it showed
fire trucks n' emergency crew n' people wanderin'
'round in the smoke n' confusion n' only thing 
missing was those 100 poor lost souls
Seeing the remaining black charred embers kinda
took me back to that evil little town 'long with the
eerie feeling those at the bar were witch affiliated
n' most likely members still
So if you're ever taking that road trip back east
to see The Big Apple or Hamptons or Connecticut
n' unless you got a hankering for things related to
the beast-i'd say none the least you might wanna 
bypass Shartlesville.
10-31-2016 Duncan R.M.Ferguson

Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet |

Flowers Of Evil

I have more souvenirs than a thousand years
A big chest with drawers full of bills, and bears

Verses, sweet bills, and trials, and even romance
With heavy hairs, rolled in sheets of paid quittance

They all hide less secrets than my sad mind does
It's a pyramid, an immense basement has

It holds more corpses than the common graveyards
I am like the grave which the moon discards

Or like the remorses where the long worms stroll
And strive to destroy my dearest ones, of all

I'm an old boudoir, full of faded roses
Where a whole mess of old style models, dozes

Where the mournful pastels, and the *Boucher's Pales* 
That from an old bottle, their perfume exhales

Nothing equals the long limping journey days
When beneath the heavy flakes of snowy years

The boredom, fruit of the languid indolence
Takes the shape of the immortal existence

Here-after, you are no more, ô living matter !
Than granit wrapped within a haze of terror

Dozing deep in the lost, misty wilderness
Like an old sphinx in a world of carelessness

From the chart is forgotten, and whose wild spleen
Sings only to the rays of the sun, unseen

My own translation, with little different vison.

*Boucher's Pales*: paintings of Francois Boucher,
I tried to give the closest meaning and words at the same time, to the most highlighted expressions revolving around the poet's gloomy mood and his own conception, as a poet, of the world and his own forgotten existence while he is still alive.
Translated.Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire's Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil. link below

Copyright © Lonely Shepherd | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |

In The Garden of Evil

In The Garden of Evil
(Apropos the New World Creation)

See-sawing along
the shores of life,
gazing upon
the reflecting light,
we grasped
keloids of memories—running.
And like fishermen of food,
we webbed together
the broken pieces of history
and casted our nets into the sea:
into the sea of perseverance—
Catching hope; harnessing redemption.

The word remains
mightier than the sword;
spiriting into being
in the space that gave birth
to time; manifesting circadian
rhythms of life.

Man, cocooned
in the Garden,
sought light;
the serpent showed 
a flash—a streak of power:
in the image of,
became insufficient.  Then a Pompeii
spark and all hell broke loose.   But
ashes have a kind of Phoenix entity
that teases with spiraling smoke
of resurrection.  Old seeds germinate
and grow new beginnings.

Out of the chaos of the inequality
of serfdom and royalty,
ships sailed upon the wrinkles
of ocean waves—ironing
creases to Middle Passage overtures
of an American symphony
that would scar the history
of so-called civilized humanity.

Neither new nor strange,
but peculiar became the systematic
dawning of a creation
that only man could bring
into being and sustain with evil
mythological justifications
of suffering’s redemptive nature.

America the beautiful:  new
Adams and new Eves;
New World beginnings—
snakes slithering in the grass.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2017

Details | Couplet |


During my sleep no sound is powerful enough
to awaken me from the realm of harmful realism.

Hours roll and not being aware of a temporary death,
every past life's event I relive with bitterness and regret.

I flint as an airplane piercing misty and thick clouds,
not wanting to be trapped in any hypnotic state.  

People who harmed me suddenly come into view,
some are dead and still haunt me with their laugh.

I sweat as grass on a humid day, I terribly shake and fall out
of the bed...realizing I've left the realm of harmful realism.

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |


Memories haunt me,
Lurking, taunting,
Tainting each and every day,
Of not being good enough,
Forever wrong, unwanted,
Being pummeled, choked, threatened,
Cursed at,
And myself crying in the dark,
Ever since I was young,
I have had a broken heart,
Because it was my own blood,
Who constantly tore me apart,
Due to alcohol, anger, and insanity,
I will never truly like me.

