House on the hill barricaded by brick, placed in 1981.
Sheltered by the flood, but bound and bathed
With the anguish of the mourning there.
Mostly by the caretakers of the children,
And then too the children as they grow older.
But they swore never to be like them, and that they would move away.
Across state lines in houses shielded by a sea of forest.
They would stay in touch, but just enough to get away with it.
Just enough to stay out of the mouths of those they ran from.
But close enough to not feel guilt for cutting ties.
One day that house won’t be ours.
It will return to the hill as it was made,
And remain a living relic in the stories we tell, and in our hearts.
Not for the suffering it kept shut inside,
But for the nesting it provided, and the memories that took the shape of us.
Emergency waiting area.
Someone in pain.
Someone in anguish.
Someone goes over and gently rubs their back.
Someone not long for this world calls me darling.
Kindness.
Beyond the deep of my imagination
And from anguish of soul,
This love of mine knows no boundary
Endowed emotion as whole.
Within my heart lies a sea of Amity
Full of devotion, calm and bright,
Gaze of mine remains bound to you
Your glimpse of joy fuels its light.
Shouting in the dark
Screaming in the night
Howling in the silence
Tensing for a fight
Steeling for the blow
Cowering in fear
Reeling from the thought
There is no friend here
Summoning up hope
Longing for release
Recalling the days
Of life lived in peace
Calling out to God
Telling him my plight
Listening in pain
For songs in the nigh
If I had had the will to say ‘no’
When everyone around me said ‘yes’
If I had had the spirit to fight
When everyman accepted cowardice and remained a coward,
If I had had the courage to express
When the iron curtains suppressed,
If I had had the power to outlaw the law
When the lawmakers enacted martial law,
If I had had the urge to write
When something in me told me to ponder over,
If I had had the desire to reciprocate
When the Lass showed her interest in my acts,
Had I had the feel of empathy
When my people felt the need for support,
Had I had the courage to shed tears
When my heart of hearts pained,
Had I had the patience to listen
When everybody quarreled to convey,
Had I had the courage to be patient
When my nerves trembled with anger,
Had I had the power of my will to smile
When my ego needed fuel,
Had I had the impatience to be brave
When the world around me accepted slavery,
Had I had the revolutionary in me to stage out
When the social systems buried the spirit of humane,
I would have called me
‘An ordinary human being’
Not even an extra ordinary being.
What I had been is making me
A has been.
She sat by the edge of a resting stream,
where her reflection peered at her sadness.
She threw a stone to still its mocking glare—
the ripples spread and swept away her image,
as if eager to dissolve her gloom in obscurity.
Before long, the current found her face again.
She watched it mirror her stare once more,
and though torment gripped her trembling face,
her tears rolled—coins sinking into depth.
The birds ceased their songs; the frogs stopped their croaks.
Their silence ached her head, throbbed her chest,
till her skull seemed to burst with anguish—
yet she watched as fry darted in the stream.
The salt-white path of her tears had crusted dry,
begging weary glands for more to cleanse them,
to join those the stream had already swallowed,
as if its waters were made brackish by her tears.
Though soiled by the drops it drank before,
it still awaited more drops of her misery,
polishing its mirror to reflect her sadness once more—
while her body stayed pressed to the sand by its bank,
till daylight waned and twilight veiled the sky.
And it was a comfort to feel something other than the raw anguish.
it was a comfort to feel anguish
And
n o t
n o thing a t
a
l
l.
Where do I stand
When presented with a choice
Transported by a full force
That lands me in a false chance
Yet, I stand.
Breaking the shackles
That held me in my ankles
So tight like a buckle
Wrapped in my knuckles
Yet, I stand.
What is given is a Token
The heart that bleeds is broken
The life that fades is taken
Certain thoughts can't be driven
Yet, I stand.
I tried by following the trace
Which led me to climb the trees
That blew away my tears with its breeze
Then I felt my soul soothed by a kiss
Yet, I stand.
A Concentration was needed in the motion
But Consideration paved way for a failed emotion
Without caution moments became illusion
With a precipitation of low evaluation
Yet, I stand.
All of these void I tried to avoid
Because it placed in me a typhoid
The fever in me which devoured
And my body left to divide
Yet, I stand.
The sour in my body was bathed with gingers
Especially at the tip of my fingers
Sending a message of dangers
Yet, the pains still lingers
Yet, I stand,
Yet, I live.
