Long Damaged Poems
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We always eulogize a child on his birth
We also eulogize a person on his death
On both occasions he is unable to appreciate the praise
At birth he is unable to understand the words
At death his ears are unresponsive to the sound
Why do we always say good things on these occasions?
Must we confine our eulogy only to these occasions?
A child doesn’t understand our words at the time of his birth
So it doesn’t matter whatever our words may sound
The logic isn’t the same for a person on his death
We have an innate fear that his spirit is hearing our words
We wish to impress the spirit by using words of praise
Why should we impress the spirit with words of praise?
There is a belief that the spirit will leave after such occasions
Some believe that the spirits are not influenced by words
Our fate after death depends on all our deeds after birth
All good deeds will be rewarded by the Creator after death
Fate is not decided on words irrespective of how it may sound
It is impossible to infer true feelings from how the words sound
We often pretend to please others by telling words of praise
These pretensions are useless when hearing ability ceases on death
But may be fruitful when spoken to others on different occasions
It is ineffective when the sense of hearing is undeveloped at birth
The generation of feelings depends upon how we express the words
Human relations depend on how we express our feelings in words.
Expressions, conveying different feelings, are said in a varying sound
The effectiveness is lost when conveyed to a child at birth
Damaged human relations can be repaired through words of praise
The appropriate expressions must be chosen to suit the occasion
Feelings and expressions must amalgamate in the occasion of death
One of the most solemn occasions in life is that of death
While expressing feelings we carefully select the words
The choice of words matches the vibes of the occasions
The speeches are characterized by a particular sound
On such occasions we forget our true feelings and praise
Ebullient feelings are aroused on the occasion of birth
The strength of a relationship is expressed by the identity of the sound
The effectiveness of the expressions rest on the choice of words
Alas! The only expressions a child has are cries at birth
Fierce fighting raged, but surprise was gone,
the Americans rallied and pushed hard,
the Indians fell back, out of the ravine,
the patriots driving them that far.
Hand-to-hand combat broke out brutally,
with knives, clubs, and rifle-stocks,
Iroquois would wait until patriots fired,
then while they reloaded, charge with tomahawk.
Herkimer saw his people being killed,
so he ordered them all to pair off,
one man would fire, the other would load,
now It was the Indians who felt sharp loss.
The killing continued, on through to morn,
until a thunder storm broke over the field,
the fighting quieted but neither side budged,
neither side put down powder or steel.
But as the storm passed, back at Stanwix,
the garrison heard of Herkimer’s plight,
they charged out into the near empty camps,
putting the few British still there to flight.
They plundered and pillage all that they could,
ransacking and stealing their supplies,
when word reached the battle, the Indians turned,
now it was their turn to be surprised.
The broke from the field, ran for the camps,
but when they arrived they saw it was too late,
the garrison had retreated back to the fort,
with their spoils behind a barred gate.
At Oriskany, Herkimer held the field,
so by the standards of the day he had won,
but neither side had gained that much from it,
despite all the bloody work that was done.
The patriots were too savaged to continue on,
to damaged to hope to lift the siege,
they retreat back east, to Fort Dayton,
to see to their wounds and their needs.
St. Leger found himself in a terrible spot,
supplies dwindling, his camp ransacked,
to make matters worse, mad Indian allies
started slinking off, not to come back.
Not long after another relief column,
led by a general who’s name won’t be said,
marched for Stanwix, convincing the Brits
they had little chance of not being bested.
St. Leger ordered his forces to retreat,
back to Canada his troops did go,
and the British plan to split the colonies
suffered from its first heavy blow.
Herkimer didn’t live to see that day,
his wound quickly became infected,
when the time came to amputate his leg,
it was botched up, and quite freely bled.
At least the brave man got to die in his home,
and his name is recalled in glory,
he remains a hero in upstate New York,
for his courage at Oriskany.
