Best Resentment Poems

Below are the all-time best Resentment poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of resentment poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Resentment Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Resentment poems are below this new poems list.

Mistakes, Deceptions, and Resentment by Deliz Diana, Nileisha Giselle
Gnawing Resentment by Foster, Gail
Devils of resentment by Brown, David
His Resentment by Cayanan, Katrina Monique
KIDS RESENTMENT by samuel, evrod
Turning Resentment Around by Owens, Marty
Resentment (for children) by Televitskaya, Dina
As Resentment Attacks Our Pale Soul- by chamma, farah

View all new Resentment Poems

The Best Resentment Poems

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When Yesterday Was Today

On cold evenings
Surrounded by friends
Warm and
I could stay up forever
Taking strength
From the blackness 
Feeling that I could float upward
And walk with the stars
On their lonely journey 
Through heaven.

There was a girl 
I was with then
And beautiful
When I first saw her
I wanted to feel her softness
Her breathe on my cheek
Her hand  
Brushing against my thigh
When I held her close
And even closer
I wanted her 
To say she loved me.

Our love
Had a perfect balance
Teasing and challenge
And seduction.

A subtle change
That I never understood
Came about
The closer we became
The more anger
And resentment followed
When she smiled I was envious
When I laughed she was angry
We broke up
We were young
It was my fault
Her fault
Our fault
Or blame it on the times we lived in.

Outside my room
Footsteps echo
In a long and empty hallway
And like an undeliverable letter 
A message scrawled 
To no one in particular
Haunting visions are 
Returned to me
The slenderness of her waist
The way she arched her back
The touch of her hand
The way she kissed
I feel her presence
Yes, I relive all that.

Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2009

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Sweet Deathly Rose

Oh, mild flower I chanced to meet,
A ruby red, yet so discreet.
She'd never seen a hue my blue.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

Her fragrance wafted on the breeze,
And all were drawn to her with ease.
I put down roots near her and grew.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

Though in her garden all seems well,
there still are things she hates to tell.
Her thorns, a shield, conceal what's true.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

Beneath her thorns, resentment grows.
Disturb her and her petals close!
I learned too well what could ensue. . . 
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

A casual remark was said.
Her ruby rose turned scarlet red. . .
I guiltless pled. Did I misdo?
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

A fury she had kept so deep
had been unleashed; it made me weep.
Retaliation cut me through.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

A leaf of peace she offered me:
Be friends, but only partially.
But I refused and shall eschew
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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Behind the mask

Behind the mask there is a frail and fragile me
Enigmas clothed in conundrums; that the naked I can’t see

'Behind the mask is concealed, my authenticity
Examine my history to unravel my perplexing mysteries

Behind the mask it is unseen paralyzing, piercing pain
With arrogance and self-assurance camouflaging the shame

Behind the mask is hidden my true Identity.
Seek and survey the signs of my obscurity

Behind the mask is veiled a heart that’s been broken
Held together by unexpressed resentment and animosity unspoken 

Behind the mask is where my insecurity hides,
Like realism wrapped in riddles, you must read between the lines

Behind the mask is where I cover my falling tears
Dig just below the surface and you’ll unearth my crippling fears

Behind the mask there are cloaked secrets unexplained and untold
Decipher the symbols to crack my encrypted codes

Behind the mask you’ll uncover my True expressions 
Remove and reveal parodies, and expose the false impressions

Behind the mask, it is hidden, my Individuality.
Not acting out some script of who I’m thought to be

Behind the mask is obscured my, vulnerability
 Suppressing the mounting manifestation of the inner me

Behind the mask it is disguised, my true reflection
Underneath open wounds inflected by rejection 

Behind the mask rest crushed and shattered dream
Where fear muzzles roaring whispers and screeching silent screams

Behind the mask is buried, my stolen youth
Deception, and cover-ups, masquerading as facts and truth

Behind the mask is where I screen the confusion
Look close and you’ll find, trickery and deception, draped in fantasy and optical 

Behind the mask it’s stifling; it is hard for me to breathe,
The walls of deceit  that i have built ,are quickly  closing in on me. 

