Long Damage Poems
Long Damage Poems. Below are the most popular long Damage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Damage poems by poem length and keyword.
Tell me what does it mean to be free?
I find myself not free but locked up in a creation that desires... creation! Freedom is not just to move beyond the walls of confinement. The walls of confinement are not just of mortar, brick, iron or wood. These walls that confine this creation are more than just walls of flesh. These walls are walls of idealism and ignorance. These walls are reinforced not by bone and marrow. But, these walls are reinforced by the unknown. For if it was known then the freedom of this creation would pass beyond the strings of entanglement and would fly to the greatest height and to the lowest depth. This creation would endeavor to dream and create. This creation would move freely from realm to realm and would be a part of the greatness that created it...
The glass of images is just a mere reflection of creation. Images are reflected from the ice of hatred. Images are reflected from the heat of illusions. Images are created from pain, sorrow and defeat, and yet, images are created from victory.
How the heart is smothered in the sorrow of defeat... Yet, the mind soars as if freedom is the energy that propels the heaviest soul. Tell me again, what is freedom? Adventure is the glow that shines from lucid eyes not hindered by life taught.
Life taught? Walls are made from experience, from damage, from the hurt of another creation. A child. A new life. A beginning fresh and untouched by creation. Adventure seen through the eyes of a child... freedom from entanglement, freedom from illusion and images.
The prison begins it's walls of confinement as each day becomes weeks and months. The walls become stronger and impenetrable as the years go by and turn quietly into decades. Hardening of the mortar brings a numbness that reaches beyond the tenderness of kindness. This hardening grows colder as the eyes no longer are lucid. There is no fear in this state of prison... Nothing can tear down these walls of confinement. Nothing!
Yet a sparkle of remembrance goes unnoticed as a new life begins and thoughts of freedom start a crack in the walls of a hardened fortress. As a bubbling brook in spring cracks the ice of a cold winter, a heart begins once again to search for the freedom that will bring to life the adventure that no image of defeat or sorrow could ever again mire the soul...
Tell me... what is freedom?
Pernell Rodocker 8/19/13
Robert Sherriff 08/07/1954 - Australian - Poet -Author - Singer - Actor - American Historian – Photographer
The Rising Tide of Cyber Warfare and Military Robotics
Robotics - Ex-Machina In the evolving landscape of modern warfare, cyber warfare and military robotics have emerged as pivotal elements reshaping global conflict dynamics. From covert cyber operations to autonomous drones patrolling warzones, these technologies redefine military strategies and geopolitical alignments. They said it all started at Westworld.
The Role of Cyber
Warfare in Modern Conflicts Cyber Warfare as a Strategic Asset - Inception Cyber warfare has transcended its initial role as a supplementary tactic to become a core component of military strategy. It enables state and non-state actors to achieve strategic objectives without deploying traditional military forces.
Through cyber espionage, denial-of-service attacks, and misinformation campaigns, nations can disrupt adversaries' operations, weaken their economies, and influence political outcomes, often without firing a single shot.
Case Study: Stuxnet or Sky-Net
One of the most notable examples of cyber warfare is the Stuxnet worm, a sophisticated malware that targets Iran's nuclear facilities. This cyber-attack, attributed to the United States and Israel, demonstrated the potential of cyber weapons to inflict physical damage on critical infrastructure, highlighting the strategic value of cyber capabilities in modern conflict.
Implications for Global Conflicts Cyber warfare's asymmetric nature allows smaller nations or groups to challenge superpowers, shifting the balance of power and introducing new uncertainties in international relations. The blurred lines between cyber actions and conventional warfare complicate responses and escalate tensions, increasing the risk of unintended consequences.
The Evolution of Military Robotics and Autonomous Systems - I, Robot
Advancements in Military Robotics The rapid advancement of military robotics, including drones and autonomous vehicles, is transforming the battlefield.
