Long Ill treated Poems
Long Ill treated Poems. Below are the most popular long Ill treated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ill treated poems by poem length and keyword.
Emotional scars tend to stay,
I can't take your past hurts away.
And though love holds no guarantee:
I ask that you believe in me.
Failing to reconcile old fears,
you associate love with tears.
And erect emotional walls,
ignoring the truth when it calls.
Doubt dominates your every move:
as if love has something to prove.
And as rage denigrates your mood,
acting insane, you get unglued.
You scream you're being ill-treated,
convincing yourself: I've cheated.
And sounding completely deranged:
insults get angrily exchanged.
You don't give love; only receive:
and in truth, constantly deceive.
And you play the wounded hero,
nursing your battered, bruised ego.
When will you trust in me again,
put yours aside, and feel my pain?
For feigning feelings of regret,
you're not showing any respect.
When I am old
Sadly to say
I found many wrinkles
And senile plaques
Scattered on my body
But suddenly
To my delight and astonishment
I saw two scars
Two childhood scars are fading away
They have been ugly spots
To be covered with long sleeves or pants
One was bitten by a dog
One was hurt by falling into a drain
Each one carried a strange story
And a childhood memory
But now I have gathered
Some scars in my heart
Which cannot be overelooked
During my career and marriage life
I was bullied by some colleagues
I was ill-treated by my sister-in-law
Scars in the heart
Though cannot be seen
Will not fade away
While scars in history
Can be read in books
Easily forgotten
And sufferings continue
Pity the young generations
And our loved ones
On this auspicious birth day of Jesus of Nazareth,
A genus of my country - claiming - saviors of their faith,
Took to the streets, burning the effigy of Santa Claus,
Taking pride as though they have won certain great social cause...
Venom, like most poisonous snake, has been sternly released,
Hatred, welling up within, like poison-pour, has got eased;
People around might have believed they're against Jesus Christ,
And would murder him multiple times were they got his straight...
Those around thought, days here, to Christianity, counted,
Foreign religion that got entered would be encountered;
One who claims to be its follower will be ill-treated,
With death, or by organ mutilation, will be greeted...
Yet, to me, all these seem, dawning, like the very pole star,
That someone the strings of these youth, pulling from very far;
To place them in forefront, like patriots, and get them killed,
And fish in waters that are, by very own them, troubled...
Did any of these really know who this Santa was?
Or, did they know, who this lone figure was Christ the Jesus?
One, like Judas, has his very ideal compromised,
Has set the wings of this youth, blazing, to be consumed...
A seed sown in those, by someone like Hitler, got vent,
Strength fermented out of great pain of unemployment, got spent;
They would reach him to the highest existential zenith,
Until he, like a kite thread-cut, succumbs to dust beneath...
(“Effigies of Santa Claus were burnt in Agra on Friday, claiming the mythical figure to be part of a "strategy" by Christian missionaries to convert people” - News)
25 December 2021
Sustained by the frequent spring showers
Adorned by rosettes of dark green
They burst into dense yellow flowers
The florets parading their sheen.
They sway to sensations of pleasure
The rhythmic allure of the breeze
Then rest in the evening at leisure,
Appear every day to increase.
But soon comes the time for reversal
The petals are destined to dry,
Then globules of seeds for dispersal
To nature’s intentions comply.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This poem merits to win for the simple reason that
dandelions are ill-treated and spoken of badly by
many people, little realizing the beauty and good points
which they have to share with us.
Placed 3rd in Richard Lamoureux's contest
© 12th April 2019
"Illusions of Love"
Judged at every stage, condemned from the start,
Labelled and demonized—torn apart.
Mistreated, ill-treated, seen as a threat,
Running for safety but never safe yet.
Love, an illusion, elusive at best,
A dream we chase but never possess.
Mother, grandmother, lover, or wife—
All turn cold, cutting deep like a knife.
From society’s glare to the home’s dark gaze,
The criticism burns in a thousand cruel ways.
Words as a weapon, sharp as a scalpel,
Leaving us scarred, doubting our price.
How can we be good fathers, strong men of grace,
When the ones meant to hold us throw shame in our face?
Every embrace feels laced with disdain,
And hope fades under this unending pain.
The system is brutal, but what cuts even more,
Is seeking refuge in hearts turned cold.
Negative, bitter, vibrations that kill,
Turning love into poison, making joy stand still.
Judge, jury, executioner in every small fight,
Swift to emasculate, draining our light.
From living rooms to sidewalks, we’re stripped of our pride,
Nowhere to stand, nowhere to hide.
Mistreated, ill-treated, the cycle goes on,
The man disappears, and the boy is withdrawn.