I am trapped behind facades of smirks and phony smiles.
So may I please remove this mask just for a little while?

Chiquita Baity

Copyright © ChiquitaChiamaka Baity | Year Posted 2011

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Wind Rider

An old man sits peacefully in deep thought
Missing teeth, milky eyes . . .  leathery skin
Wind Rider his name  – a shaman 

The young man seethes in anger
Strong, excitable . . . limbs in constant motion 
Standing Bear his name  – dangerous and violent 

Smoke curls lightly into the sky
A sacred moment upon the plain
Old to the young – a story

The soft voice rises . . .  catches the wind 
There is a battle that rages within each of us
. . .  two wolfs circle each other

One is evil . . .  it’s spirit is angry filled with
jealousy, sorrow, greed, arrogance, guilt
resentment, inferiority, lies . . .  ego

The other wolf is good --- it’s spirit is filled with
joy, peace love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy
generosity, truth, compassion . . .  faith

Each wolf is strong and howls into the night wind 
Yellow-red eyes flair, deep throated-growls, bared fangs
Breathing hard they attack

Wind Rider lifts his heavy head
Feels the sun . . .     waits

Standing Bear thinking  . . .  finally asks
Who will win?

Wind Rider smiles 
The one you feed

       \ /
       / \

David Meade
Live Generously

Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2014

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A jaded man

The sting of shattered trust
fills his veins with toxic spite,
contaminating his heart. 

He finds solace in a bottle,
quenching his resentment,
slurring forth caustic fumes;
nauseating his liver.

Until he spits her treachery up
with a sickening heave,
in the shallow, murky gutter
of a jaded man's reprieve.

Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2010

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Famous Poets

The other day, I was visiting the home page at Poetry Soup
and noticed a picture of a guy named Willie Shakespeare
He’s a pretty okay poet but I found his long stuff VERY boring
For example: “To be or not to not to be: That is the question”
Really Billy? I mean you either IS or you AIN’T right?

SO, I commented on some of his poems just to encourage him
and guess what? Not ONE-SINGLE-COMMENT in return!
I even tried Soup Mail offering kind, polite advice and critique
No dice! Zilch! Zero! ( Perhaps it was the style tips I suggested?)
That collar's gotta go...Can you IMAGINE in the midst of summer?
I am now convinced that ego and resentment were involved...

So I decided to try Eddie Poe and honestly? His stuff is WEIRD
and Ed, I hate to break this to you but: Ravens don't talk...
Did the same with Bobby Frost, Benny Johnson and some others
Same old song and waltz, not a peep out of a single ONE of them

To top it off, I Souped Emmy Dickinson (I wanted to ask her out)
I suggested that she might want to edit the first line of her poem from:
“I dreaded that first robin so" to: 
“I dreaded that first robin like you wouldn’t BELIEVE”
Her silence was deafening.
Just who do these people think the ARE?

Light bulb! Now I know why PS crams them all together on the right hand end.
They feel sorry for these poet wanna-be’s, but not ME. I will continue to mentor...


Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2015

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Death To The Mockingbird

Death to the mockingbird with one shot to the heart,
Crushing wings with desperation sings sorrow worlds apart.
Concrete tears from wasted eyes fall on a mossy burial ground,
Taste the regret as it is yet to expel a gasping sound.
And rise oh symphonic sun in my mourning put rest to the moon,
Dehydrate this skin from deep within that I may die at noon.
Searching for stars to blanket this despairs shroud of living,
Pinpricks of celestial poison judgmental eyes are giving.
Blood upon my hands stains jealousy in deep wrinkled crease,
Saliva soiled dirt leaves an after taste that will never cease.

Breaking the joints of folded frozen wings opening like a book,
Laid before the novel ends I search for the heart that I took.
Oh mockingbird you brought this battle a war I inhale victory,
Would the devil rise with golden stained eyes celebrating with me.
With weighted flesh, holding her heart, he examines my deed,
Silently I beg come with me, success demands fulfilling my greed.

The devil he does make his choice, strong cradled hands receive
Welcoming the mockingbird, even in death does she deceive.
Breathing to life from lips I longed to love, the mockingbird awakes,
Flapping wings, resentment it stings, the ground under me shakes.

