Long Cadavers Poems
Long Cadavers Poems. Below are the most popular long Cadavers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cadavers poems by poem length and keyword.
Who would’ve Thought,
After being impaled by the spear of a lost love,
I’d still stagger on through life’s emergency doors
Though desperate for a heart thrombectomy
Paging Dr. Burke to perform mitral valve replacement,
With nothing but exit wounds & severed limbs
Who would’ve Fathomed,
After being shot by the 9mm of lost hope,
I’d still fight through those steel gates of survival
Though nurses screamed “GSW to the head!”
Paging Dr. McDreamy to attend to that ballistic chasm,
Still I made it past those exit wounds & severed limbs
Who would’ve Heeded,
After being sliced open by a 10 blade of deceit,
I’d still march forward towards the victor’s village
Though on the verge of bleeding out love
Paging ‘The Nazi’ to retract and source these bleeders,
I sailed through those sore exit wounds & severed limbs
Who would’ve Comprehended,
After being dismembered by a bone saw of hatred,
I’d still love thy enemies as He commanded me
Though lying comatose like an array of cadavers
Paging Dr. Torres to re-attach these limbs with love,
Love indeed conquered those exit wounds & severed limbs
Who would’ve Believed,
After all the anguish, pain, tears, blood and sweat,
I’d still kneel before His Glorious Throne praying for you
Though we are still to meet I fervently pray still
That you will be enough for me and I for you,
That I will be bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh
That we will carry each other in our spirits for eternity
A love that knows no bounds,
Flows in and out of time,
That Shakespeare kind of love,
All for the Glory of our Jehovah Rapha
The Lord who truly healed those exit wounds & severed limbs
ERASE me from your memory.
DELETE the messages sent.
TOSS OUT my things,
THROW AWAY this life,
DITCH me at dawn, leaving me to the shadows.
BURN my pictures,
BURY the frames,
RID yourself of me-
Sealing me in the vault of your subconscious.
SUFFOCATE myself to sleep,
DRIFT AWAY into the NIGHTMARES
transforming into unsung lullabies.
WILTED while alive,
LIVING while dead,
a magician's box without illusions, only silence-
ABRA cadavers into this soul.
Fish swim in water
while drowning in our air.
Toxic people, nuclear hearts that leak poison.
Death comes swiftly,
quietly in the night.
Distinct tones paint our skins,
eyes per chance not set the same.
Strange sounds oft gush forth
As we tongue another's name.
Differing tenets fill our heads,
Our origin is sundry places.
Yet in these times of crises,
Americans, having divergent faces.
I'm indebted to the heroes,
To God and country in which I live.
For those who grieve our fallen,
For still others, who unselfishly give?
Today as I survey old glory,
flying at half-mast a sky.
I observe black billowing smoke,
'Amongst a dampened eye
As I consider Cadavers yet unfound,
Neath terrorist strewn debris.
I know our world will not exist,
As previously seen by me.
Millions of people from China’s homeland
Were shocked and torn that the Great Law was banned
They faithfully and peacefully pleaded for appeal
But Zemin was bound their beliefs he would steal
Great numbers of practitioners held tight to their beliefs
As they were beaten, brainwashed and tortured by police
Their suffering and pain were peacefully endured
The persecutors were baffled; but their jobs were secured
Millions of families broken from Zemin’s hate
Some fled to tell the world of their cruel fate
But hate propaganda was spread through the world
The stage controlled for the media to hurl
The lies hidden behind economics and free trade
Concealed by deception and the sinful acts made
The evil specter lurked in a horrific way
Multitudes of deaths in prison camps each day
Practitioners worldwide continuously appealed
Clarifying the truth that the persecution is real
But truth was rejected, censored, declined
It’s too horrific to report when profit toed the line.
In USA, 2000, The Epoch Times was born
9 ping was published to subdue the storm
“Nine Commentaries on the Communist Party” did start
Hordes of resignations, the CCPs collapse was marked’’
Human body plastination, China’s 2004 nightmare
Dalian Hoffen, had prisoners of conscience to spare
Sui Hongjin contorted Cadavers to display
Bo Xilai was the Governor, directing evil dismay
A broad Kilgour, Matas and Gutmann’s evidence grew
“A new form of evil on earth” was true
2006 live organ harvesting was revealed
Prisons and hospitals, had body parts to steal
My autopsy room is a confessional,
where killers in absentia divulge
their sins through bodies
rigid and frigid, mutilated and mute.
Graffiti of abrasions, contusions and lacerations
reenact without deceit or reservations
a catalogue of perversions and violations.
Rage, hatred, greed, jealousy, sickness
explode and leave behind vandalized anatomies,
a *********** of naked emotions
in the topography of vacated husks.
