Long Broken Poems
Long Broken Poems. Below are the most popular long Broken by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Broken poems by poem length and keyword.
In secret depths, hidden from the world's eyes,
Demons and gods struggle in a silent battle,
Untamed powers, captive in my own being,
Disputing their place in an eternal dance of suffering.
Like ghostly shadows, demons lurk in corners,
Whispering sweet temptations that lure and torture me,
They are hidden desires, unfaced fears,
Feeding on my insecurity, leaving me broken and tormented.
The gods, on the other hand, shine with a pale light,
They are noble aspirations, unfulfilled dreams,
But I keep them locked, chained by the fear of failure,
And thus, their power remains unexpressed, turning into bitter regrets.
In a continuous flow of thoughts, I struggle between these two worlds,
Demons pull me down, towards darkness and despair,
Gods call me up, towards light and hope,
But I remain captive in the middle, in a purgatory of indecision.
Like a river carving its way through a narrow gorge,
So flow my thoughts, troubled and turbulent,
Passing from burning desire to paralyzing doubt,
From grand dreams to petty fears.
Demons and gods, in a continuous dance,
Fight for my soul, for the mastery of my mind,
And I am the battlefield, the stage where this inner war unfolds,
A war without end, a struggle without victory.
But deep in my soul, I know that true power lies in balance,
In embracing both demons and gods,
In recognizing their presence and channeling their energy,
To create a symphony of being, a harmony of opposites.
For in this embrace of duality, I will find liberation,
I will break the chains that hold me captive and become the master of my own destiny,
I will be both man and god, both darkness and light,
And I will dance through life to my own rhythm, without fear and without regrets.
(* to be read in the style of Heny V before the battle of Agincourt)
To arms! To arms!
Men of the Shires, rouse from your winter sleep
the game's afoot, waste no more time abed,
to Hardware stores you have a date to keep,
fight through the drapes of cobwebs in your sheds.
To arms!
Unshackle pasting tables, wipe the trays
for paint rollers not used in many moons,
the paint brushes that have seen better days
left to go hard in pickle jars since June.
To arms!
The squeaky front gate mocks you as you pass,
the peeling paper teases in the hall,
Greenhouse offends thine eye with broken glass
house number upside down upon the wall.
To arms!
Onward, onward you face your foe alone
tirelessly strive, no weaknesses, no flagging,
your only ally, her true colours shown
through bouts of sharp critique and constant nagging.
To arms!
We few, we happy few with common bond
will tackle each new challenge with no fear
for though the day be long you see beyond,
when all is done you're off to have a beer.
To arms!
I don’t like the rules,
So I just won’t follow them,
They make writing all dry and stiff,
Tasteless Weither it be bitter or sweet,
“Flaws”,
“Mistakes”,
“Sloppy and disorganized”,
That’s how humans are just like,
Just like my poetry and writing style,
Humming my toon as I walk and dance,
You start to notice when you read my work,
Its the Varry toon of someone living and experience,
Once you read this I hope you see,
I pray you hear shat I hear,
The stars of dreamers shining bright,
The cries of the appressed by oppressor',
My style,
My technique,
My varry existence,
MY SHINING SOUL,
It can be mocked and talked down to,
It can be broken down by oppressors,
But even so I’ll write till my last word,
I’ll write till the name Dragonstar means something,
Until my style less style becomes a statement.
Until my toon is Hurd and Agknolaged.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
,
The voices that carried on the wind said Come
Broken soul for whatever the reason. The man
Wasn't paying attention to where he was going
When he came upon the lamp lighted wooden
Staircase.
Climb. Come to the harvest feast. Where you will
Be our special guest.
Stop! Think! Listen to reason before you take
That first step up on to that base
For each step you take will erase
Everything about you. Really! You jest.
The voices that carried on the wind said Come
Broken soul for whatever the reason. The man
Wasn't paying attention to where he was going
When he came upon the lamp lighted wooden
Staircase.
There's a lot more to this than meets the eye. You
Have thought this through have you? Let's see if
You leave who will remember your face?
When someone mentions your name who will
Show any interest?
Stop! Think! Listen to reason before you take
That first step up on to that base.
If you take it you won't be in any one's data base.
Who talked to you? Did you hear anyone who was
Putting up a protest?
The voices that carried on the wind said Come
Broken soul for whatever the reason. The man
Wasn't paying attention to where he was going
When he came upon the lamp lighted wooden
Staircase.
Soon you will be out of this place.
Why are you distressed?
Stop! Think! Listen to reason before you take
That first step up on to that base.
Why do you tarry? Isn't this what you wanted
Not to leave a trace of yourself on the human
Race?
Check your mind. You'll see you were never
Second best.
The voices that carried on the wind said Come
Broken soul for whatever the reason. The man
Wasn't paying attention to where he was going
When he came upon the lamp lighted wooden
Staircase.
As he turned away the voices that carried said
We are glad and so are your loved ones that you
Thought before you took that first step up on to
That base.
In the belly of Enugu’s coal-dark earth,
Men toiled beneath for all they were worth.
Sweat and silence, pickaxe and pain,
Digging riches, yet bound by chain.