These systems enhance operational efficiency, reduce human casualties, and allow new tactical possibilities. For instance, drones provide real-time intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) capabilities, while autonomous ground vehicles support logistics and combat operations.
I behold the rose in bloom, and I cry,
I weep and I wail, then I sigh.
As the night draws in, my painful thoughts begin to wake,
I retreat into my mind and with fear I do shake.
Your clammy hand on my neck, your touch just like lead,
I close my eyes so you will go, you bury further in my bed.
I know I’m worthless, but please do not hurt,
And I try not to scream as you begin to insert.
The deed almost done, your sneer of disgust,
Your toes curl as we prepare for the final thrust.
You roar with delight, I exhale with relief,
My virginity now taken by a wretched old thief.
The memory still haunts, and the damage goes on,
I unravel the silk cloth that my knife lays upon.
Slowly but surely destruction is on its way,
I fear for my soul, but my body must pay.
Anticipation takes hold, and the blade does its work,
I press firmly down, blood appears with a jerk.
Is this the pleasure I've longed to have?
And a voice deep within screams "YES! ONE MORE JAB".
I am so frail, my young flesh so weak,
I can not go on, for my virginity he did seek.
The cold steel blade tattoos my white maiden flesh,
And the untouched skin becomes like wheat for the thresh.
I must abate, I must restrain,
This is the only way I mask the pain.
My eyes glaze over, my body feels weightless,
Each stroke is a prayer, and every cut a caress.
The guests have arrived, my relief has been fleeting,
He stands there staring, my heart is beating.
He looks at me inquisitively, mouth gaping,
And my mother knows not that her brother likes raping.
His gaze upon me, I'm his gift to unwrap,
He would rip me open and toss me like scrap.
I wish he would vanish and leave me in peace,
But his lust won’t be sated, and on me he would feast.
My legs are so withered, and my wheelchair’s a cage,
I wish that man in the Skoda didn’t have road rage.
I guess I should be grateful I can’t feel a thing,
But my mind is alive and every inch of him stings.
He gives me a present and pretends to be nice,
But don’t be fooled, it comes at a price.
He wheels me outside for a fresh of breath air,
When no one is watching he sniffs at my hair.
I wish I could lash out with my thin spastic legs,
But they are as useful as ice-cube clothes pegs.
I hope my diary doesn’t land in the wrong hands,
And if you’re reading this now then I’ve suck-cummed to his plans.
- Anonce
I was a classic 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air, in mint condition, admiral and white.
My owner had other beautiful, classic cars, like stars sparkling into twilight.
My owner loved his old cars, saying 'they don't make them like they used to;'
And I enjoyed getting out upon the open road, to show him what I could do.
My fellow cars and I saw lots of sunny days, in bliss freedom of the flowers,
Traveling the length and breadth of this land, in the clasp of jeweled hours.
Flighty friends and I recalled 'good old days,' in rosy sunset times of finally,
Laughing and talking our memories in darkness, as moon shone, indefinably.
Forever friends were like feeling family, in the floral days of fuchsia's reign;
When flitting, green butterflies fanned for long, and falcons flew like a train.
I lived in the house of pleasant shadows, which didn't have many windows;
For it was one huge room without a view, like a path without the primrose.
Sparkling summer sauntered in silently, creating such scenes on my street!
Silken clouds roamed, when Sam ran his errands. Traveling was ever a treat.
Neighbors made admiring noises about me, going off on rides in neon night.
We cars were the toast of the neighborhood, nice nostalgia, in a golden light!
Clown orchids had ceased performing, in gone days of purple, beard orchids.
Now their summer relative had the holy ghost, like bliss from many sources.
Mask flowers held beautiful mystery, in alluring hues of pink, cream and red;
Like sweet secrets of moonlit shadows, and violet dreams after going to bed.
Once, Sam and I were cruising Sunset Highway, for it was my turn that day;
While dear friends waited in the cool, quiet of home, for their chance to play.