Like ghosts in my pockets, weighing me down,
burdens echoing with quiet sorrow,
coiling tight around the soul in silent pain.
Some weights like umbrellas cast aside after storms,
others iron shackles, rusted, locked in permanence—
all carried unseen, but deeply felt.
Knots in the spine, scars engraved on the mind,
tangled threads, riotous roots of clinging shadows—
held tight, wrapped in sorrow and guilt.
The weight of unspoken words,
unfinished tasks, unkept promises,
and unmanageable memories—
all soaked deep in regret.
Letting go is not an option
when remorse is all you have,
and anguish your only friend.
Anxiety consumes.
IT eats
And IT eats
devouring,
until the only substance left is drool.
A drool so cold and numb,
one could say IT hurts.
IT dribbles down the brain
looking at memories,
looking at moments,
ripping them and moving to the next.
IT leaves IT'S exhausting trail while going back to IT'S hiding place.
In the back of the mind IT sits, getting hungry. The anguish is almost addicting.
One more thought circles back and once again anxiety pounces,
always hungry,
always empty,
never satisfied.
Taking a child from an unmarried mother is shocking, many are shamed and shunned by society with many taking their own lives, sadly
in some parts of the world this vile practise continues.
Quote by poet.
Paul and Suzy fell in love whilst they were both still at school,
They were inseparable and often seen holding hands together,
Suzy found out she was with child; her parents were outraged.
When her son was born her parents gave him up for adoption,
the next morning, she was found dead with a note by her side
and in her hand was a small cuddly toy that Paul had given her.
The abyss swallowed you
Into the ocean of despondency,
Right above death's holler,
And you couldn't quitclaim.
No skepticism, no demurrer—
You took fate lightly.
Memento Mori, your guts finally cried out
To space and sky.
No one to reckon with
But your aimless shadow.
What fate bestowed upon you
Is beyond your hamper,
And what claim have you to the Messiah
That the life that's yours isn't what you chose?
Take what's yours—
No one needs your debacle,
For each man has enough already.
If fate made you deplorable,
Make lime out of lemons,
Or otherwise, yada-yada-yada.
But what’s not acceptable
Is a sheep’s tears
And a wish not to live out your life.
If misery didn't visit you,
Who then should it claim?
For there to be balance in life,
You must accept fate—
And I too will accept mine.
## The Feast
They gather in the shadowed corners of my mind,
A ravenous horde, their forms undefined.
Not flesh and bone, but whispers sharp and cold,
They gnaw at peace, and stories left untold.
Doubt, the gaunt hound, with eyes that never blink,
He sniffs at joy, and leaves a bitter stink.
Anxiety, the spider, spins her silken snare,
Trapping my breath, and tangling in my hair.
Despair, the serpent, coils around my heart,
Squeezing the hope, tearing my world apart.
He hisses low, of worthlessness and pain,
A constant echo in the pouring rain.
They feast on dreams, and visions bright and bold,
Leaving behind a wasteland, barren, cold.
They steal my voice, and paralyze my hand,
Leaving me lost within this desolate land.
But even in the darkness, a flicker starts to grow,
A tiny ember, refusing to let go.
It’s the will to fight, the strength to rise and stand,
To reclaim my mind, to take back my own land.
For though they feast, they cannot truly win,
The human spirit burns, a fire from within.
And one day soon, I’ll banish them from sight,
And bathe my soul in healing, golden light.
They embrace the illusion, loud noises of praise - in lieu of
the mirage, I opt for unblemished soul.
Hidden symphony conjuring reckless gambit, in the open
they unveil their virtuous guise.
They are drawn to one another like magnets,
embracing shared values, dancing with darkness.
They cast stones at the different, branding diverse worship as heresy,
but God's ways invite diverse devotion.
If your laughter dances too closely with his,
you're in the waltz of flirtation.
If you lock the door of greeting, you've sealed
the envelope of rudeness in the church's mail.
They sculpt divinity from the clay of humanity,
crafting a godlike statue from the very beings it resembles.
And to souls like mine,
they label us intoxicated by the spirits of transgression.
If I choose to swim against the river of man-made language,
am I cast as a rebel in the sea of sin?
You're dying....
I'm Cancer,
No denying.
I'm happy
No lying,
Years fighting,
Years trying,
I love that,
You're dying.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.