Long Cry for help Poems
Long Cry for help Poems. Below are the most popular long Cry for help by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cry for help poems by poem length and keyword.
First Flight
Cedarwood frame and canvas kite,
Made at home with purpose flight.
Blustery day on pastured ground,
Early reluctance now skyward bound.
The tug is strong and pulling hand,
Resilient aircraft takes command.
My feet have risen from their base,
Clasping tight, wind in my face.
Physics dictate this cannot be,
Two metres off the ground maybe three.
Release the strings ‘fore it’s too late,
Holding on might seal my fate.
I should have bailed at first chance,
Rising 100 feet in an ariel dance.
Drop into the reservoir down below,
But cannot swim so that’s a no.
Southwest zephyr increasing pace,
Could I disappear to outer space.
Green fields and river fleeting by,
Farmyard cattle greeting hi.
Sailing onwards summer breeze,
Over houses and oakwood trees.
Relaxed and tranquil is my mind,
Meandering lanes of privet lined.
Outcry voices “come down you fool”
Hullabaloo aside St Joseph school.
No strategy placed how I might land,
Safety first I hadn’t planned.
Crashed near summit Pendle Hill,
Slightly bruised but breathing still.
Box kite broken beyond repair,
Its final flight ends in despair.
On reflection perhaps a dream
A cry for help or inward scream
A lot depends how you perceive.
Personally, this experience I believe.
Imagine you’re alone and there’s nobody who cares
everyone disrespects and treats you unfair
you’re emotionally crushed
living a nightmare
slandered and helpless
no one anywhere
Now imagine you’re accused
of making up stories too
tales for attention overused
so nobody comes through
Bosses bullied now you’re sacked
losing all your friends at work
your friends still believe it’s all crap
can’t explain you going berserk
Now imagine you’re accused
of making up stories too
tales for attention overused
so nobody comes through
Unaware you loved working that job
unaware you were targeted by the boss
months you suffered while friends scoffed
still unaware of what you lost
Now imagine you’re accused
of making up stories too
tales for attention overused
so nobody comes through
I screamed out a cry for help
which nobody took serious
and there I was stuck in hell
ahead of me disastrous
Now imagine you’re accused
of making up stories too
tales for attention overused
so nobody comes through
In their refusal was disrespect
a “usual” annoyance
my cry a cry they expect
a useless nuisance
Now imagine you’re accused
of making up stories too
tales for attention overused
so nobody comes through
My friends this says a lot about me
and everything about you
realised eventually what did you do
made out that you were loyal and true
..... and I just went funny one day,
you’re the victim accused in this poem
bad things about you that I say
a lack of love is all I’m knowing
my whole life this way
Now imagine you’re accused
of making up stories too
tales for attention overused
so nobody comes through
That story you tell of me has surprises
I nicked your bike but I was in Cyprus
saying I’m the one a storyteller
I’m the image in your mirror
Now accuse me of stories too
cry and moan while someone comes through
deal with it like I could never do
then make out you’re the better man too.
To the reader imagining
now imagine you're not imagining
and this is your life
7/2/20
You're in life’s ocean for a swim
When waves of sadness come rolling in
Your whole world's been turned upside down
You're feeling like you're gonna drown.
You look around and all you see
Is miles and miles of deep blue sea
You cry for help, no one can hear
You reach out but no one's there.
You hold your breath as you roll with the waves
Determined this will not be your grave
You cry for help one more time
But it's no use- you're gonna die.
You sigh as you're pulled to the deep
You're falling into eternal sleep
You struggle to come up for air
And suddenly, there's someone there
They pull you up out of the water
And just like that, you're feeling better
For now, you know that you're ok
You lived to see another day.
My skin is a delicate porcelain.
Never used, and well taken care of because it is fragile.
Always on display because fragility is beautiful until it actually breaks.
One wrong move and it chips, followed by a crack then ends up shattering.
Lines to me are cracks in the beautiful porcelain I called my skin that used to hold me together.
The lines grew deeper with each one to become more visible.
A cry for help that nobody sees until it is too late.
Lines led me astray and out of touch with everything inside of me, teetering on the edge, my skin was set in motion
Begining to fall with no hope of being caught.
Catching me after I fell was pointless because by then I was already shattered.
The red rivers had already been drained.
I soon fell again and like humpty dumpty I couldn't be put together again.
Now I'm just broken, dropped one too many times because the lines grew too deep.
What thou shalt be wasted?
With the ship of sorrow harboured.
Like it gives thee an unexpected explosion,
And the heart of trauma and darkness is implanted.
It clouds into a season of bloodshed and pain,
But all thy life seems to be bludgeoned.