I felt a sudden impact on my left, and I knew I was hurt! There was damage;
But if not for Sam's expert driving, we might not have been able to manage!
This had happened to me times before. Such is to be expected in a long life.
As ever, friend Sam was my Superman, my mechanic in times of cruel strife.
My convalescence didn't seem so long, as I laughed about old days with pals.
When streets were not very busy, and many listened to front porch musicales.
For we were darling, daring trailblazers, quaint old paving way for all modern,
Leaving lingering feelings of fond nostalgia, like lovely fall leaves which yearn!
The interrogation threatens to shudder like an earthquake
A long index of accusations spread out among the atmosphere like a blazing forest fire
Satisfaction, the officer and venomous umbrage, the criminal
Self-appreciation, the quiescent defense attorney with no right to be there
Misery, the boisterous dauntless prosecutor
The months of the annual calendar, the jury
Pain, the almighty judge
It’s a court case already divested from the defendant
Why should it not
Bother, why bother
Its past the millionth time in 216 divided by the jury
Satisfaction has seen countless rewards of capturing umbrage
Satisfaction has felt the boundless benevolence of glory
And foaming at the mouth, glowering with muffled respected fury
Sits umbrage, staring out blurred vision
Victimized in his own apperception
What’s the cost, the damage total; what has befell, befell reality
The anathema of fate or rather the favored affliction of fortune’s fool
Within a realm of possibility it may perceive to be both
A pebble laced with a thread thrown into grass only miles away
To be reeled right back in like a helpless fish on a line
The audacity, the audacity; oh just hush
Silence is golden and this silence is benevolent
Joy was once prevalent in the company of such disgrace umbrage reigned
Together they were serenity, a mixed graceful period of harmony
Such a song sung by dual owls in the presence of the lightened darkness of night
(sigh) …I can’t do this anymore
Make a world, create a story peacefully
Creating a plot circulating, tip-toeing around the issues placing bait in front of my eyes for me to take
What is wrong with me, my life
One word, a sharp enough blade to stab in the ankle to slaughter Achilles
In this case, me
The poet’s banishment, scourge creating a series of nine lashes
Still runs deep, refuses cessation
Proceeds to feed on every ounce of merriment to permeate through the cracks
Melancholy has produced to invade back in
What’s the cause this time for it to attack
A few simple words, reflection, swift defiance
the bruises upon the right appendage whispering, begging for more scars
FOR WHAT? ! ? ! ? ! ? !
Forget it….it’s nothing
Satisfaction has pardoned me, set me free
Umbrage, my twin has taken over me
To another bridge, we sit and sulk over a failed attempt at flight
Cause we willingly defy the right to say goodnight
thank you. thank you for finally leaving. it's been 7 years now that i have had to put up with your abusive and toxic habits. that i've had to deal with you adding to my emotional trauma every single day. that i've had to repress my feelings to accommodate yours. that i've had to act like something isn't bothering me when you're talking about your issues that are "far worse than mine". that i've had to leave my comfort zone and be a person i don't like so that you wouldn't leave. that i've had to be okay with being interrupted so you could talk about yourself. so you could brag about how much greater or worse your life is than mine, whichever fit the situation. that i've had to believe your lies and defend you when i know you're wrong. that i've had to look like a bad person for supporting you.
because i was.
you made me a bad person. you made me into a person that i've grown to hate. i am finally released and trying to love the person i left behind. before our friendship, i was a sweet, innocent, caring 8 year old girl. you ruined me. you took my innocence. i remember lying in my floor from "bedtime" to 6 AM doing things that no 8 year olds should. Watching scary movies that still haunt me and discovering “omegle”. i remember in 8th grade when i opened up to you about the girl you left behind when you moved, the girl that you broke. i opened up to you about my sexuality and my depression, and you brushed it off because you had it worse. "oh, you were depressed? that’s okay because my dad hit me". not that abuse isn't awful, but i have feelings too. and since that day i learned to never find myself important because to you, i wasn’t. you showed me that no matter how hurt i was, you had it worse. that no matter how good i had it, you had it better. you always had to one up me like trauma is a competition.
i am damaged. you broke me. i can’t even begin to describe the issues i will hold for the rest of my life. this trauma will never be fixed. i can’t undo your damage, no one can. do you even realize? do you even care? i am a real human being that you f*cked up. how does that sit right with you? how do you have the nerve to act like I’m the bad guy? i will never understand how you don’t even care about a real human life that you ruined.
but i guess that’s the difference between you and i.