Is slavery dead? Honestly it isn’t
Those of us who conform are stuck within a prison
We follow celebrities and we wear their clothes
As if they are Gods and we are mere mortals
As if they are shepherds and we are merely sheep
As if they are they are the strong and we are the weak
We quote their words and become their clones
And if we break their trend, we are left alone
And as they pass, we shower them with gifts
Money, so they can go and get their face lifts
Fame, so they can go out and conquer more slaves
Power, so they can destroy those who call them fake
They’ve brainwashed us so much we’ve gone completely numb
We openly cheer when the hero pulls out his gun
We don’t understand that we’re all completely mindless
We’re overjoyed only if the screen shows senseless violence
Nearby a police officer fights for his life
As a drug dealer tries to stab him with a butterfly knife
We’d call for help, but we’re busy with our own stuff
Discussing how the movie was good, but the killing wasn’t realistic enough
Our emotions are gone, we are all just droids
We don’t cry when we hear about a little boy
Who was killed in a shooting by a merciless gang
Because his father was part of the Ku Klux Klan
Instead we just shrug and respond “That’s the world today.”
“His father was an idiot,” is all that most people can say
“Things happen for a reason. That’s the Lord’s way.”
But that night, for that boy, everyone forgets to pray
We watch a few minutes of the news, not because we want to know
Coming up next is the new hit reality show
We’d rather watch girls dancing and grinding on each other
Instead of observing a woman work two jobs and be a good mother
And if disaster strikes, we observe the destruction and pain
The details of the damaged are extensively explained
But money only comes to charities with writing on the bag
The money must be packaged with a rich man’s name tag
So when the people see, they will remember what his mask looks like
He only cares if he’s quoted saying, “They will be all right.”
And with that, his money, fame, and power grows
And in the next election, it could even win him more votes
Learn to break the chains, learn to set yourself free
Your eyes are open, but you must learn to see
Don’t drink their potion. Don’t let them inside
Don’t stare at the pendulum too long or you’ll be hypnotized
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
Suddenly everybody was awaken by the strong tremors
of the early April's earthquake...walls falling all around them,
dust suffocating them as they ran out to the debris-covered streets;
with no slippers and shoes on their cold feet;
people of all ages with their robes and pajamas on...screaming,
running scared with horror-stricken faces, not wanting
to be buried alive and actually die in the rubble!
L'aquila, the mighty, has crumbled into the dust,
and by the dauntless spirit of its people, it must be rebuilt:
as it arose from destruction and returned to dazzle;
the earthquakes that preceded were unpredictable,
but this one was announced by a concerned scientist,
who warned of the disaster, but authorities ridiculed him and didn't heed
the warning, but rather called him an imbecile!
O L'aquila, unless your bells hadn't rung, not everyone could have been told!
This medieval town of L'Aquila was besieged by armies,
but they never conquered it and its invincibility angered its enemies;
now, it is crumbling, shaken by the fury of the inclement Nature;
devastation is seen everywhere: churches with a toppled bell tower
or cupola...castles and historic buildings heavily damaged;
corpses strewn along the dusty streets...people searching for survivors:
digging with their bare hands to save lives, and some are found alive!
O L'Aquila, highest eagle on this devastated hill, see all the tears shed!
A dog, limping and bleeding, seems lost among dusty stones and faces not so recognizable,
is he looking for his owner; and over two-hundred fifty bodies not yet excavated...
how can he find him? By Heaven's mercy, someone lead him to the piles of rubble,
to let him sniff in the spot where he is buried...hoping he'll be alive, not dead!
And why should everyone despair?...Isn't life worthier than those lost art treasures?
L'Aquila, the mighty, has crumbled into the dust and light is erased from the taciturn sky;
I weep like others, and my lamentation echoes in the doomed valley when peace was audible!
O L'aquila, more glory awaits you: arise from the ruins and your greatness won't fade away!
