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Long Innocence Poems

Long Innocence Poems. Below are the most popular long Innocence by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Innocence poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by T Wignesan | Details

Which paradise is not the elusive chimere

Which paradise is not the elusive chimère?
…how long does it take to live one life…learn the lessons of a lifetime…find the time to live…find the time to sort things out…know what you did was wrong…know in whom lay the blame…what court hears your plea over your unwanted unwilled birth…who is there to tell you here is where you went wrong in the choices you made…take you by the hand and tell you this is not your making…this is all a dream…a dream that’ll never come true… what… is the maker a masochist…to what enduring purpose have you been asked to join the rest… would you want sex if you knew who you would put into this world… is there a crime more despicable than the life you engender into a world you cannot foresee… can you live as long as your progeny to protect them from the torture your genes prepare them for… can you provide for the unforeseen… for the dark that awaits you…your own faults visited on some one else you could never have conceived in thought…since the yonder is dark unknowable for all you know empty why continue… what ultimate purpose aeons from now affects you… is there a purpose to purpose…we search and search and see far enough only to be told we are getting closer and closer to the truth… nearer and nearer to the eternal truth… the one single formula to explain it all… the unified theory of theories… only to be told in between lie the dark matter the black holes three times the known dimensions of worlds hidden within unfathomable worlds of universes buried beyond sight beyond thought… all exploding colliding intermingling intersecting  in the unreachable distance that may have been but never probably was…that the infinitely tiniest world releases the infinitely bigbangish universe… who is to believe we’re going anywhere… who is to believe we are going some place…can you conceive of anything of anybody of anybeing of any self-making engine who/which can create an ounze of space let alone the mighty exploding skies hidden within the atoms… can you conceive of a plan so complex so minute so self-propagating so complete so thorough from time immemorial to time eternal from the ends of the endless space which could have inhabited some mighty self-sufficient all-mightiness…and yet it is true… it must be true…how else can you explain this eternal laila this eternal ephemeral-ness this eternal dance…nadaraja stomping twisting flailing his six arms in all six pairs of eye-directions…siva the destroyer…siva the adept dancer…siva the twelve to twenty-nine strings dancing vibrating in dimensions unseen to the eye… IT is there to be seen and be wondered at to be felt and to be suffered to be thought of and to keep thinking about to be befuddled about and to be flabbergasted by… to know that IT exists… touch yourself and you touch the IT… think you’re touching and you’re the IT thinking… but spread your fingers and cry abacradabra… no matter materialises no ready-made canvass no finished book no symphony drivels drops drips from your fingers… is this a mystery… is this a joke… if i’m part of the IT why is there no nothing at my command… are we then part of the IT… can we be part of the IT… or is the IT split into smithereens… no more the IT… no more the creating preserving destroying omnipotent IT the dancing Nadarajah the thundering Rudra the wailing Vayu the slaughtering Kali the admonishing Krishna the cool beneficent Vishnu…is the IT then in need of its sundered parts…must we all come to gather come together to save the IT and put IT back into place… put IT back in ITS self-conceiving womb never again to see the light of the Brahma Day…is the IT in need of all the consciousnesses IT split into to constitute ITS once inconceivable consciousness…is this  the Christian redemption… is this the Arabian heaven watered by streams of milk by date-palms… oases… to the sound of the singing of seventy-two virgins…nay…succulent dates…’a book of verse/a jug of wine/and thou singing beside me in the wilderness/and the wilderness is paradise enow//” …is this the Buddhist nirvana… is this the Taoist-Stoic submission to the ways of Nature…if not what purpose is there to a finalising finite world… what purpose is there to extending a quest for betterment when the Aztec sun drunk with human blood never rises again…when suns quasars galaxies universes are all doomed to be exploded out of their orbits… what purpose to so much human suffering and animal and insect and plant degradation…but gaseous-mineral stoicness….           

Abstracted from T. Wignesan. Ice in my Eyes…Paris, 2004-06, pp.  308-310.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016.