The mockingbird laughs for she mocks me no longer,
She has taken everything from me, and now she is stronger.


Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2015

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I never knew the shadows until I walked in the absence of light,
there I found my feelings bound, wrapped up in darkness tight.
Crossing over to the captured fear, I felt the shivered stroke,
What bumps across my once silent skin did this chill evoke.
The replica of my being, a mirror void of time carved detail,
tells me of my nothingness, my soul complete but body frail.

The shadows stung me like ice dripped glass and beckon me to come,
Into the home of being alone, without the warmth my lips grow numb.
Every lesson I must have learned with open mind drifts far away,
Crying with crimson crossed eyes, forsaken light I beg for a ray.

Shades of sin all around me slither like the serpent in temptation,
I resign a step in a time knowing darkness breeds damnation.
Suffer in the suffocation, resentment is all I loathe and see,
And its unfair as I become aware, I drown in the shadow of me. 

july 06, 2015

Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2015

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Black Heart Masquerade

Reflections in the mirror increase resentment tarnished heart pursues vengeful contentment Disillusioned you hide in fictitious make believe possessed by demons who purblind and deceive In your bogus twisted fabricated state of mind answers to your questions you shall never find Fraudulent masks pose, simultaneously concocted mocking with this masquerade you have adopted As your heart blackens with the absence of light Lucifer summons you closer, to your sheer delight Loved ones cannot save you - your cause is phony nobody remains to listen to your forged testimony The Silent One 29 december 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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If I Could

If I could I would pin prick the moon and make her bleed 
So I could have an empathetic croon from her monologue smile 
I’d derive the satisfaction of knowing she knows all my hurts 
I’d wag my tail down to the river like a wounded dog and cry 
Into the soft round shoulders of the night 
Perhaps find a little distraction in the ghostly loons that swim 
Along the canal, shift my pain o’er to the other side of earth 
I don’t know, perhaps loose a little of that resentment 
Press up against my anger, so I wouldn’t feel so numb 
I search for her the heroine of my life story, but she’s only an echo 
Bouncing off the hollow canyons of my mind 
If I could hen peck this differential moment and erase the gates 
That hold me in, then I maybe I could, sleep peacefully tonight 

Mystic Rose 

Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2015

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An Angel Smiled at Me

An angel smiled at me today,
I almost passed her by.
A tiny little slip-of-a-thing, swallowed by an oversized coat,
Face hidden by wind-tossed hair.

I wasn't thinking of whose she was,
Only that I was running late, vaguely annoyed at "whatever".
Unaware of passing lives also trapped in their own isolations.

Then I heard her laugh, freely, contagiously, the way I used to.

Fleeting resentment passed through my mind,
That I'd noticed. That I wanted to stop.
For a brief moment I was reminded of summer days, of climbing trees
And skinned knees.
Running through sprinklers and warm seas.
Memories made me stop and turn...

There she was.
Not more than six. Slipping between people who took no notice, 
As if she was the mailbox on the corner.
Caught in her own sidewalk world of make-believe.
Chasing an unseen rainbow... and then she caught me watching.
Undisturbed, her face burst into a happy grin as laughter bubbled forth, 
Her eyes glowing like Christmas morning.
Pushing the hair away that  would not stay still, pausing in her solitary game.
That single moment when we took each other in seemed like lifetimes.
Something inside me quietly burst free.

I continued on my way, but the day seemed brighter.
Nothing had outwardly changed;  I was still late, but I had the curious urge to skip to the corner;
To roll down a grassy hill and play hide and seek.
At the corner I turned just to see if she was still there, 
To send her a silent thanks.
As if she heard, she turned... and an angel smiled at me, again.

Copyright © Amy Megquier | Year Posted 2016

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Against Humanity

Our world was fashioned flawlessly,
purpose perched purely.
its beauty sealed sweetly
Like the journey of a rose.

Dreamers dream swiftly,
Fishermen fish profusely,
But the living lies that breed men
has smothered them to a downward spiral.

