Long Dismantle Poems
Long Dismantle Poems. Below are the most popular long Dismantle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dismantle poems by poem length and keyword.
You were just a heart, an organ that beat enough,
to feel the need to raise a wall of stone,
a fortress around which the wind whispers forgotten memories,
and when the rain sheds its tears over the cold stones,
you remember you were also flesh, a body that felt enough,
to wear an armor of steel, gleaming under the sun,
a protective layer against a world that doesn't understand.
You were a soul, an abyss of desires and regrets,
that got lost enough, wandering on a path abandoned by others,
a trail hidden by the shadows of the dense forest,
where trees tell their story in whispers of falling leaves,
and you, precious child, have grown enough,
to forget how to love without fear, without reservations.
That is why this castle of bones was born,
a bastion that bears the burden of a survivor like you,
in a world where walls become the only friends,
and the silence between heartbeats is a song of melancholy,
where every added stone, every dried tear,
tells the story of a soul that learned to endure.
And yet, beneath this leaden sky,
where stars are just distant memories,
there is hope that behind every raised wall,
lies the desire to find the warmth of love again,
to dismantle the fortress, stone by stone,
until your heart learns to beat freely, without fear.
In a hurtful negligence, you did not read my poetry
with empathy or even the slightest kindness, instead
you sought to tear me down for what I wrote.
Dear disguised friend, you had me defending what
I wrote bringing me back to past sadness I had long
overcome causing me to second guess my triumphs.
My poems are a testament to my resolve and
courage in the way I pulled myself out of the
depths of despair while trusting in God’s grace.
Oh, my, unexpected foe, “when you read my poems
you wrongly judged me, and in a demeaning tone
shouted, “Do you ever write poems that are not sad?”
When I told you about the many hopeless
survivors that I have helped with my
writings you scoffed at me!
What I overcame and fought through would
bring you to your knees so it is time for you to
silence your hypercritical attacks and criticism.
With God by my side, I’m better now, but you
sought to remind me of forgotten pain instead
of praising me for showing strength and courage.
Still, you insist on pretending to be judge, jury and
executioner with harsh remarks and judgments
seeking to dismantle, disparage and destroy.
Please be aware, the worst insult for an abused
child is accusing them of having some sort of
blame for the pain and suffering they endured!
How misguided, misinformed and mistaken are you!
It’s undoubtedly your failings and insecurities that
have caused these flawed and bias opinions.
In a hurtful negligence, you did not read my poetry
with empathy or even the slightest kindness, instead
you sought to tear me down for what I wrote.
My poems are a testament to my resolve and
courage in the way I pulled myself out of the
depths of despair while trusting in God’s grace.
Now, you can sit with your insular prejudice,
false accusations, and emptiness as it should
be for your absolute intolerance.
Today, you can be rest assured God will take my
hand one last time lifting me up into the Heavens
to be with my beloved Mother, Aunts and pets.
Unequivocally, I am Stronger Than You Think
and I have survived more in one moment than
most have in their entire Lifetime!
Materials are arranged into an element table
As complete, clear, reasonable as possible
All they have been most ideal
So, heat balances and explosions stop off
Slowly come the wind and the sounds of
Flowing waters, birds, and people
Mixing up the fragrance with invisible
And the mechanisms set to be mysteries
As boundless and complicated as the Stella
The stars in the sky are either dim or bright
The earth is therefore successfully born
The Creator was worried a lot
Human beings acting as ignorant kids
Who may Happily dismantle their home
That's to date not actually impossible
So before went out for a tour
He crushed the mysteries of nature
And spread the pieces into people's mind
Left no one could restore it as a whole
The mechanisms still remain though
None of a piece could easily be told
To acquire knowing the essences of nature possible
Only is no one ignored and free speech restored
No matter what they say as long as they say cordially
It should have listened and carefully mapped out
Black History is Our history
Black History is American history
Black History is World history
Black History is The history
Black History IS History
Although it is celebrated in February, Black history is not just a month, it is every day history.
Black History is a reflection of the segregation and discrimination and the sacrifices and struggles for our freedom for justice and equality.
It reflects how far we have come, from where we were to where we are.
Black History is History. It is written by “We the People,” and in case you didn’t know, we are part of the “We.” Our story matters and our ancestors stories matter.
So no matter how much they want to have “selective memory” and try to dismantle or impose restrictions, take away fundings, or pick, choose or limit how much (if any) is being taught about Black History, it is our job as parents, grandparents, leaders and people to teach our children, nephews, cousins, friends and others about “Our” history.
Black History is History and it’s not just up to the teachers to tell our history. With that being said, parents, Be the change! Teach them at home, individual, in group settings… take them on field trips to museums, monuments, parks, take them on a bus ride, show them videos and books… By doing so, we are allowing the history (our history) of our civil rights leaders and ancestors to be remembered as their sacrifices for our freedom was not in vain.
Black History was then, is now and will forever be a part of history.