Tumbled into a canvas of time,
As thou shalt find a euphoric heart abused.
No description of fear was given,
With thy face bashed and muddied.
It shalt not be a publicized cry for help,
Nor shalt it be a dark horse murmured.
As a hard and stone-cold sadness torments thee,
And thy emotional feelings go unnoticed.
Memories would put thee in a chokehold,
And thy mutual senses are blurred.
Thou would find that thy pride is thy worst nightmare,
In thy skull is a slug that is slightly planted.
That, my friend, is a trauma that can drown in thy sorrows,
And it can get thee wasted.
I hate the verse, despise its embrace,
Yet, a poet I am, in this ironic space.
No, I genuinely loathe poetry's face,
It revolts within me, words of ignorance trace.
Yet, within its lines, a refuge I find,
A cry for help, within its words confined.
I drown, thoughts suffocate, breathing a chore,
Why don't you aid me? Can't you hear my uproar?
Shush now, cease your words, your thoughts, be still,
Just feel my essence, let understanding instill.
I reiterate, poetry, my disdain holds strong,
A pastime, senseless and dragging along.
See how I bore you? You yawn, look away,
"Such a bother," you think, as my verses sway.
Silence yourself, no talking, no thought,
Feel alone, sense me, let understanding be sought.
I say it again, the hate I bear,
A pointless endeavor, this poetic affair.
I hate poetry, an endless debate,
Yet, it tags me as dull, a misfit's fate.
"An adolescent, lacking sense," you remark,
Startled, yet impressed, a girl with a spark.
But the hatred persists, relentless and true,
As much as I love it, in my heart it grew.
Branded as boring, a nerd they portray,
For being a girl with thoughts, I dismay.
For I hate poetry, an unyielding plight,
As I despise being undervalued, a forgotten fight.
Poetry, a non-judgmental haven I wield,
Shield against a world that refuses to yield.
Better to be on the end
Of feckless bullying
Than to give into the virus
Of childish trolling
Because no 1 likes
When a hater triumphs
It's the 8th most deadly sin
And gives credence to those
No 1 should give a damn about
Because if they were to be ignored
Would anyone miss them ?
Would they not crawl back under
the rock they troll from
And god willing paper covers rock
And scissors cut through Bull Ship
Bullying comments
This is for the Members you forced to leave
By those who thrive on stirring mischief
Devoid of empathy
And human feelings
Jealousy is unbecoming
And is in fact
The greatest form of compliment
Because if you are worthy of trolling
You have obviously hit a nerve
Far more deserving
Than the wrath you may have incurred
And cuts deeper
Than their patent cry for help reply
As sticks and Stone's may break my bones
But your comments do not phase me
They merely raise pose more questions
Than sadly you provide answers
Throw a great feast and the world fills your halls,
Cry for help when disaster strikes and few will come;
For every man has enough pains and sorrows of his own
And none really cares about yours except your mum.
True friends are rarer than the choicest gold,
And enemies have perfected their pretense and guise;
They want to be closer to know your life well,
In order to plot your downfall and trim your rise.
So it’s up to you naive chap to learn how to live
In a world full of faked intimacies and crocodile tears,
And though you will never fully tell chums from your foes
You will have to distinguish honest from bogus cheers.
Pray that God protects you from enemies you can’t know
And be to all that need your help merciful and kind;
Ask for wisdom to know true friends from the faking hordes,
And be a friend yourself and a true friend you’ll find.
There are two types of people in this world,
some will say "a cry for help"
the rest are sly, selfish and cruel
they will say "a cry for attention"
they call it attention to them it's not real
only they suffer and only they feel
they will make you mentally ill
push you to suicide, in a way they kill
good people will see your struggle
gift you time and care and cuddles
they group with others in a huddle
and they will help you away from trouble
be aware of the words they use
if "attention" then see them removed
if "help" their good and true
and they are the ones you want with you
* i cried help and some said it was for attention,
it made me realise the selfish from the selfless.
it's in two words, they use one or the other
one person will say you cried out for help
another will say you cried out for attention
get rid of the people that call it attention,
they don't see that you need help,
they don't look at it as real
and they don't care and never will
The first drink is to calm the shakes
The second one to help erase
This retched life that I can't face
All because of my drinking days
The third one to take off the edge
The forth is more to help forget
All I said and all I did
When I downed that one drink left
The fifth makes me foolishly think I can
The sixth helps slur what words are left
Where all of this will end up at
Word to the wise, don't place your bets
The seventh turns into a cry for help
While the eighth one helps itself
On the ship that has set sail
Upon this demon liquids constant swell
After nine I can't remember why
Ten to see I'm legally blind
After all of this you would think I'd find
A better way to spend my time