Desire flickers for greatness.
Wanting and seeking for paramount prowess,
The hallowed place we once dwelt
is now suffused with surreptitious despair.

The earth encumbered their cravings,
Richness of raging unity coveted,
But their infuriating resentment
Has made the waft of death unrated

Beyond the gentle the gush of a storm,
The coolness of the raging fire,
Our world that once blossomed
has been splashed with splendid manslaughter.

What truth could be behind these lies?
What could be the ultimate sacrifice
to make this dreadful pandemonium suffice
the bloodshed of innocent honesty...?

Copyright © Olajide Adelana | Year Posted 2010

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Painstaking Views

A child's view:

"Why did you leave us dear mom and dad?"
"Did we do something to make you mad?"

Tears on our faces, as we see you drive away.
"Please come back, we'll be good everyday!"

Our foster mother hates us, we don't know why.
Maybe she hits us, because all we do is cry.

My sister tries to protect me, but she gets beat instead.
It's hard not to hate her, she raps her knuckles on our heads.

But I'm just 3, my sister barely six.
We don't know what do we fix?

"Where are our brothers? We miss them so!"
"How can you love us and just let us all go?"

An adult's view:

Scars of abandonment haunt our souls.
Self confidence battered and full of holes.

Hate and resentment learned so young.
Our spirits crushed, our sorrows unsung.

Trusting of others is extremely hard.
Self protecting.......eternally on guard.

Escaping the past, we run away.
Coping mechanisms always in play.

Failed relationships in abundance.
Struggling against all compliance.

Memories buried in recesses of the mind.
Lessened only by the passage of time.

Copyright © Cecilia Macfarlane | Year Posted 2011

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Words left unspoken - to live in regret

Unnecessary altercation led to avoidable words spoken.

He said, "you're going to miss me when I'm gone."

But she just sat there, never said a word.

He left, told her he loved her,
but, she did not say a word.

She sat there agitated and confused,
once again her emotions left her dismayed.
As her bitterness and resentment descended,
she felt disappointed with her animosity.

As he drove his car, dejected, he wondered
why they fought over such trivial things.
But, in his heart he knew, when he returned,
she would see the error of her ways.

As the venom in her mind calmed,
she switched to peaceful thoughts.
Reminiscing beautiful memories,
she felt the acerbic taste of regret.
Dialled his number to apologise, but
no answer, filled her heart with unease.

As he drove contemplating, his mind consumed,
he did not see the tanker, which collided head on.

Now, heartbroken, heart aching,
she sits there all alone,
she can't tell him how she feels...
She can't utter a single word,
she can't hold him, kiss him,
nor look into his eyes..

What point now, of those words left unspoken...

25 February 2016

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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Thorns of beauty

Thorns of beauty of a pure ornament
piercing a heart forsaken of closeness,
Lost flowers grieved to express in lament,
aching in the shadows of emptiness.
Our searching souls, so close in existence
yet too far in spirit to understand,
the meaning hidden by minds subsistence,
alas your resentment I must withstand.
A soul of ripeness, far more than allowed,
to seek fresh beauty; a rose for love sheds.
Treason for silent discretion avowed,
in banishment, the heart is torn to shreds.

A dream to mend love’s wounds, past existence,
scarred is my flesh by thorns of resistance.

T.J Grén

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2015

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Remembering Rwanda

Before the blast in April's darkened sky. . . before the electrifying surge of insurgency - when trucks and tanks were used to block the roads, and when men and even boys were sought to aid in one malicious purpose. . . before the rampant slaughter - the raining of machetes down on flesh and bones and the cornucopia of corpses left like butchered carcasses on highways, nearby houses and in churches. . . before the plundering, the rapes and mutilations and the exodus of thousands to death-infested camps, there were whisperings - insidious and portentous to the ears of the wisely suspicious - and a voice on the airwaves spewing hate. Before it all, there was a brewing of resentment of a people with a history of poverty and of transitory freedom and capricious politics. And through it all, with such grave consternation, governments debated. . . waited. . . . . . . and waited, playing with semantics while thousands dead became the hundred thousand, and three long months - unrivaled for its number of atrocities - came to its completion. Seemingly, peace has been restored and punishment stingily doled out. Time moves on . . . except for half a million for whom compassion by the world was spared. For Skat's Premiere Contest number 7 Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012