The world is far from being a perfect place
Pretty sure that's a well known fact
If it was, world peace would be the name of the game
Instead of killing and unprovoked attacks
It's hard to imagine what that would be like
It hasn't ever happened before
It sure would take a whole lot of getting used to
So foreign, a world without wars
What would we do with our war machine
Dismantle it and sell it for scrap
With no further wars, countries aligned as one
No need for any of that crap
Is this old guy dreaming, did I nod off for a while
Better belt myself on the noggin
If I happen to survive for another hundred years
More likely to see ghosts and goblins
© Jack Ellison 2014
War To End All Wars
It will be the war
On corporate polluters
The corporate polluters
Who deprive Our Children
Of clean air, clean water and clean food
These corporate polluters
Driven by ego and greed
Are relentless
In their pursuit of profits
To sustain their avaricious
Narcissistic lifestyles
*
Parents and their Children
Will be armed with Love, Courage
And Determination to
Dismantle the laws and policies
Allowing rampant pollution
To harm so many of us
Demand for corporate accountability
Will be heard from 'Sea to Shining Sea'
*
We are on the Edge of Existence
We and Our Children
Will not be pushed
Over the cliff
*
The Love we have for
Our Children
And their future
Will engender
A massive push-back
And a fierce stare-down
Of corporate giants
*
Governments will understand
A Mother's
Intense
Ferocious
Passion
To Save
Protect
Their
Children
The
Future
They
Deserve
*
#I'm_not_perfect_but_I'm_worth_it
I'm not perfect but I'm worth it, I'm working on it, I go up, I go down, through your eyes, I see my picture, your soul perfected, believe you me, I'm trying to fit in, but demons in my spirit wakes me at night, commanding me to stray, you don't know my internal battles, I'm at war with myself
Maybe I'm still resistant to accept that you are now part of me, still holding tight to my longly fate, maybe it was planted so deep, with it's roots still echoing to cores of my soul, maybe I'm afraid to let go off my demons and let your halo cleanse me
I'm far from perfection, lean closer and see how dedicated I'm trying to dismantle the walls chocking my freedom to let in, to accepting change and being one with it
No day goes by, without strangling my self to sleep, when how hard I try to be the projected light your eyes, reflects of me, it's not easy believe you me, I turn restless through the night, bashing my flaws
I fear, this golden moment with you might slip through my fingers before I win this battle in me, but believe you me I'm putting the effort and hours to walk with clear mind into our new bond
Wish you would try to listen with purpose, and hold my hand and assure me that we will fight this together, and hear you say perfect doesn't exist for to be human is to err
Wish you bear with me, as I untangle off my demons, my fears and insecurities, wish you not only understand but assure me that we are in this together, come what may
I'm not perfect but I know there's more good in me than my imperfections, and you too knows that, me taking ownerships of my flaws, it's me with one leg on the staircase to fixing myself, please don't bash me for acknowledging my flaws
I'm not perfect but worth it, I wear my flaws like crown on head, wish life came with manual to nevigate better, maybe I would align with every box in your wish list, a perfect version of me. Allow me to be your Rome, and try to build me each day, I'm fragile, I'm not perfect but I'm worth it
#Poetic_Ink
The scars on my heart came not from the enemy
The scars on my heart came from people who said they loved me
Knowing the truth
Hoping the youth may see the irony
Some know how to handle love from a distance and
Some don’t know how to handle love when it is close up!
When the shadow hits the light
Real intentions are exposed that lived in the night
The enemy is easy to handle
But often the one closes to you
Will dismantle your heart!
Then you will see and know
That many of the scars on your heart
Came not from your enemy
But it came from people who said that they loved you!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2022
Darkness is my weakness
Crave negativity day to day
At war with my inner light
Dismantle the joy my inner child
Reckless with the will to live
Stomp my power to the -3rd power
Don’t have the swag to live,
Live to feel pleasure
Wishing to go ghost
Praying to end it all
Heart hurts; faith locked up
Locked in darkness
Tears of sorrow
Shameful of my shadow
Looking for my heart to be rip
Ripped away from this pain
Pain this ungodly body carries
Reversed to the thought of hope
Bargain with Satan
Offer seems fair
Want to spilt my wrist
Let go of everyone inclination
Feeling so alone
Feeling useless
Screaming someone help me
No don’t help me!
Darkness is my love!
Surrender to my captor
Can’t do this my soul lost!
God help me!
Lead me!
Forgive me!
Guide me!
Want to live
Live for you!
Crying out for your mercy God!
This is art with a message I do not promote suicide suicide. If your feeling like that please get help remember you have people who do love you.
I do not feel this way I’m happy I’m blessed it’s just poetry…
Thank you
The air in Philadelphia didn't stir that July.
It settled, thick and suffocating, over fifty-six wooden chairs.
Outside, the summer beat against bolted doors;
inside, men prepared to snap an ancient, golden chain—
to trade an empire’s law for the unpredictable fire and rain.
John Hancock stepped forward first. No hesitation.
His quill scraped hard against the parchment,
leaving wide, aggressive tracks.
"Let the King read that without his spectacles," the whisper went,
a quiet defiance that fractured a monarchy.
They came from the rocky edge of Massachusetts:
Adams, unyielding and fierce, alongside cousin Samuel,
fanning a dangerous patriot flame.
Gerry and Paine moved in to anchor their legal names.
Then Virginia’s quiet architect stood up from the red clay.
Jefferson, carrying words designed to dismantle tyrants.
Behind him, Harrison, Lee, Nelson, and Wythe—
a solemn line backing the grand decree.
Franklin watched through wire frames, old eyes holding lightning.
"We must all hang together now," his voice dry, cutting the heat,
"or we will most certainly hang apart under the gallows' beam."
Morris, Rush, and Wilson nodded,
signing away their vast fortunes for a future they wouldn't live to see.
From the northern vanguard, New York and the Jerseys answered.
Livingston, Hopkinson, and Witherspoon—the fiery priest—
shouted that the land was ripe for birth.
Then south, down the coast to the Carolinas and Georgia’s marsh.
Rutledge, Lynch, Middleton, Gwinnett, and Hall,
joining a pact that smelled of treason.
Fifty-six men from every ordinary walk—
lawyer, merchant, keeper of the soil—
knowing a rope waited for them on the hill.
Yet they stepped up anyway, pressing wet ink into history.
The parchment dried.
The old world felt the tremor.
A new republic born not of kings, but of signatures.