Long Hated Poems
Long Hated Poems. Below are the most popular long Hated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hated poems by poem length and keyword.
Dear 2024,
You were like a friend to me,
who at times left me frustrated and hurt.
At first I didn't think that`s what friends are meant to do.
But like all the other years before you that have come and gone.
I am reminded by the fragility of it all,
and how precious hardship is.
I won't censor myself,
I hated you at times.
And like many of my friends and myself,
i know you will pass.
And it won't be hardships I remember,
It will be the greatness born from them.
Thank you for all the strange, beautiful, horrible things you`ve shown me.
It`s helped me grow towards the person I am meant to be.
One year soon, I won`t be here,
So, while I am,
Thank you
in a world i can be so uncomfortable and afraid in.
you`ve been honest and that`s what friends do.
Here`s to seeing you around.
Knowing I'll never see you again.
The ocean
I always had a fear of the ocean you know?
Those deep dark tides pulling you in
The darkness lurking beneath the horizon
But oh how beautiful it is
Pulling me closer and closer
Until my feet feel the shore going back home then coming back to me for a short moment before leaving again
I hated the ocean. For looking so beautiful and luring me in
Then drowning me. Taking all the air out my lungs. A thief in the night, stealing my one and only breathe
But for some I don’t blame the ocean
For some reason i even feel sorrow for the ocean. The pollution it’s given and forced to endure and the only help it ever gets is from people. The same people that polluted her.
She is scared too.
Scared on who to trust.
Not knowing who’s bringing love,
and who’s bringing poison masked as care. She waits in silence, swallowing secrets and oil spills, never sure if the next hand reaching out is there to heal her or hurt her. It’s no wonder she drowns people. She’s trying to survive her own demise—?trying to save herself?the only way she knows how. By using people,?just like she’s been used.
The one person who came and picked trash from her waters?gave the ocean hope—?a flicker of possibility that she could be saved.
But she was wrong.
That small act of kindness,?the only kind she’d ever known,?felt like everything.?It made her believe.?Hope bloomed— hope that one day she’d be clean again,?that people wouldn’t fear her touch
She began to think every human who came near was there to help.?And that hope consumed her,?made her reach out blindly—?sometimes hurting those she only meant to welcome. All she ever wanted was to be cleansed. To be seen, not as a soul-stealing tide,?but as the pure, aching soul?she’s always been beneath the surface.
A darkness waiting to be shown light
not to be feared,
but understood.
A depth that holds pain, yes,
but also beauty, waiting for someone brave enough
to dive in and stay
Remember when you used to say the words that I was stammering to let out?
What happened to us?
Remember when you knew what it meant when I just blinked?
Remember when you were my Bread and Egg; BAE?
Even our footprints knew you loved me.
We were so good together; we could never go a day without each other,
What happened to us?
Remember when you loved the exact things that I hated about myself?
What happened to us?
How could you walk away without me noticing?
How could you disappear without the last kiss?
Remember when you said to me; “Promise me that you will never love anyone else but me”?
So how could you shut the door, when you knew I was not out yet?
What happened to us?
How could you, My Boo, get so cold, I thought you were in a vacuum?
Remember what happened whenever we touched?
What happened to us?
So it comes down to this; I sit in the garden and observe,
As the butterfly disperses the leaves of dandelion with despair,
My heart bleeds the colour of castor bean as a result of it being pierced and wounded by a spear.
Now my eyes are heavy, but I refuse to let fall a tear.
Because my question still remains, “What Happened To Us?”
Personified evil
I feel repulsed when he is near; I ought to have compassion
for this cripple, his twisted foot and arm
a beggar with scabby skin and eyes as black as looking into
the dark side of the moon.
This is not a person you can be nice to the more you give
the more he hates you and wishes you an early death.
His diversion is to follow funeral processions but no into
the cemetery, no one wants him there.
Why do I hate this person must be a background for me?
Childhood, when I lived in fear of the undead.