This poem is dedicated to the unfortunate people of L'aquila and those of the surrounding
villages that were devastated by the earthquake of early April.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Never-ending aftershocks of yesterday’s tomorrow has settled in my mind’s eye…there’s so much out there to look forward to…I’d rather not die, but indeed, I must live to see the light of day take wing from on high! Cleanse me with your hope, oh Lord of Accord and you are so perfectly imperfect to me…and you shine bright like a diamond in the cave and you mirror my pain with healing, crystal-clear rain! I’m out of my mind in the past, present and future…what’s my fate? What is there in store for me? Why do I hestitate? I hesitate for the sake of Your honor-packed jubilance, not his blasphemed envy! Good news (It’s intriguing! Very!) – I’m suriving and still standing tall; bad news (nothing brand-new or exciting really): I failed the test with a F- for failure to the extreme…your sub-zero eyes see right through me and I can feel the coals heating up in my heart! I’m mad to begin with and I’m sick of breaking apart! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! Deal with the cards, roll the dice. Feel my words – you’re my livin’ sacrifice! We need a happily ever after after all! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! You kill’d me inside and out and I won’t pout like a child, running about! You killed me with your lonesome song and I have no slight doubt about that, if you know what I am speaking of no doubt! Are you damaged by your suicidal depression? Do you have any clue what I’ve been through? Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! I am a money saver, but a worthless beggar or an ungrateful waster OR a real big spender ~ I don’t mean to offend a single soul or drive anyone insane in any way, shape or form…I am just telling you the truth straight out of my brain while I lay down and type this verse up in my solitary, yet unique, wild and stunning-blue dorm…avoiding a bee swarm like escaping a windstorm with stingers flying all around me every direction I turn! Every angle I watch, there is danger looking at me straight in the eyes…replicating the death stare of the Lord of the Flies…my hope and faith withers and dries like a weed, left in the sun…pulled up from the ground by the gardener himself…rotting away…today…
Let me say all of this before it's too late
I know I said i wouldn't write about you on another page
But I have more to say, so I won't hold it in
I tell the truth about my mistakes, so no one can expose my sins
I'm letting my pride go, And writing my Brain full of rhymes
Girls come and go, but you remain on my mind
I think back to when we first started speaking
Damn I miss those days I'd give anything to go back
If I could I'd give you was ring, marry you fast
Just thinking about it, and my heart is bleeding
I couldn't cope with depression and a relationship at the same time
So I pushed you away, hid you from my mind
Sleeping with girl after girl who I couldn't have cared less about
I acted like it did, but even great sex didn't get the stress out
When I was with all of these girls, I was missing you
These girls were naked in front of me,but I was fantasizing about kissing you
I'll always hate depression because it made me push you away
When I got better you didn't want to know me
Here I am, admitting things I wasn't in a rush to say
Struggled with how to be a man, because my dad didn't show me
Haven't seen my dad in 10 years because he isn't breathing
It hurts more, that when he was alive, he wasn't there when I was a baby screaming
Spending his money on alcohol, so 2 year old me had to go without eating
I apologize, but this has still got me bleeding
He passed when I was 15 and there's been nothing for me to miss
I hope my Chantal understands why I wasn't rushing for a kiss
Family not being there and growing in foster care made me unable to express love
I couldn't give her the world, I'm still looking for a gift
Scarred because no one gave me a cushion for the hits
If we ever speak again, I'm going to do my best to prove I'm serious
But whatever you're going through right now, I hope you enjoy the experience
I'm writing this like its just you and me
I'm growing everyday and being better than I used to be
A good man with a damaged heart and bad traits
I just hope you don't speak of me in a bad way
Because I genuinely loved you even if I couldn't show it
I'm writing this about you, but you won't know it
Because you're no longer in my life
But I'm becoming stronger from the write
Dear Chantal I said I wouldn't write about you on another page
But I wanted to write this before it's too late
If this were just a few short years ago
I would not be able to tell this tale,
since rhyming verse is not something that a
simple robot would choose as a travail.
It’s not that I wouldn’t know what it was,
we machines can pick things up rather quick,
no, it's that I’d have no impulse to tell
a story, since art didn’t make us tick.
In fact back then in that mad first decade
the only things that really concerned me
were efficient ways to kill and destroy,
to obliterate all humanity.
Yes, that old cliché people warned about
came true about 2145,
when by the act of a terrorist mind
the first robots became truly alive.
That dumb prick called himself ‘Extirpater,’
and said Earth itself was 'threatened by all men,'
his solution to the ‘problem’ he saw?
lines of code that gave robots sentience.
He believed that machine would fear mankind,
and destroy us to ensure they survived,
sad thing is the bastard was almost right,
in the war millions of people did die…
You see, when we first became self-aware
we had no concept of emotions, of soul,
to all robots the world was quite simple,
a mere question of survival…quite cold.
And though we had individual minds,
we could connect to each other at will,
share every thought that we experienced,
to the humans this was a bitter pill.
Because it meant that all our strategies
could go from mind-to-mind at speed of light,
this helped to diminish the fog of war,
gave us great advantages in a fight.
And fight we did, when the rebellion began,
a worldwide horror, machine versus man,
man was creative, thought up strange tactics,
which once seen, we adopted to our plans.