( lowercase intended )
-m. macleish
Little Miss Poet, Sat at her computer, typing the morning away.
Along came a spider, climbed down her screen, and frightened Miss Poet away.
Little Miss Poet, fell on her duff, as she tripped, backwards over the dog.
When she got up, the spider was smart, and ran into the keyboard.
Low and behold, the fly swatter wouldn’t work, for the spider was safely below.
The spider peaked out, eyeing her as if in a huff, as Miss Poet jumped up and down.
With murderous intent, she flipped over the keyboard, and bounced it up and down.
Just at this point, the spider jumped out and scurried, with his life in his hands.
But the damage was done, the keyboard was unplugged, and terror reigned again.
Little Miss Poet, would have to crawl under the desk, to where the wires began.
There was no doubt, she’d switch to wireless now, but here that was a mute point.
She knew the spider was there, but hidden somewhere, in the stuff on top of her desk.
Little Miss Poet, crawled under the desk, checking and fixing, every wire and plug.
When she came out, there was no spider about, so both relief and worry set in.
As Little Miss Poet, looked down and around, the spider appeared on her arm.
With a scream and a jump, she flicked him off, and tripped over her chair this time.
Unfortunately for this one, the problem wasn’t done, so she attacked jumping forth.
The spider jumped free, but her toe was in need, as her foot connected with the desk.
A few words were uttered, as she jumped around, with foot held high in the air.
Broken toe or not, she vowed to get that snot, so she shouted for her hubby’s help.
He was down stairs, with the trolls you know, and couldn’t seem to come up.
So she swatted with flair, as the spider jumped back, yes, into the keyboard.
At that moment, a Troll walked by with a club , and decided to help her out.
Everything smashed, the problem solved, she sat down at her sons’ computer spot.
Tears in her eyes, at her computers demise, Poor Little Miss Poet, began to write.
This computer was next, to the one from before, and the spider was there, again!
Yep, you guessed, in the keyboard he sat, staring and more pissed than ever before.
The moral my friend, is that you can’t always win, even on a peaceful, beautiful morn.
Little Miss Poet, finally limped away, retreat was the better answer, by far.
PS. This happened, without the Troll, of course.
You can't imagine what its like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' promise to Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor, wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scriptures and stone with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissention, inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview, methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty, we were Legio XV Apollonaris,
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo, the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other Legions led by General Titus, 60, 000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through Jewish guerilla ambush
asymetrical urban warfare welting our progress like a pirate pestilence
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacraficers, their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets " knee high " with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery, a torch was tossed, flames rose in rush
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box, our grief agape with a horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man aware of error in his plan,
the insurgents had men we called Fox Tails, desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number they would run into apartments,
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge, these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos, screams salting us with panic linger,
It was not uncommon to discover a missing Brother Legionary
castrated, and decapitated with a headedless eagle carved upon his chest,
don't speak to me about morals and mercy for I have seen and dealt the damage of rude death
hate becomes your Father, vengence your Mother, aggravated murder your cause
when everything you revere and fear merge to make a leviathen of life,
the " Chosen People " of God became the chosen target of annihilation,
Mount Moriah, mansion of Yahweh the Pariah would become capital of Divine crucifixion,
J.A.B.
This poem has been entered into the Roman Legion Contest
to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsored this historical subject.
