Best Suffered Poems
My favorite of songs is The Old Rugged Cross.
The most tragic of days was the worlds’ greatest loss.
For sinners that day were all given their chance.
His Father in heaven could not even bear to look not even one glance.
Forgive them He prayed as His life’s blood ran down to the ground.
Can you picture Him there wearing that thorny old crown?
On that hill so far away, sad but precious memories were made.
Born of a virgin mother in the tomb He was laid.
Death could not hold Him, death would not last.
Three days in that tomb, so long ago, death too it would pass.
He arose and was seen by many it was said.
Our Savior arose from the grave and no longer was dead.
As He gave His final words to His apostles and friends.
He ascended to the clouds but they knew they would see Him again.
He made us a promise He would rule once again.
I feel that day is coming we’re reaching the end.
The prophecies that abound.
With each new day they seem to be coming unwound.
Are you ready my friend for the Millennium Reign?
Are have you sunk to wearing the mark worn by Cain?
Sacrifices my friend we all have to do.
Just look at Jesus and the sacrifice He made, was made just for you .
So on that hill so far away I kneel at the thought.
With His precious blood my cleansing was bought.
And what have we learned, or did He die just for nought?
I look to Jesus and His love I have sought.
He must come first in all that we do.
And when the day comes you’ll see I speak true.
No one suffered or was killed today
No one raped or burned alive
No terrorists
No politicians
No exploitation
No pollution
No religion
No rich and
no poor
there is something
nice and peaceful
about having
No people
living on my PLANET
all being
elsewhere
with their baggage
full of delusions
Shame me hit me with chains
Train me how to feel sane
Tame me if you think that you can
Hate me if do you wrong
Treat me like another worthless life
Beat me just as I am use to
Make me scared to come outside
Fake me tell me I am with it
Then throw failure in my face thinking I can take it
Show me how disgusting the world truly is
Don't forget to lock the cage at night
Because I'm waiting for it
Waiting for it so I can take these chains
Wrap them around you and tie you down
Keep you binded down and leave you there
While you watch me laughing at you
Now you can take it cor you dished it out
Can't hear a word you say with a dishrag in your mouth
Then I'll leave you where you're sitting
And walk out as you watch me walk away
No words will be spoken for the next ones you try to break in
Suffered Hunger
twisting hunger pain
hides food under the bed and
between the mattress
hoarding food afraid of not
getting enough food to eat
© By Eve Roper 7/20/2015
The latter day saints
Their unwanted exodus
Had brought them many trials
Their biggest downfall
When Joseph Smith was martyred
It was a catastrophe
Despite their losses
Their legacy continues
The Church is their example
I am a Latter Day Saint myself.
We are also known as, "Mormons"
Dad, You Suffered Me
You looked to the North
I stared to the West
My desire gone forth
I thus failed your test.
"My eyes are not blind,
"and ideas quite alright."
I turned from behind
led by leisure's light!!
*
Wastrel of fast renown
my purse grew so slim
A beggar had I grown
whose mirth turned dim.
Reason poured forth
homeward to then retire
When I looked North
I saw grey face of sire!
*
I shivered with regret
doubting Dad's welcome
Yet, the stage was set
to get me back home!
Royalty was in Town
as fanfare lit the day
While in rugs of a Clown
I toddled on the way!
*
Standing 'fore the table
Dad, all old and wan
To address the Rabble
lavished in dazzling fun:
One sheep in the cold
sin had tainted so black
Being alive in the fold
welcome my Son back!
*
Such is the Sinner Me
with a hard, rigid dome
Light shall I not see
flicker to go back Home;
Before my Dad's knee
to bow, to plead to say:
For long you suffer'd me
ne'er more shall I stray!
02nd Oct' 2013
How shall I weep with those who mourn
When I have sensed the sweeter breeze
Wafting o'er the stones and through the trees
Across the sealed bronzed lid of death-borne
Sadness, yet eternal healing surely means
The bereft of pain are free;
The bereft of loss are free.
And so am I who stands before the glaring pit
Gazing into vast eternity, thinking only of me.
I shall not linger long to greet the wounded
Souls, whose cries of anguish at the bier
Reawakened in me long-dormant fear of dying
O, pity me, that I should self-accusing be
Grief-stricken without a solitary tear.
Published in PS: IT'S POETRY
Anthology of Poetry Soup
Arczis Web Technologies, Inc., 2020
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's Contest 2021
SELECTED FEATURED POEM
Poetry Soup, September 28, 2021
POETRY.COM COLLECTION
Poetry.com
April 16, 2022
extravagant disgust
manifested by evil...outrageous
imbecile sacrilegious,
to torture the color,
to vilify nature,
to demonize the human...
With magnificent ramblas
but spirits so narrow, it
seems exponential, but
it's just spiritual retardation...
the pomp of wickedness,
rips in greatness
which should already be consolidated
after so long to evolve...
What a shame ! so much involution!
She sat on the side of her bed,
A bloodied whip,the scars on her neck,
Still a perfect crimson,still a beautiful red,
Droplets of water moiston her lips,
A serene fury ignited by a salty taste.
She who curses humanity under her breath,
A burning wick upon the sand,
She,the one sho deserves death,
For being one of a kind,
And outcast to society.