Silently, they talk.
With my eyes, I listen.
They confide in me about themselves too,
these chatty cadavers,
about their public faces and private hell.
Tattoos speak of loves and obsessions,
silicone breasts betray insecurities,
medications reveal internal insurgencies,
needle marks give away muffled screams,
cirrhosis lets on alcoholic dreams.
A hundred foibles preserved by the
candor of rigor mortis,
each corpse an abridged,
unfinished biography.
By the end of their final confessions, the departed
have parted with their burdens of secrets.
In death much more than in life,
there is honesty.
Still, I take comfort in the lies of the living.
With lank longish hair, of virtue most spare
Hollow cheeked, with joints that creak..An elderly evil proponent of deaths i see there is a reek a pungence of cadavers in such abundance, he knows not where he has buried children a'plenty Grandfathers their
Wives, but then for satan he strives.' He must at least rank as a liutennant skull and
Cross bones on his pennant, a trace of accord..He has trodden the boards floors he is invisible on the black squares.' And will never give up his share.' He mooted for
Guvenor of Gaza, no other i dare could
Show such brass neck.' Of tony blair, who will
Be, no doubt? flexing his ropey old pecs.'
"A Cemetery Tale "
I stay away from the cemetery at night for that is where he lives
I call him the Demon head, and he has horns of alabaster calcite
every time I visit my friend's grave, I always break out in hives
cuz he is always there shedding his horns, all through the night
I light my lantern and walk with a mask on in case he's hiding
bidding my time I smoke a cig or too, and wait for the daylight
he never comes around here, behind the aluminum siding
when dawn finally arrives, I am free from his kryptonite
Dancing pumpkins, roiling breath of cadavers and body rots
deadly snakes and big fat bats that fly into cracked empty pots
Demon head with all his rotting diplomats cannot shed fear
when it comes to the likes of him, well I stay clear.....
I stay away from cemeteries and Demon's with horns of calcite
cuz when they shed, the hives begin to itch with all their might.
October 11, 2021
you’re not the one leaving me
it’s just that this summer has turned
its back on us
yesterday
we were chasing each other on
gravel,
the rocks nicking our feet
through the thin fabric of
flimsy sandals
small
jagged
cadavers
scattered across
opaque
glass,
and when our wrists collided,
I saw
two
copper
coins
coalescing
today
I wandered outside
dragged my heels
against the skin of
the road,
the sun
hanging on a pole,
tell me I survived
someone
tell me I survived
loving you
this–
saffron leather pearl freckles
mauve eyeliner sangria raisin
liquorice taffy sunflower shard,
in no particular order
just this, just this
cherry balm dainty petals
the ache, the want
the something
I could never have
imagine this, imagine
you walk into the water
limpid satin
the beach, the sea
evanescent,
and you’re afraid you’ll make it worse if
you swallow this dry
the urge, the wait
you tried and you’re tired
his eyes, his voice
aurora,
and all you can say is
love, lover
don’t you know
that I would cut myself in half
dig two graves,
and lie in them both
just to say
that I died next to you?
but you don’t,
not really
your nose is
under the water;
your mouth
has drowned.
In Hades flows a Stygian river
of sorrows—a river of great despair!
It's a spiritual death that we all share
that napalms our lives and rots our liver.
Beware! Its undercurrent of dire doom
drowns us with heartless joy—it does not care,
and burdens us with more than we can bear.
We're like cadavers in a cold, stone tomb
from which can be felt and heard the death knell
where heaven is laid waste and God is dead,
as if we’re just a breath away from hell.
Here, where living souls dare not swim or tread,
we are like phantoms—like ghosts in a shell.
Yet, we fear not hell. But despair we dread!
Snickers across the room,
holding as much weight as the finger food left sitting on each plate.
Another disruption, not clear in instruction.
Wilting while alive, living somehow dead.
Abra-cadavers — a magician’s box left unattended.
The editor’s sticky note writes:
“We do not recommend it.”
Words of advice: you might want to resend it.
Resend as in once more, in case the message was lost?
Or resending by undoing words spoken, fearing yet another loss.
Those who choose to live the life of two,
in the light and in the dark,
needing a fix
before, during, and after the storm hits.
The ones He found seem lost once more.
There is one thing
peaks and valleys share in common:
In solitude, I find relief.
Led by a light into total dark,
piercing two-faced energies
toward no ill-intended heart.
Though the frame remains crooked while hanging from the wall,
the picture’s memory becomes a symbol
of a wall still standing tall.
Remember why you left,
leaving what you left behind.
Static volume at the max
while walking that fine-drawn line.
The sun now sets to dusk once more,
carrying the shadows from the day.
As night falls, they begin to stalk me,
as a lion does its prey.