No crown they wore, though kings they stood,
Their hands were scarred, their hearts were good.
But when they rose with voices loud,
The empire answered with gun and shroud.
November wept in forty-nine,
As rifles cracked a crimson line.
Twenty-one fell, dreams undone,
Beneath the unforgiving sun.
They asked for bread, were given lead,
By those whose flags in silence bled.
Their only crime? To dare to stand,
For justice on their native land.
The coal was black, but deeper still,
Was British greed and iron will.
Yet from that grave, a fire grew,
A cry for freedom, strong and true.
Oh Iva Valley, sacred ground,
Where martyr’s blood still speaks profound.
Not just a tale of loss and dust,
But how the broken found their trust.
Their names may fade from pages read,
But history walks where they once bled.
And every step toward liberty’s light
Was paved by those who dared to fight.
Wounded Earth
we did a big deal to destroy your dear earth
coming from a broken heart for you
letting you to melt in our quest of unending race
making you more sick and week
asking for forgiveness would be not enough
the damage is long long bigger
the trees mountains waters and air of you destroyed
bigger than the lenghts human greed
we have caused eminent damage unrepairable maybe
but have mercy on us
as we are children of your green womb
care for us still we are the piece of you
still we have for forgiveness
from our wounded earth
as want to repent for our deeds
from our melting hearts
forgive your children for the forbidden deeds
the surface of yours is not green now
the scars are deep and arid
still your children seeks mercy from you
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deep n cold, dark, jaded sky, cobalt
dirty clouds, rushing, tumbling pass
beneath broken trees, skeletons reach
each swim n sway scratching the sky
they dance n twirl, nightmares
silhouetted in hot light, strobes
quick blazes flare out into the night
leaving silhouettes burned in optics
in cones n rods, as neurons fire
the storm comes, thunder stumbles
distant rumbles cuts through
the silence, dark n deep, infinite
images echo, light refracts
shadows reflect, crisscross
an angry, threatening sky
the earthquakes in defiance
under a bruised firmament
tree limbs sway like skeleton dance
under the scorched heavens
that wake the electric divine
thunder drums as the storms come.
Two little girls on their way home
One got caught by a grin
The rejected, walked home, alone
While pretty and fast entered sin
A father and son sit at a table
Son is drinking his steal
When confronted with the fact
Money couldn't fix the "reel"
Never home to take up slack
Always at work, serving time
The family fears that the pull of power
Makes him tow the line
So much fun to be enjoyed
Yet she is constantly ducking out
The track marks on her arm
Are strewn about
....a broken body
Don't lie, steal or cheat
That's the rules he preaches
But behind closed doors
Little children believe action teaches
.....deception
Over in the corner
Hunkered in a huddled mass
Is a grown women
Marking her arms with shards of glass
...to bleed
OUT.....OUT I SAY!!!!
.......shhhhhhhhhh!
There is sound...in the back
Be silent so I can hear
The subliminal messages
That regulate my fear
What do I believe about self
And how did I come to take it to heart
I believe I'm ugly, stupid, of no value
..........hopeless
Good things come to others
The ones who have the special gift
Me, I've learned on a fault line
Always on THIS side of the rift
Void, empty, dark, unwanted
This world is cruel and unyielding
But I am no COWARD
Grief has brought me to building
.......a river out of my sorrow
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-26-2019
Note: Until our say and our do match up, subliminal messages put us in a position to be torn asunder. May we work, moment by moment, to hear the lies, compare them to truth, and take back our personal power to be who LOVE has made us to be.
It was twenty years ago
Yet it seem like yesterday
Since you got me this book
Sure I was starting
to show signs of a teenager
At first a dairy was a novelty
But days of my life was not quite
Of what I had in mind
I'm not that naïve
I was just out to find
the better side of me
I was growing into a man
Taking part in life
And dealing with these wheels
As a teenager with a disability
I was looking for a job at a local petrol station
The manager there he looked at me
He asked me what can you do?
I replied admin anything
He said nah
He send me away with fifty rands
I was disgruntled and went away
That was twenty years ago today
Later I took a chance and change the way of life
This year is like I'm losing in everything
Is like pushing
yourself through loose sand
With a wheelchair
Your only focus is to get out
No one like to be stuck
It's a survival instinct
As for me
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
And I am still right here
The book I asked you
I never gave it a second thought
But now it look like what a lot I got
So much time
So much pain
The book is all I ever had
It's all I ever need
It is always been there
Every poem
Every page
Sometimes something
so broken can never be fixed
But you always build it better
Second time around
I refuse to cease writing these words
though all my bones have been broken
splintered and shattered
like puzzle pieces
scattered on a tabletop
their pointy ends piercing
every muscle each time I move
even an iota
I persist as I always do
despite the pain
perhaps because of it
to prove a point
taping popsicle sticks to my fingers
so they stay straight as I type
“Obstinate, stubborn”
my mother used to say
when I dared to disagree
or stand up for myself
Her insults like a high pitched
whistle blown inches from my ear
echoing in my malleable young mind
a cavern creating stalagmites
layer upon layer
with the constant drip-drip of disdain
sharp and spiky that would impale me
over the years yet to come