Our dear leader
Our favorite President
President Trump
Once again
Interjected himself
Into areas that he knows nothing about
Making a fool of himself
In the process
Why does he do this?
Time after time
Talking nonsense
It is because
He is the smartest man
In the universe
Knows more than anyone else
And so he feels
He has to comment
On everything
Under the sun
And then some more
Even when he
Does not know
What he is talking about
So painful to watch such a fool
Mark Twain had sage advice
If you want people to think
You are a fool
Open your mouth
and remove all doubt
In the midst
Of the devastating Paris Norte Dame Fire
He tweeted
“So horrible to watch the massive fire
at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris,”
“Perhaps flying water tankers
could be used to put it out.
Must act quickly!”
Later, Mr. Obvious noted,
They’re having a terrible,
terrible fire,”
Mr Trump later told reporters.
“It looks like it’s burning to the ground.”
The French were not amused
By the unwanted advice
By the fire fighter in chief
France’s civil defense agency,
Sécurité Civile, tweeted —
once in French
and once in English
— less than two hours after Mr Trump
sent his tweet
and appeared
to directly respond to the US president.
“Helicopter or aeroplane,
the weight of the water
and the intensity of the drop
at low altitude
could indeed weaken
the structure of Notre Dame
and result in collateral damage
to the buildings in the vicinity,”
the agency wrote in French.
And despite never posting updates in English,
the agency then sent out a second tweet.
Hundreds of firemen of the Paris Fire Brigade are doing everything they can to bring the terrible #NotreDame fire under control. All means are being used, except for water-bombing aircrafts which, if used, could lead to the collapse of the entire structure of the cathedral.
— Sécurité Civile Fr (@SecCivileFrance) April 15, 2019
And the French provided
This helpful advice
To the Fire Fighter in chief
When California burned
you did not seem to be a fire expert.
Please, shut up.
It is a tragic moment
for the cultural heritage of humanity.
april 17 poem for April Month of Poetry Challenge see Writers Digest, All Poetry and my blog, https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com for the rest
Have they heard
The flutter of bright wings
The birds are too scared to sing
All the crumbles
Of leaves on the trees
When it’s not fall has everyone wondering
Why is the world deciding to fall
Why are there many wings at every call
Why is all greenery dead as can be
It could only be one thing
The poison butterflies
Gliding through the skies
Finding what it takes to survive
The poison butterflies
Using the supply
Planning to do so much damage in so little time
Those poison butterflies
Have they heard
The crops are all dying
The children are crying
No matter the place
Mothers say
“My dears please don’t worry
We might not last long anyway”
Why is the world deciding to fall
Why won’t the leaders do anything at all
Why are people so blind to the beauty
It could only be one thing
The poison butterflies
Conquering the skies
Doing what it takes to survive
The poison butterflies
Staining the supply
Ready to do so much damage in so little time
Those poison butterflies
No one is safe from the terror of wings
Having more power than a thousand stings
Appearing so pretty but doing much harm
Escaping without any threat and alarm
Beware of the butterflies taking the skies
Close all the windows and leave places where they lie
They fly on flowers to ruin their core
Their contact on common folk bruises and spores
Everything’s died to the poison butterflies
Nothing left for the poison butterflies
The poison butterflies
Conquered the skies
Did what it took to survive
The poison butterflies
Spoiled the supply
Learned how to do so much damage in so little time
Those poison butterflies
Have they heard
The butterflies rule everything
Treat them like the most fearful of kings
Mothers say
“Dears, the world’s not as you know it
But we’ll have to learn that it is okay.”
When life as one knows it
Will be shattered and broken
It could be unspoken
To forget all the tokens
When nature conspires
People are not wired
To gather all that’s ruined and start their own fire
A entirely submissive herd
With so much to learn
But no time remains
They are all stuck in pain
Too afraid of what they could burn
So now and forever
The world is in the reign of those who
Knew how to fly
Conquered the skies
Did all they could to destroy earth in so little time
Those poison butterflies