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Her Blues Took My Blues Away

United Colours: BLUE CONTEST Sponsor: Silent One Her primary color was blue. It could not be made from a combination of any other color. It was hers and hers alone. She had a pure aura surrounding her, soft shades of carolina and cornflower but it changed into midnight blue over night. Why when we display such sorrow, does the color blue represent sadness? Her memory was a dripping color of melting oxford. Her blues haunted me for years. I have seen the darkness that manifests itself into shades of navy and azure. How did I wake up one morning feeling free of the chains I held for years?My perceptions had changed and my memories turned into an uplifted recollection of my constant salvation. Now, the different hues of her blues represent loyalty and strength, full of wisdom and free from resentment. My honesty held deep within my core shall shine through shades of cobalt and indigo. Her blues saved me in an unusual way. Sapphires of bitterness turned into shades of lapis and teal. These colors stand for my holy redemption. I needed redemption from depending on her confusing emotions. I was scared of the wicked tides resisting my healing of losing her. I have collected pebbles of grief, residue from her rebellion. But now her memory is the stable color of aegean. Her blues gave birth to my newfound confidence. I hold onto the sight of her wings with stairs leading up towards the baby blue clouds of heaven. My nightmares crossed over into the light bringing my acceptance into concrete existence. Her memories will always exist in my delicate heart. Her blues saved my blues are gone...thank you sweet sister... ~Date Written: February 28, 2016~

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016

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...and it laughed, a profound laugh, a laugh of anger, a laugh of hate
Waking in the dark, she lay thinking. Sadness enveloped her as a tear left her eye. The night was oppressive, her emotions sinking and emptiness filled her while the seconds ticked by. It watched from inside with glee and contentment savoring each drop of the tears that she cried. Its hate for her beauty fueled its resentment and fed her dark fears with each whisper it lied. Like enchanted visions her beauty divine with black flowing hair and azure eyes. A heart full of love like rays of sunshine beamed from her soul as light in the skies. The smile that she wore so unassumingly real filled my soul with her warmth and caring and confused my heart and the feelings I feel leaving me lost with my emotions wearing. We talked through the days of various things her mind ever agile and clever Her dreams of tomorrow and the hope that it brings and the joy that she wished for, forever. But then change came in a twisting curve, when she sang to me of her pain filled dreams and the love she felt she could never deserve, such sadness filled me, as her threads broke their seams. Then fear filled her heart with its deepest needs and darkness began to take over. It led her to think of the most horrible deeds as it lied and relentlessly drove her. Now all that remains of this beautiful soul, as it frees her to think of the pain she has known, and feeds off her fears as she cries in the dark, is the hurt she has caused, and of being alone. awaits in the darkness inside, my light will always be here to shine for you.

Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2016

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Final Letter

Listen to poem:
She sits.
She writes.
She feels lost and alone.

Clenched fists.
Scary night.
Passion turned to stone.

I tore up a book of lost verses written to my lover, since she left there are no more journals to discover. Humbled emotions penned with a quill on red paper, the blood bled dry because I just couldn't save her. I tore up her final letter written out of despair, it may be ripped into pieces but her memory's still there. Disoriented words making no sense cuz' intoxication, so confusing we could not understand the interpretation. “Good bye to my family, I can't handle anymore pain”, she left this world cleanly, but I can't erase her stain. I can't believe five years ago today she was found, in front of a fountain sleeping peacefully on the ground. She was feeding the ducks bread, we found remnants, for so long I carried too much anger and resentment. Under a blue spruce pine is where she took her last breath, No words can explain what we've been through since her death. I tore up her final letter written out of despair, look at her picture once more, lacerated beyond repair. I never want to read that filthy missive for as long as I live, She was so exhausted, eyes closed, with nothing left to give. ***Five years ago tonight we found my sister who had been missing for three months. Along with her, came her good-bye letter.*** For The Contest, Any Poem Not For A Contest, Ever, Sponsor, Broken Wings Date Written: March 17, 2016