After the war in Norway, there was hunger in the land
but I noticed at the gymnasium the children
of the middle classes, who went to be the new suits
a concrete box for trash, unopened parcels of food.
I had to be quick in case the rats took it.
A rat jumped up and tried to catch the food eyes shone
of hatred hated me for being human.
Like the cripple who dislikes humanity, who he blames
for his perpetual hardship.
This dirty little person was hated by his mother denying
she gave birth to this satanic being
I hate and fear him too, four black horses, where he is
the only mourner.
Morning In The Hair Salon
She would chat and then nod as she washed
And laugh as she dried and then curled
But behind all the smiles that were wide, fixed and false
She felt challenged and alone in the world.
She felt angry and always so tired
With debts adding up to her worry
She would rather stay home and dream every day
Than be out every hour earning money.
Noon
She looked at herself in the mirror
And then sighed at the things she had seen:
Her life going backwards from where she once was
When her path was marked out to be queen.
She reflected back onto her childhood
And the reasons for her mistrust of men
The real world took over when she opened her eyes
She was young and so different back then.
She was tempted to run from her rehab.
To a place that could let her forget
And hide down a hole where the 'Drink Me' was free
But she stood firm and wasn't there yet.
She felt trapped in her work ever after
And wanted to leave and explore
But each time she tried, she failed and then found
She was back in the salon once more.
Night In The Tabard Inn
She helped out in The Tabard each evening
To avoid all the beatings at home.
She would laugh and play chess with the customers there
But despite this felt very alone.
She returned to her home just past midnight
A place that she hated and feared
Her husband was up and waiting for her
With eyes that stared back and looked weird.
She said nothing on entering the hallway
Then said she was going to bed.
He breathed a big sigh and then he spoke out
And these are his words that he said:
- I went to The Tabard this evening
To swap drink for the Watchmaker's gold.
I wanted to make you a ring for our love
Now I'm back and I'm wet and I'm cold.
Later That Night At Home
She ignored her fifth husband's advances
And reached for some whisky instead
Then with scissors in hand came a voice from her heart
It was his turn to hear "Off with his head!"
A corner shop, a busy street
your mother's hand, your dragging feet
I can almost set the scene.......A messy rack of magazines,
A barber pole, some shaving cream, and jars of greasy Brilliantine
I try to picture you back then,
How many barbers have there been?
Your rosy cheeks, eyes shining bright,
above the crisp white cloth so tight,
around your neck. (You hated that!)
A squirmy worm, but there you sat
Your daddy waits to pay the bill
Darn it, won't you please hold still?!!
Today there's less to take off top
Behind you, I have snipped and cropped
My scissors fold and I must stop
and for a moment I was there...
and saw that small boy in the chair
"50 Words for Poe: Cerberus"
COME, Golden my night
Aristaeus thy husbandry
from the cracked honeycomb
of my broken broken
sleeps my dream
warm and tasted sweet
a token
Goddess
Apiarist
COME, walk in the immortal
of my heart where
bees grow from split carcass
bleeding life a New to drink from
in your hands my
body becomes a
territory strong
standing firm
conquered yet not defeated
COME, see the forests of my mind
where myrtle nymphs put dead Incubus to sleep
to transform his evanescence
fully fleshed into mortal adorned in robes
of royal purple, bronzed in the blaze of
Apollo’s sunset flaming
o’er my wet rain soaked bones
I pass him the Light to crown his head
dressed as King
to empower the charms
to loosen
even the hardest of the coldest
my Byzantine heart of cobalt made marble stone
COME, feel my Delilah heart beat
COME, feel my home
This for you Cerberus, most hated, standing before Hades shunned and feared so
3 heads to be tamed, become 1 heart with 1, n’ere forgotten n’ere alone,
1 to be loved
to be loved as 1
Gold in my Light becomes you dark son
Dark in my Light becomes your Gold sun
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/643bw5s_qI4
"Out of the eater, something to eat; out of the strong, something sweet"
https://youtu.be/WXU9lEaJBn4
“And after a time he returned to take her, and he turned aside to see the carcass of the lion: and, behold, there was a swarm of bees and honey in the carcass of the lion.”
