Long Bloodthirsty Poems
Long Bloodthirsty Poems. Below are the most popular long Bloodthirsty by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bloodthirsty poems by poem length and keyword.
Green grass,
Blue skies
Sick people,
Sad goodbyes
Dark days,
Empty nights
People dying,
Violent fights
Frightened kids,
Scared moms
Divorced parents,
Lost bonds
Starving children,
Bloodthirsty thugs
Innocent victims,
Kid's with drug's
Devil worshippers,
Constant crime
Shot of a gun,
Nothing is fine
Confused youth,
Careless adults
Child abuse,
Countless faults
Selling drugs,
Peer pressure
Spreading aids,
Prostitute pleasure
Daily abduction,
Victims of rape
So much pain,
Few ever escape
Turning to suicide,
Ending a life
Psycho path killers,
Blade of a knife
Agony of loss,
A broken heart
Painful love,
Being ripped apart
Homeless people,
The joy of hurting
A love child,
So many uncertain
Pregnant teens,
Unstoppable s.t.d.'s.
Ashamed heritage,
Dangerous obsessions
Opinionated critics,
Unwanted suggestions
Killing family,
Betraying friends
As today begins,
Yesterday ends
Hopeless tomorrow,
Doubtful future
Destroying the mind,
Sickening humor
Never--ending sickness,
Too much disease
Does it ever stop?
Someone tell me please
Animal torture,
A newborns cry
Abandoned infents
Do we even try?
Sleeping around,
Simply for lust
Deceitful lovers,
Losing all trust
Breaking the law,
Getting away
Courtroom injustice,
It's the victims who pay
Who is wrong?
Who is right?
Criminals admired,
Have we lost sight?
Broken famileis,
Few who pray
The doubtful outlook,
Getting by each day
Forgotten morals,
Money hungry fools
Disgraceful greed,
Those who use
So many questions,
Yet so few answers
The wanting to know,
Happens much faster
When did it happen?
How did it start?
Who is to blame?
For letting our world fall apart?
I guess this is what you would call life.......
"I am ancient, I am Lord. My beginnings are lost in the darkness
of the past. I am not dead. Nor am I alive. I am the undead."
Count Strahd Von Zaravich
A story perhaps truth, perhaps fiction ...
He was the eldest child of a noble family and received a military
education and by twenty-four was captain of an army commanded
by his father. Brilliant, courageous, respected by his men. A warrior
and leader. After his fathers death he became Count but by middle
age he felt that he had squandered his youth. A great darkness came
over him. He conquered Barovia and took up residence in the Castle
Ravenloft, where stained glass windows glittered in the sun. But the
castle became decrepit except for the library and study of Strahd. He
forged a pact with Dark Powers to achieve immortality becoming a
vampire, cunning, bloodthirsty and horrific, trapped, forever alone,
forever feared. An abusive monster, selfish, evil, jealous, violent, but
he could love and have his heart broken, and it was his curse.
His brother Sergei, joined him at the castle and Strahd fell in love with
Sergei's love but she rejected his advances and on their wedding day
he murdered his brother but Tatyana hurled herself to her death from
a balcony in Castle Ravenloft. And although Strahd married three times
he never found the love he sought. He was doomed to a dark life with
no end. So, the message to this story is wanting immortality is not such
a good thing to seek. Perhaps, Strahd still dwells in that ravaged castle
Ravenloft , alone and doomed . . .
As I was being born, B, you took your first breath
Bringing me benevolence in the struggle to believe
The truth that my mother’s breast would feed me
With blisses I had never imagined before breathing
Soon, your brilliant wonders were boosting my ideas
With hopes for the bright lights to warm a broken heart
Inspire my budding blooms to rise to the surface of filth
That burned with botanical dreams which the rain baths
Whispering grace into the face of breathless poetic ideas
Birds in hues of azure and butterscotch fondling bosoms
With songs both bountiful and blessed by the beauty
Bared through beginnings both brave and blemished
Butterflies murmur of ideas so breathtaking and bewildering
As they dance, boasting of all their brilliance, beckoning
For moments of purity and blossoming delights, insights
Discovered in the brush of wings, touching gently – b’s
Bees caress the blossoms with their bare wings diving down
Circling at breakneck speeds, whizzing across enemy borders
With essences of honesty so shrewd, bitterness melts away
And brand-new beeswax is breached, breaking through thoughts
Buttercups awake to sing to blue skies of the rains
Who will be welcomed to blame weaknesses on yesterday
When battlefields and boulevards were booming
Breaking hearts and homes with brave thoughts
Needless to say, B, you’ve been the breath of fresh air
That has brought bold brothers to believe in each other
Painted the brokenness with blazing bright undertones
Breathes of serenity unfolding to bring bright blessings
B, you’ve been a true and faithful friend to me who believes
In your bright, breaking brilliance rising across blue skies
And leaving the beating of a bemused, bloodthirsty believer
To bring hearts the encouragement needed to their beloved
Now, B, begone!
Stretched to the limit,
past breaking point,
On the torturers rack,
bones popping out of joint,
Gone too far already,
sinews and tendons tear,
Now the skin is breaking,
blood spurts into open air
All this suffering, to get a
forced confession,
At the mercy of an inquisitors,
demonic obsession,
You believe in false gods,
and practice black magic,
Admit Admit, your a
pernicious messianic.
