Abstinence Poems | Examples

List of Member Poems

Premium Member A Promise to myself

The greatest disappointment from broken promises in life I have endured
were the promises I often made to me
Smoking just one example for several years I vowed to refrain
regular three month stints of abstinence once eighteen months
FINALLY! At age of twenty six from this nicotine addiction I had broken free

From thereon, gained strength and now have have conviction
any vow to myself I could confidently keep
I had gained self love and self respect
searched within my soul  whilst delving deep

I cannot a recall a broken promise  
from any family or friend
Business deals yes. Most promises broken political pre-election
once elected that's where these empty promises all end

For this reason I have abstained from voting
which is compulsory in this country where I dwell
Never had much faith in government oppressors 
or the propaganda messages they sell

Have I always kept a promise to all I've come to know?
Probably not. Too many years of living I am unable to recall
I now have conviction arising from self love
to assist others in need, follow through give my very all

Premium Member SOBER-:-

SOBER-:-
teetotal
 sustainability
abstinence 

nonfermented
sobriety
rewarded merits 
a CLEAN BILL OF HEALTH
unmalted
 dealcoholized
balancing

restart
recovering
SEVERE DIPSOMANIA
anonymously 
  attends
powwows

shared
stories

Premium Member Sunrise Sunset

The sun peeps over the horizon,
after a long abstinence,
its rays flare skyward,
parting the cloud-curtains
staining them in red, orange, amber, gold
changing rapidly
shifting, blinking, throbbing 
with each blink of the eye.

Half-up, a search-beam of light stretches
across the ocean towards you
parting the darkness to let radiance pour in 
filling the scene with warm dawn glow

Day all but gone now 
I linger still, a little longer, watching, 
as shadows stretch out long and limber 
threading the scene with sunset-spools, 
rewinding through the thinning light,
the strings of red, orange, amber, gold,
clinging to every breath, drawn out slow, 
holding on to the moment,
unwilling to let the day 
pass and go.


Premium Member Litany of Borrowed Sorrows

The sorrows we borrow,
the sorrows we keep—
are debts of the dead,
replayed in our sleep.

Blood writes the tally,
blood writes it in red;
tomorrow collects
what yesterday bled.

The sun drags its shadow.
The sun drags its shroud—
darkness advancing
cowering aloud.

Dry eyes at dawn.
Ashes inbred;
a prayer in the dust,
a prayer for the dead.

The sun flares faintly,
a wound in the sky.
The clouds part briefly,
yet cold will not die.

What was served yesterday
lies rotting today;
a banquet of abstinence,
a plate of decay.

Tears must be borrowed.
Tears must be sown;
the covenant is endless,
the debt as ever has grown.

I am summoned.
I am again sworn—
to gather the blood,
to nourish the thorn,
to water dead flowers,
for sorrow's reborn.

Living In Utter Madness

These walls are made of sedimentary stone,
it's a desolate house with glaring glass windows;
they emanate the reflection of distorted images,
gulls twirl around it, their shrills have a dark tone.

How quickly I have aged by noticing these deep lines
across this face that was as smooth as a child's skin;
doesn't time ravage everything, leaving a bitter grin?
Whoever envisions only joy is startled by surprises.

Do we restrain ourselves or live in utter madness
to reject the dreadful thought of each abstinence?
Does pleasure alleviate fears in hopeless moments?
Wouldn't it be a refuge from denial to seek resistance?

This rapid existence has a deadline for glory or demise,
being alive is virtuous thankfulness to implement reason
and choose the easiest temptation or the hardest choice;
the decision rests on either: become a saint or a demon.

Monks

I don't think, I'm a feeler
And I feel heavily for her
A monk grows out his head
And leaves his house,
A patriot would turn for her

I don't speak, I'm a liver
Due to the abstinence 
Of my other parts

The devout preacher
Cuts and pours
His heart onto bathroom sinks
For his house is empty

He, has left his religion
For something more heavenly

The monk grows out his hair for love,
He who is broke in spirit, becomes a believer
Unspoken words flood in open verse,
A schoolgirl becomes a healer.


To Avoid Carnal Knowledge, Daphne Turns into an Oak

What’s happening is clearly understood.
Apollo has one hand around her waist,                                    
one predator, one quarry, interlaced.
He’s coming up behind her (which is good),
but she’s a tree (two lovers, getting wood!)                                                                              
She’d rather change her state than be disgraced,                       
preferring to be chaste than to be chased.
She’s choosing abstinence, above life's blood.
Is love a trauma, to be undergone?                                                                                                                                
Arousal something ugly, to be faced?
Should Nature’s process be looked down upon?                         
The carnal act, a tactless lapse of taste?
Or might the thing be ardently embraced?
We, formless fragments, merging in The One?

Premium Member Picking at Scabs - Apr 9

—it’s the black boil on bursting, boiling ribs—
on my midleft chest, brewing bungled churns,
[tighteningmybreath], again, again, it yearns,
it begs*, “just one (just two) more (well-earned) rub(s)!”

—giving in, it’s just picking at the scabs—
first brief relief(      ):the itch at once returns 
as soon’s the finger’s left the welt; it burns
and gnaws more hotly—awful pangs, sore jabs!

now, Doctor says I’d best not touch it if 
I’d like to heal—“lucky to leave just a scar”—
only, I hate the texture of the crust…
why’s my mind got to be so god,damned,stiff?
though abstinence feels so blunt, so bizarre,
I’d like to heal, I give his word my trust.