They once cheer-led the working class,
until they were useful no more,
now they call all of them ‘racist,’
to be hated and deplored.
Ignoring that it’s wholly sane
to fear losing a scarce job
to an illegal immigrant,
to be well and truly robbed.
But all of this was done before,
it’s a cold and brutal fact,
the left created old Jim Crow,
bigot votes feathered their hats,
until they decided dark folks were good,
and handouts their votes did net,
one day they will be cast off too,
there’s nothing left within the left.
They once championed free speech,
now they’re singing a different tune,
if they don’t like what you’ve to say
then they just try to censor you.
And if you still keep talking,
they send out PC-hate brigades
to mob your home, get you fired,
take everything you love away.
If you mention the rule-of-law
all you’ll hear is their laughter,
associate with one of their foes,
they’ll throw you to a prosecutor.
If they find no crime they make one up,
it’s the tactic that they like best,
no cares for justice or the truth,
there’s nothing left within the left.
If you should dare to worship,
try to live by those beliefs,
they’ll say you are ‘intolerant,’
that you conscience is ‘bigotry.’
And yet should any one of them
break a single P.C. law,
they’re ostracized and cast right out,
without a single moment of thought.
When you point out that they have just
chosen a different, unproven faith,
they cry “Fascist!” or just stand there
with a blank look on their face.
Unless, of course, you join Islam,
then they cry,”Don’t even jest!”
Up ’till the day they get blown up…
there’s nothing left within the left.
They still cling to socialism,
though it fails and devastates,
they’d rather rule a ruin then
admit they have made a mistake.
They push us towards a civil war,
if we are not already their,
and the shocking thing about it
is that they do not seem to care.
Power is all they’ve left to crave,
they jones for it like and addict,
if they break lives in its pursuit
then they are just fine with it.
No love of freedom still remains,
morals and principals bereft,
the walkaway folks have it right,
there’s nothing left within the left.
Except maybe death…
"Do you have something to wear for a funeral?"
It was her way of telling me that it would be soon, taking care of practicalities
In truth, I already knew
I had stuffed that knowing into a dusty corner at the back of my mind, already full of the socks that lost their sole-mates and forgotten song lyrics
Because my self-preservation is selfish.
She is dying alone, surrounded by people
For months, distant relations have been drifting into our house, staying a few hours or days, paying their respects
They know it will be soon, too.
When I was four, I stayed the night at their house for the first time
She washed my back in the bathtub and cooked the fish grandpa caught
It got sent home in a ziplock with me because I liked fishing and hated fish.
She used to smile and laugh and say things like horticanorkus and bahoony
and tell me that my dad would have to lock me in the closet to keep the boys away when I grew up
Now she doesn't say much of anything.
I've long felt guilty for not spending more time with her
but what little girl wants to watch death march slowly across the faces of those she loves?
And now it seems that she has already died and her body has yet to realize she is gone
If she could, I think she'd ask about my art, my migraines, the boys at college
but she is silent, and I do not know how to fill that space.
She was a volunteer EMT, and now I will be, but we never talked about it
And now we never will.
The disease stole so much of life from her
But it stole her from everyone else.
To all who have been faithful, and also those who’ve sinned,
everything is meaningless; it’s like chasing the wind!
I have seen all the things that are done under the sun;
seeing what I had achieved from all my hands had done.
My work became grievous, so much that I hated life.
I realized nothing was gained through all of my strife.
Goods and achievements come from envy of the neighbors.
Comforts and advancements are results from their labors.
Following every generation, there would be more;
each succeeding will be displeased with the one before.
I’ve applied myself to understanding astuteness;
comprehending madness, as well as foolhardiness.
It’s better to admire with the eyes if you’re able,
than to covet something with want that’s insatiable.
I’d prefer to have one handful of tranquillity;
than to have two handfuls of ceaseless hostility.
Based on Ecclesiastes Chapter 3