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016

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Peace Prayer

I humbly ask you to make my enemies have good feet,
So they will walk away as I do.
Make them listen to the birds sing,
Instead of narrow opinions of others.
Make them have good eyes,
So they can see from another's point of view.
Make their hearts beat strong,
So love will overcome hate.
Make them stand proud,
So they need not tear another down.
Make them happy,
So misery will not love company.
Make them secure,
So they need not take from others.
Make them have hope,
So they do not darken another's hope.
Make them honest,
So they appreciate honesty in others.
Make them confident in their faith,
So they need not destroy another's.
Make them love themselves,
So jealousy has no merit.
Give them busy minds,
So they do not assume about others.
Make them feel safe,
So fear won't dictate their ways.
Give them long and happy lives,
So happy that resentment never enters.
Comfort them when they cry,
So loneliness will not make them bitter.
Walk with them amidst life's storms,
So they continue to the horizon.
Wake them every morn',
With gratitude in their hearts.
Love them even when,
They do not show love to others.
And in all of these things,
Let peace begin with me.

Darlene Doll Smith

Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2015

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Should I take the dagger that my heart tore
and use it to avenge the pain it caused?
Or should I bow my head and keep in store,
the obsession of life’s dreams once more paused.

I, undeserving of your resentment,
wherefore my words echoed kindness intense,
in past fondness for future‘s atonement
lest it reveal my soul to your pretense.

Foolishly I opened my heart to you,
expecting to relinguish love yet born,
unwittingly my own destruction woo,
to inflict pain through the wrath of love’s scorn.

I cannot feel anger to act in spite,
with a broken heart I bow to your might.

For contest: One of your best - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Rob Carmack

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2015

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Rhythms Of The Heart

We try our best to maintain good rhythm But at times life gets in the way The every day challenges of modern living The demands we face each day The greatest reward we receive in the end Is happiness and true contentment At peace with the world and all things pure Not harbouring any resentment The ultimate aspiration of every human Is a journey free from hassle Filled with many accomplishments Where your home is really your castle Rhythm is an extremely important part Of contentment and a happy life Good rhythm lends us a sense of well being A journey free from strife © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

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Sad Is The Heart That Never Loved

How sad is the heart that has never loved,
To be warmed by the fire of contentment.
To know wanted desires of your beloved,
While you sit alone in cold resentment.
How sweet the scent of a flower in bloom.
How warm each day awash in sun's soft light.
How dark your heart in its lonely room,
As you fade away in another night.
The heart yearns, so its wants and needs are met,
And searches to bond as wind to the leaves.
To float red in a glorious sunset.
Not shackled by one who never believes.

Love claims no purity or escape from tears.
It claims only desire, savored for years.

Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2015

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Lament Of My Life

Lament of My Life Contest Sponsor: Casarah Nance ~My Bereaving Eulogy~ Time seemed to pass so much faster than I expected, All the love, loss, passion and things I have neglected. How many times have I lost a special loved one? Well, now I am the loss, I'm so delicate and young. Thirty five years of the clock ticking towards my end, I hardly had any time to catch up and make amends. I was born into a family full of love so passionate, strong mother and father, siblings so affectionate. At times as a sweet little girl I was scared to look in my mirror, too scared to see disappointment in conjunction with my fear. Times of broken hearts and left alone, never to feel peace fully, friends left and at times was attacked by bullies. Most of the time I was full of daisies and sweet honey, I was content and silly, joyful and pretty funny. I was raised with love, beauty and constant protection, with my mom I have always had a deep inner connection. Bonded by blood was I, with my brother and two sisters, siblings so potent, conflict and resentment was never considered. Wedding bells rang and the honeymoon came and left, many years I lived with a curse of feeling anxious and depressed. But my husband, sweet Nicholas, saved me from my damnation, so in love with his wife, who felt I didn't deserve condemnation. Then there she was my soul saving wonder, a petite seven pounds, my ravishing sweetheart, a wrinkly face with big doe eyes so brown. In my twenties is when I almost died from my addiction, I was defeated and abruptly damaged with out jurisdiction. Death should've been seeping right through the walls of my soul, My body took a tole, out of control, and yearned to become whole. I have the Lord to thank for my bravery and recuperation, I'll never know why He chose to save me from elimination. The older I grew the more wisdom I seemed to gain, I threw out all the jealousy, regret and constant blame. Back on December thirty-first of two thousand and ten, my big sister died tragically and I lost my best friend. The horror of our last goodbye still haunts me every night, why would she take her life and give up up on her fight? My inner essence was shattered and my joy found regret, I never gave my soul a chance to heal, time to reflect. But the next five years was full of soul-savoring moments, I had an opportunity for growth, sapience and atonement. When I died, the loss of me, destroyed everyone I knew, funny how I hadn't realized how much their love for me grew.... I was chosen to be born into a warm family. Devoted mother and father with more than enough love and peaceful joy to go around. But my personal deprivation caused my fork in the road to veer off and create my own twisted global destiny. What was my destiny anyways? My destiny was to nurture my loved ones and keep my heart safe from the damage of what could've become my daily struggle. I was born to be a daughter, sister wife and mother.... When did I get so lost in the madness of separating good from regret, and distinguishing my happiness and my lower class confidence? None of that matters anymore...what is important is the legacy I left behind is in my daughters eyes and in her smile. She will always carry my sensitive nature in her tiny ten year old soul. My husband loved me so much more than I can have ever imagined. I know this for a fact. How do I know? Well, being with someone for twenty years is enough proof. Regardless of consequences and in spite of wrong doings, I always needed more. “More what?”, I wondered. I longed for the satisfaction in my core that only me and me alone could provide. My sorrow from losses beyond my control has flipped upside down and now I am the loss for others. Their sorrow is unbearable. I can barely shine down upon them because my empathy knows what it's like to lose such an important person in my life. Now more than ever, I realize my importance in the world. I was born to love freely, and I died being loved and needed... loss can break our hearts life was my constant blessing grieve, but see me smile be sad, not for long empathy can shine beyond death can be a gift ~Date Written: March 8, 2016~

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016

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The Violence of Money

There is never an ending
		to the spending
	a world of paper
and plastic to collect
and horde
	and cars
	and homes
	and jewelry
	and fine wine
	and paintings
	stocks and bonds
and expectations
entire vocations 
	devoted to 
disguising the numbers
the Caribbean masquerade
to volumes of recorded
purchases and voices 
of invoices
to extend  
the accumulation
of dates
and names
places and faces
	and connections
		at breakneck
must fill the need
must fill the need
a shouting browbeating
handing over
fistfuls	of cash
to make sure
make certain
	only the best
	the finest
	the rarest
of air is not available

the underwater martyrs
the silent box dwellers
the empty bottle collectors
the wheelchair drifters
the SRO limbo sellers
the workers at 
		the bottom
	of the 

and the indigent gamblers
who line the halls
to knock on doors
of government departments
crippled by reckless
and corrupt state 
choking the dwindling 
and resources
		that have
	nothing to do	
count the days
and ways
to disappoint
disarm dismay	
dispute the reputations
and  	  applications
held in sweaty palms

to begin living
to end the doubt
to end the not having
the counting of pennies
the slow heroin erosion
the unbroken hollowness
the whiskey-soaked
ravages of vacant histories
better-forgotten memories
of cold emergency rooms

to end being
in a world

a world 
of resentment 
of fear and hate and anger
of dark empty streets
empty recriminations
empty promises
	made to themselves
	by themselves
harming themselves
arming themselves
to rob to steal
to maim

to take whatever they can
for as long as they can
to approximate 
the wonder and magic
	of having what you need
when you need it or want it
to not have to beg
to not have to humiliate 
or be humiliated

to not have to watch 
    the ease of others
who have a casual 
contempt for misfortune
and respect for nothing
but their own wealth 
           of deception
to breeze through
tall golden doors 
to an unbroken string
of shiny bright todays 
and tomorrows

to not have to 
     lunge for hope
never grasp it
in all ways 
and forever
just out of 

Copyright © Barry Levy | Year Posted 2016