In the midst of her mess,
She who finds pleasu
re in a picture,
But of a beauty nonetheless,
For shes one of her kind,
A liar and a threat
Stoned,trampled,wounded to be bandaged again,
A danger, for her canvas is burnt,
A meek mouse with a lion's mane,
Stands up for her rights,
Stands up to be caned.
She's the beautiful beast,
Every girls fantasy queen,
The one who loved a woman, truly atleast,
She was one of her kind,
A mark in history,a goddess in her shrine.
You are a spirit being,
feeding on people's desires.
making the wicked stronger,
and spreading it like fire.
You are a person
that wants what the other has,
you want to take it all by force;
while being consume by hate,
you would leave that person in despair;
while you wear the dark colors on your face.
You are a killer,
that would torture the other in an instant.
You just watch while they breakdown;
while you sit there an feel superior at last,
but in the end you became my greatest enemy;
who owns the dark side of unpredictable minds
in a thousand faces.
A Poet tell the best stories,
It’s a daily struggle for me, when I am on
Schedule, to show up there….at 3035
I usually take one foot slowly off the bed
I have to transform my body into someone else
Her name is Waverly, the most frequent alters,
a pretender, but not like the mouthy poet (A.L)
Seven hours of lies, trying to make ends meet
Twenty eight years of deceits, show in the receipts
Of hard, hard labor, and the back breaking toil of the day
The pointy nose, hold on to fake clipboard
Should I hate them, the system or me?
They is so many of us low renter in that place
But in the days of the corvid corona 19
These, days there are So many of them
Uprising, coming and leaving, the drilling
Should I hate them, the system or me?
The ones who tell the best story
Is the most observant one, to the craft?
A river is a body of water
With lot of stories to tell
Sadness and happiness,
My experiences there comes with pain,
Shame and mostly the sadness of
Staying at one place so lengthy!!
My restless spirit is now catching on to me
Is it too late for me, for us?
Me or my altered or just I
Oh, how I remembered them so well
Within each new poet there is a new idea
Each new idea brings a zest to future poems
The new poet fades too soon: so has the pointy nose
They never, stays, but memories of them, stain like glass
Taking the memories of their appearances
like shadows over the sun:
Did i really had years of experience
or just years of daily repeats
CHRIST HAS SUFFERED FOR US THAT BEING SAID I TO MUST SUFFER THROUGH
If I were a christian
Just what would it take
Just act like Christ
To this we're called
Because Christ has suffered for us
He leaves and leads an example
That we should follow in His steps
Just act like Christ
To this we're called
Because Christ has suffered for us
9/13/18
inspired from ~~1 Peter 2:21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
From anthology “A LOVE FOR YOU”
I went for a walk in the drizzling rain,
Remembering all the adversities and the pain,
That I had suffered for all this time,
Trying to maintain my sanity just felt like a crime,
I had pushed myself too far,
All the feelings I had were just bitter and sour,
I just couldn't take it anymore,
I was hurt, torn down and all I wore,
Was a fake smile and a forced laughter,
Everything felt fake, me the slave, my time the master,
Although as I walked around,
Something hit me, so profound,
The rain made a beautiful noise,
Realizing indirectly everything has a voice,
Let the feel be good or bad,
Listening to the drizzle surely made me less sad.
Taking a step back it made me realize,
Thinking about it, I wiped my wet eyes,
That every man is broken and torn apart,
Without him understanding that's just the start,
He doesn't realize the breakdown just makes him stronger,
It makes work harder and last longer,
You cannot stop or even think about quitting,
Try to break your records, even if you end up breaking yourself,
Instead of sitting on the couch, reminiscing.
.
.
~Hrishikesh
I am awoken by the summer night crickets and lighting that strikes the roof rod.
The wind and the abnormally hot air that begets the ominous dark cloud filled with ice rocks and Gods tears.
My dying light marked by the lost touch of a handsome beacon to the dullness of my heart.
A killing angel forgotten by the depths of a secretive shadow, engulfed in an endless pit of darkness.
He is, but a memory one must hide away in the heavens of the heart and the evils of the mind.
The forgotten peach wrapped in a towel under the intense heat of the summers breeze.
Written as a spiritual insurance when the floorboards creaked
As the wind caught my feet and the whispers that knew great feat.
It is no trick or a forgery of truth, but a para-perception to make up my lack of you.
I cannot move back the misty pendulum, wishing for some other to fill the gaps of what was once true.
Before you left, I should have cleaned our mess, but I am a hoarder of memories
That you must've despised, toxic soldier.
I cannot promise the stars I won’t draw for you, nor for the winds of time to forget your name
But your love will always roam the realms of my universal truths.
A death I have carried since youth—
not the grave’s hush,
but the slow unfastening
of all that was false in me.
Each dawn, a small surrender:
the tongue bridled,
the anger banked,
the shadowed thought laid bare
before the Father of Lights.
I have walked with this inward dying
as one walks beside a stern companion,
learning its counsel—
that faith without its burial
is faith without breath.
For the world woos with crowns
that fade like grass in scorching wind,
but the soul grows only
where it lets go.
So I have lived with death
as with a discipline—
its quiet blade
paring away the double mind,
till what remains can stand upright
and call itself whole.
If this, then, was my long death,
blessed be the One
who taught me to lose myself,
that I might finally live.