Copyright © Charli Pitts | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse |

The sins you've binned

You've accepted that it's part of you

You don't condone this part of you

You know one day fate will demand the price

For what you've done there's nowhere to hide

Your soul will strain in turmoil within

Your smiling face will only hide the internal war brewing

Guilt will pull you and draw you in

Your mind will echo the sins you've binned

Truth will fight you to come through

It wants you to admit these faults in you

But as you run away from you

There is no escape from what haunts you

You look in the mirror and there he is

The face that causes you not to live

Your nemesis, your enemy, your guilt in that stare

Behind the eyes in evil's lair

The ghost that will haunt your life all through

The ghost of your sins, 


Copyright © T.I.R.O. JY | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

To Dance With Thieves

Those stealers of hearts;
Untrue were some within the waltz,
Wishful toes so carefully stepped on.
So many a fair maiden dipped in deceit.

Twirling their dreams into dizzy confusion,
As they spin a yarn so sweetly in ear.
Those fleeting embraces ending in a song;
Leading damsels across floors with no beginnings.

(this knight of centuries has met these scoundrels on battlefields, 
and was always the one who rode away alive)

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn

Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Mind-boggling Disarray

There's madness in enlightenment,
preferring darkly recesses of denial
    whilst moon descends sensibilities,
shedding white powder florescence
fracturing every crack & crevice,
most days long to dwell
in oblivion, remembers it fondly,
before unicorns and monsters
became real and materialized
   taunting duskiest memories

always knew in her bones
  that something was askew,
fear and breathlessness
  a huge part of her psyche,
on the surface she seemed
  to have it together but,
    her marrow was aware,
as dysfunctional trembled - -
 nagging blitzed neurons,
  felt its prevailing intrusiveness
a foreboding presence beckoning
in blindingly echoed vocalizations,
 long before time even existed

She lives in continuous disorder,
  tucked away within her own reflection
   chaos extruding every wakeful moment,
powerless to cease mind-boggling adaptations

Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |

Harry Potter

now that it's over
it all starts again
with the flick of a wand in hand
yes there were many but they were not band from the country 
Which craft and Wizardy 
there's a Z on his pretty little head
He's back
lord voldemort
he's back
he's grown up with Haggred the big tall scary guy 
Harry Potter is what i speak of there no other 
he's learned so many spells, 
he can light up is wand with the flick of the wrist
he can scare away demintors, with expecto patronum
Lockhart says Peskipiksi Pesternomi to drive of the evil 
Cornish Pixies 
they all know that it was bound to happen sooner or later
his parents died, but he servied 
he had a charm on him
only HE could live through such evil spell
Harry Potter WILL live he can NOT die ;) 

Copyright © Caity Lynn Bain | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? |


in the city that never sleeps you walked from day to night
from hustling on the corner to running business state to state
some call you a looser others say your bad news
but to me your a man who grew up doing what he had to do

you were raised in the ghetto of the worst city in the east
brooklyns very own son became a self made millionaire
long nights ducking on the corner behind trash cans 
playing cops and robbers with the men in blue

when it was time to go home you left work outside
taking care of your wife and children and retiring
in for the night never forgetting what is right
the fight for a dollar meant more blood shed

the daylight is your enemy as the nighttime is your friend
every city block has a name to the name belongs a hustler
every hustler has soldiers that will die claiming their hood
for every loss theres a gain for every gain there is a loss

you became the king of new york with a hefty price
the people you trusted are the ones who took your life
now your gone forever but the game still plays on
your memory i hold dear to my heart

                                 we should of stopped you before you ever began!
dedicatecd to the memory of PRESTON "two shoes"

Copyright © brandy megens | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |

Justice lingers on

A lamb runs for his life;
a man runs after its life
with a knife in his hand,
which stands in his grip
pointing downward.

Stench of blood,
lamb lying dead,
haunted his life forever.
Yet the hour of justice
that he’s been awaiting 
still lingers on.

Copyright © Newton Ranaweera | Year Posted 2016