Wretched soul says anything,
to try halt the pain,
Tormentors delight,
in the methods of their gain,
Now kiss the cross,
and repent all your sin,
Left to die from injuries,
torn limb from limb,
This is Middle Ages,
height of inquisition,
Pain and torture rampant,
on a road to perdition,
Evil has taken over,
look crooked get burnt to death,
Say a wrong word,
cut the tongue out of your head
All this insanity,
done in the so
called name of god,
The body of the church,
is a murderous hit squad,
These bloodthirsty fanatics,
dregs of human race,
Bottomless pit of evil,
an enduring disgrace,
Was this the result,
of choosing the wrong religion,
No just an excuse,
to achieve total submission,
Another form of dictatorship,
under the guise of a Bible
Led by the papacy,
to ensure their own survival.
By
David Kavanagh
Love seeps from curling words
into a floundering bloodstream,
A Pychpomp's breath,
pumping through the pulse of mature ache
resurrects a rage for bloodthirsty romance,
Her veins awaken to tighten hotly
through and through along thighs,
wrists, and throat,
She is captive to a caress
controlling and cathartic,
A ruthless healing ensues,
blooms like bitten beauty
begging for a deeper kiss,
His spirit swirls around her most sensitive nerve,
pearls of dormant passion
begin to sweat their luster,
His gripping becoming brazen
and gothic strong,
She sighs with a scream of cream
that shatters sorrow
and simmers the soul,
His wing tips ablaze
along her heart now starlit true,
within a breathless epiphany
Her world has been remade,
reworked, and reformed
into a righteous worthy faith
that chaos nor the Devil can curse -
J.A.B.
Twenty four Memories
Twilight hours so very dour
When the demons invade both dreams and sleep
Eternity is inviting even for a second
No one knows the depths of depression
To feel the desperation, the hopeless expression
Yesterdays dreams decay inside my dark confessions
My life so bountiful, yet filled with grief
At times I smiled, for this was my cameo
Life’s drama unfolded, unto the tableau
Failures resounded, I was always the outsider
Moments of fleeting and unforgiving pleasures
Ending with thoughts that no one would treasure
Massacred emotions and bloodthirsty dreams
Obscured by the hopelessness and childish screams
Rivers of tears, birthday candles of fear
Irony would eat the cake, love never revered
Escape seemed to be as hopeless as lovers whom disagree
Suicide won the day and now the pain as all but gone away
On the hearth of the dead, so gloomy,
The heart beats hard, with little left.
In vain the bird still bears its wings
— What is a silken nest to be,
When it cannot fly?
A bitter tear only wets its cheeks.
O bloodthirsty one,
forever cursed you are!
Therefore tonight,
dance a circle for the children:
A circle of friends, a circle of joy,
May it move for your good,
Eternally, joyfully,
around the world.
Let the hungry not crave bread tonight.
Let the barefoot share their shoes.
To those who thirst the most,
Let water be given, forever free.
Play the fraternal circle,
children,
Let roses grow behind your footsteps.
Bury the curse of hatred deep,
For it is the cause of all misery
— This, you must know.
Wulf and Eadwacer
ancient Anglo-Saxon poem
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
My clan's curs pursue him like crippled game;
they'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.
Wulf's on one island; we're on another.
His island's a fortress, fastened by fens. (fastened=secured)
Here, bloodthirsty curs howl for carnage.
They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.
My heart pursued Wulf like a panting hound,
but whenever it rained—how I wept!—
the boldest cur grasped me in his paws:
good feelings for him, but for me loathsome!
Wulf, O, my Wulf, my ache for you
has made me sick; your seldom-comings
have left me famished, deprived of real meat.
Have you heard, Eadwacer? Watchdog!
A wolf has borne our wretched whelp to the woods!
One can easily sever what never was one:
our song together.
I have picked up a scent, something's been killed
And I can hear my feline foes growling still
I trot off to the scene with bloodthirsty zeal
Hoping to purloin a fresh meal
At the scene, four lionesses are having a feast
On the flesh of a hapless wildebeest
Others from my clan are gathering now
Laughing like crazy and ready to chow
The felines are not ready to give up their kill
A battle ensues and more blood is spilled
The lionesses have no choice but to flee
My laughter is chilling and filled with glee
Then I settle down to enjoy the feast
Having no concerns in the least
But two lions are charging in to settle the score
My bones rattle at the sound of their roar!
7-1-19
Pick a Title, Volume 6, Personification Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chose: The Hyena
Underneath the blue-black twilight
of an impending, grim, nightmarish sky,
I hear the ping of deathly bells ringing,
signaling that my end is nigh.
Buzzards circle above,
swooping down, playing with their prey,
pecking ever so gingerly at mourning flesh.
I swat them away as dread fills every pore of my being.
Soon, the sun will rise over the bloodthirsty horizon,
its first streaks of light illuminating the sands.
I know my fate will be sealed.
Sweat beads and pools, coating my back.
Trembling now, I try to grasp my sanity.
The smell of the air has changed—
stale sorrow replaces the sweet scent of desert lily.
Dusk is close at hand.
The death knell grows louder,
drowning out even the most minuscule of sounds.
The executioner sharpens his glistening blade.
Arising, I am led to my ghastly doom.
Within seconds, crimson will stain the sands of time,
and I’ll become nothing more than mere food for the forgotten.