Love becomes nothing but a dangerous snare,
A mirage in the desert, dissolving in thin air.
So when they ask why some of us can’t be good men—
Remember the shackles, the wounds deep within.
For a heart that’s been shattered by those it adored
Can never grow whole, when it’s always at war.
Life has a meaning if you wake up from stupor
Procrastination will not help you achieve goal
days pass, years waste away, making you a loser
wake up before time takes a worst turn, death bells toll
When there was nothing there was God who created
A beautiful and pristine world for man to live
Be a vicegerent and protect the ill-treated
To be kind towards all to forget and forgive
Work to live, live to work is a motto well served
Stupor belongs to the Devil, fans his ego
Some rest after a day's hard work is well-deserved
Work without required sleep results in vertigo
So, wake up from ever deadly stupor my friend
Take up unfinished tasks to give meaning to life
It's never too late for an evil soul to mend
If not, words of evil and slander will be rife
A poodle lived in her shadow,
it was not ill-treated, just ignored,
its matted form
wandered around the house
looking to be noticed.
The living room
was littered with her underwear,
discarded bras, panties, garters and negligee.
I had no idea
why these things all came to rest here,
scattered around her like that.
I was an occasional pal of her son.
Once she fed a pink baby
from her own white flesh
as if not even noticing us boys.
The soft upholstery of the sittee
settled around her
proclaiming her sovereign presence.
The poodle hesitated to enter the room,
knowing, as we did,
we would never be part of her kingdom.
Avoiding the girl-scouts
I hasten out of the store
trying hard not to see the people
huddled in their thin coats
as they wait for an infrequent bus.
This ice-chilled evening
with its stark revelations
is like the nag of an irregular heartbeat
sheathed like a thorn in my shoe.
Later, by a warm fire
sitting in an upholstered armchair,
a despondency chews at my breastbone,
it is a reaction hard to pin down,
to objectify,
a lingering presence.
My mind shifts through a symbolic iconography
effigies depicting:
a lost and hungry dog,
an ill-treated child,
a stranger I refuse to call brother,
places long deserted,
places found far too late.
A love unpicked from a now withering vine.
That same presence
sets a table and chair before me
that I may write, try to explain
this tumbleweed of unnamable sorrows,
a phantom, that even in happier times,
I recognize it as a coarse impression
akin to a grating scar
beneath a tender tongue.
Tomorrow may emerge as a frail old lady,
struggling with full shopping bags,
head bent to a cold uncaring wind.
Many might offer her a lift
but in my present brittle mood
I probably would frighten her,
so,
I don’t.
A poodle lived in her shadow,
it was not ill-treated, just ignored,
its matted form
wandered around the house
looking to be noticed.
The living room
was littered with her underwear,
discarded bras, panties, garters and negligee.
I had no idea
why these things all came to rest here,
scattered around her like that.
I was an occasional pal of her son.
Once she fed a pink baby
from her own white flesh
as if not even noticing us boys.
The soft upholstery of the sittee
settled around her
proclaiming her sovereign presence.
The poodle hesitated to enter the room,
knowing, as we did,
we would never be part of her kingdom.
three incisor teeth burst through fresh flesh...
opaque as pearls, strong as love, precious
beautiful baby babbles assertively
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
prose poetry in its practice
as canines erupt, she moans from the ache
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
speedily advancing in substantial strength
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
a significant stepping stone approaches
as a capable kindergarten adult
she wiggles loose her first baby tooth
receives a rich reward from a fantasy fairy
more teeth disappear like pressed piano keys
then return acutely out of tune
braces displace awkward half grins
an investment of finances and adolescence
unstoppable with seducing sweets
she sneaks cuddly candy under covers
falling asleep with sugar plum dreams
not counting a few costly cavities
free-spirited, experimental teen
meets Christina on the street
samples compelling quartz crystal
returns for seconds, as someone else disguised
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
speedily advancing in substantial strength
she lucently levitates to a loftier place
a magnificent mind babbles assertively
sweeping the streets of pixie dust
no need to eat or sleep
like a firefly in heat, she dances frantically
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
she visualizes voices that vivify the way
to the day's salacious survival guide
prismic vision's shimmers no longer satisfy
cotton candy granules' sweetness subsides
coming down from kaleidoscopic clouds
half-awake, she moans from the ache
shrill shrieks portray poetry's unspoken pain
death's drab projection is her heartless reflection
hocking heirlooms to trade for a transient thrill
a despondent inhabitant of tragedy
creepy crawlers invade every inch of skin
her thin figure balances a skull's shadow
irretrievable, ill-treated teeth crumble
like the city's plundered storefront windows
filthy, for granted, forlorn, fast-fading
...three feeble canine teeth remain
10-8-2023