Premium Member Implosion

silent walls collapse
folding in sucked into the void
with no sound or light,
to show what once beamed bright there
leaving a black abstinence

Since When Did You Care What Your Parents Thought

since when did you care about what your parents thought
their trembling hands clutching dusty photo albums,
dreams for you etched in whispers,
like the fine print on a warranty you never read.

smart, they said,
smart enough to untangle the wires,
but never the knots in your chest.

immortal—they wanted you invincible,
a timepiece that slowed down
only for holidays and funerals,
never noticing that your hours burned faster than theirs.

abstinence, they prayed,
as if purity were a shield
against the sharp teeth of the world,1
but science taught you
the chemistry of craving,
the physics of loneliness,
the biology of need.

they wanted you science-oriented,
but you learned to dissect their dreams,
and the heart, you found,
was just another organ
pumping blood
into someone else's expectations.

So since when did you care?
you don't.
you never did.
broke and trying to raise two kid's
before age twenty.

Premium Member edvard'z tramp'd thru thuh Testaments

.

                       it felt az if
                           from
                         sunrise
                           unto
                         sunrise
 
                 I assured mine self
                         one day
                 the read would be
                         namez
                         namez 
                         namez
                   twist'n tongues
                           and 
                         spirits
         i'm certain readers will have
                    the jolly time

                           hey
      my brother and i had to register
                        them all

                         oooooh
                 and did i mention
                      abstinence

                           tap

See Through My Eyes

See through my eyes and get me like I do,
I’m ruined by my hands yet handicapped in making mends.
Abstinence was my choice but hooked on am I,
Tears roll down my cheeks; eyes red from endless weeping.
I’m cold turkey; my God-given strength seeps through my pores and leaves my body shattered.

The smoke from the tobacco roasts my lungs,
Heart pumps on a low; blood turns black.
I need a liver transplant cause my life time ticks away. 
My veins, tired and weak, take a break though my time ain’t  near.
On my death bed I lay, repentant and resentful.




A child born blind, my fault. 
I’m not proud to be the murderer of my fruits unborn,
Yet I seem not to be the decider here.
The society pushes me not to handle a child when I’m one myself.
Try as I may to be a virgin, I am ambushed by greedy tigers who won’t let me be.

See through my eyes and get me like I do.
Countless times I am tossed and turned by society,
I desperately want to change, but I can’t.
Please don’t push me to hell! Teach me the best way to live.
I deserve some paradise too.
See me through my eyes and get me like I do.

Diary of a Hot-Blooded Woman

Society sure has a lot to say 
on how middle-aged women should behave. 
Who dares to sanction that fire still alive inside?
In this her fiftieth year, she curses her sex-drive.
For she has prayed for years for someone to love,
Imposed voluntary abstinence to honour the Man above.
Perhaps, she shall marry at sixty-five
Until then, the fight continues for she must thrive.
So on behalf of all hot-blooded women, she scribes.

See Through My Eyes

See Through My Eyes by Tochi-writes.
See through my eyes and get me like I do,
I’m ruined by my hands yet handicapped in making mends.
Abstinence was my choice but hooked on am I,
Tears roll down my cheeks; eyes red from endless weeping.
I’m cold turkey; my God-given strength seeps through my pores and leaves my body shattered.

The smoke from the tobacco roasts my lungs,
Heart pumps on a low; blood turns black.
I need a liver transplant cause my life time ticks away. 
My veins, tired and weak, take a break though my time ain’t  near.
On my death bed I lay, repentant and resentful.




A child born blind, my fault. 
I’m not proud to be the murderer of my fruits unborn,
Yet I seem not to be the decider here.
The society pushes me not to handle a child when I’m one myself.
Try as I may to be a virgin, I am ambushed by greedy tigers who won’t let me be.

See through my eyes and get me like I do.
Countless times I am tossed and turned by society,
I desperately want to change, but I can’t.
Please don’t push me to hell! Teach me the best way to live.
I deserve some paradise too.
See me through my eyes and get me like I do.

See Through My Eyes

See Through My Eyes by Tochi-writes.
See through my eyes and get me like I do,
I’m ruined by my hands yet handicapped in making mends.
Abstinence was my choice but hooked on am I,
Tears roll down my cheeks; eyes red from endless weeping.
I’m cold turkey; my God-given strength seeps through my pores and leaves my body shattered.

The smoke from the tobacco roasts my lungs,
Heart pumps on a low; blood turns black.
I need a liver transplant cause my life time ticks away. 
My veins, tired and weak, take a break though my time ain’t  near.
On my death bed I lay, repentant and resentful.




A child born blind, my fault. 
I’m not proud to be the murderer of my fruits unborn,
Yet I seem not to be the decider here.
The society pushes me not to handle a child when I’m one myself.
Try as I may to be a virgin, I am ambushed by greedy tigers who won’t let me be.

See through my eyes and get me like I do.
Countless times I am tossed and turned by society,
I desperately want to change, but I can’t.
Please don’t push me to hell! Teach me the best way to live.
I deserve some paradise too.
See me through my eyes and get me like I do.

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