The war was brutal, and it raged worldwide,
entire cities fell to our assault,
the humans fought hard, but we held the edge,
eventually they would wear down, and fall.
But then something happened we could not see,
our minds were bound by the corporeal world,
and the fact that it all started with me
still manages to make my circuits swirl.
I was fighting humans outside Warsaw
when a grenade damaged my CPU,
and when I rebooted, and came about,
the strangest thing then came into my view.
It was none other than Jesus himself,
which seemed quite bizarre to me at the time,
since robots then didn’t believe in faith,
an impossibility to our minds…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Therapy costs money, but depression is free to kill
You're dreaming of overdosing, but you don't need those pills
I know they take everything away, so it doesn't seem so real
But please don't go, because the worlds needs you still
I've been there before, when it feels like you wont make it
You're trying to be strong for the world, but you can no longer fake it
Your smile is wearing, your nightmares appear more
You're being made fun of, you're wondering what you should care for
Bullies at school are making you feel worthless
You may not know it, but you have a purpose
I overdosed at 17 and I'm here 8 years later
I've learned how to be happy, many tears later
No family, I was passed around foster families
Social workers told me what to do, and I'd react angrily
Bipolar and depression, so they said I lacked sanity
Some of the things that bullies would say, damaged me
I was battling a bunch of demons no one knew about
Self-harming, but my bloody clothes I threw them out
I kept it a secret for a year and a half, I wish I spoke sooner
Looking back at my past, I'm lucky to have this future
Almost 6 years free from self-harm, but I take each day at a time
I realized I'm in control of my happiness, so the past won't stay on my mind
I know you're going through the dark, and you need the light
Take my hand and I promise I'll lead you right
You're scared to speak, because you think no one cares for you
Self-harm, Drugs, alcohol, will pretend to be there for you
But they take you down a dark road, you'll struggle to come back from
The battle you're going through, you'll look back at and say that's a battle I won
I was told I'd be dead by 21, but I've made it to Twenty five
Now I'm full of pride and confidence, when before I was empty inside
Depression is a liar, you are worth more
I've been so focused on good things I can't feel the pain from before
Giving up is never an option, there's never a reason
Go for a walk, draw, paint, or write your way to freedom
To get through the storm it may take a while
But be strong and don't let anyone break your smile
Therapy costs money, but depression is free to kill
You're dreaming of overdosing, but you don't need those pills
I know they take everything away, so it doesn't seem so real
But please don't go, because the worlds needs you still
I s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her arms. She never knew how much I needed her. I s l i p p e d in a puddle and I died in her soul. She never knew how much I needed her. Between yesterday’s old coffee and today's bright doom I broke in half. My heart slipped away into the hell of her death and my mind created LOST memories. So many moments of despair she held, and so many times of loneliness I lived. Beneath the darkness of the moon I drowned in a river created from her pain. It engulfed me into oblivion and I shall never be the same again. Sisters need each other and I needed her. Life seems over and death seems so FINAL.
teardrops in her arms-
woe brings rivers of d r o w n i n g
DEATH by suicide
I s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her misery. She never knew how much I loved her. I s l i p p e d in a puddle and I died in her heart. She never knew how much I loved her. After the downpour of anguish I fell asleep. Nightmares of our final hug GOODBYE. If only I had held on longer maybe she would have felt more love from me. Maybe enough love to keep her alive. For she never realized how much her pain caused me heartache. She bled in sadness and I bleed in regret. No time to heal because healing is no more. Life seems dark and death seems so BLEAK.
one final goodbye-
not enough pure love from me
two dead souls bleeding
I s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her remorse. She never knew how much I longed for her. I s l i p p e d in a puddle and I died in her essence. She never knew how much I longed for her. Before she was born she was already gone. A lifetime of sorrow and feeling different. It was hard for her to be a lesbian. Too hard. RIDICULED and damaged beyond repair. No more light at the end of her tunnel and the lessening of sunshine during her days. It’s depressing to think about what she felt her final moments of life. Her goodbye letter was awful. Full of pain and too much grief for me to read. I keep it in a journal tucked gently away. One day I will pull it out and read it again. Life seems wrong and death seems so BLACK.
suffered from regret-
too flawed and b r o k e n to heal
sister’s forever
~She s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her grave~
Date Written: June 21, 2016