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

Immigrants Gone Native

I suppose it isn't rather nice
to think of us this way,
but to the squirrels
and the trees,
the robins and the grasses,
human natures are Earth's great transitioning immigrants
on this block
we call a planet.

In this newest arrival sense,
I hope and fear
we are Earth's greatest immigrant yield,
pushing transitional boundaries
toward radical landscape and even climate caustic developments
Earth prefers somewhat less infestation of,
for every animated creation's sake.

Even the rivers and lakes
and ice caps
and glaciers complain
about us,
their latest wave of high maintenance immigrants.

Cousins, maybe,
when Earth's NonHuman Tribes are in a more generous mood.
Extended family drawn from pre-historic RNA, 
then those upstart DNA, roots,
yet still evolving emergent family economies
out to uncomfortably embrace our less ecological nonsense,
causing further stress among all our natural-spiritual natives.

like rattle snakes and scorpions,
seem quite riled up 
about our Beacon on a Hill attitudes
toward them,
our originating hosts.
It is, after all,
one thing to become grateful immigrants,
and quite another to become entitled supremacists
and racists
and sexists
where patriarchs rule over,
and too often against,
our matriarchal lines of Earth's Original Instructions,
embryonic Golden Rule mentors
for native multiculturing thrival,
which survivalist "us-or-them" recent immigrants
to the White House, not to name names,
reduce to food chain narrow-minded nonthinking,
not noticing
Earth chains of nutrition are also lattices,
circling spirals of eco-immigration
journeying together dynamic cooperative systems
of mutually becoming.

Healthy nature networks
have exegetical advantage
seeing and feeling this lattice structured system
of each new species' generation
producing new immigrants from our wombs
and harvested,
although not necessarily planted, 
health wealthing seeds.

New immigrant generations,
young ones,
may better know and sense
our mutually emergent immigrant status,
circling back toward Original Golden Rule Instructions,
to enfranchise all life
as liberally
as mutual positive outcome possible
to better sing and dance
our proudly shared immigration histories;
co-celebrants interdependently polypathic
and polyphonic.

More than just a humble postscript,
this play of natures
across Earth's immigration stage proclaim:
If natural and spiritual reason supports democracy
as healthy,
and totalitarian WinLose ecopolitics as pathological,
for human natures emigrating toward health
including happiness
including prospects of co-operative wealthing outcomes,
then Earth's historical evolutionary grace
kindly invites us to recall
by reconstructing,
What is good for human nature
must remain good for all Earth natures,
animated becomings,
or our native host species
never would have given residency to us,
this last great transitional wave of vulnerable immigrants.

Just because these older waves of immigrants
can't talk our democratic talk
does not mean they don't walk
our health and pathology walk.
When in doubt about such radical co-franchisement
ask fading glaciers
and polar caps
how they are voting with their melts
while human natures continue
to stomp our immigrating feet,
hold our newborn breath,
until we hear more blue-green matriarchal,
turquoise regenerate cycling for some
who study emigrating bilateral spirals.

WinLose temperature elevating tantrums,
holding nature's collective breath captive,
waiting for rebirth of co-animating choices
as Earth's Tribes of EcoImmigrants
flowering spirals,
effective spells
inciting this one last great co-immigrant transition
into reborn matriarchal,
also cooperatively-owned partner patriarchal,
full-living color,
inviting each and all
to never fade out
to all Western NorthernWhite Capitalists
pursuing monocultural supremacy 
of WinLose entropy,
empty dissonance,
white noise of Other Absence.

Squirrels and trees,
robins and rivers,
have chosen us to emigrate from past times
with them
toward our mutual co-enfranchisement.
So, no fair anti-ecologically disenfranchising them,
our native healthing
prosperous democratic hosts.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Teppo Gren | Details

Initiations of love - Part 1


In the hours of twilight your star brightened my shadowed dream,
long since faded from the youthful beleif of reverie.
In you I mirrored distant memories of childhood INNOCENCE,
beauty of love in it’s early bloom, to ripeness, yet with depth of sensation,
discovered only through the pain of yearning, hearts suffering.

Through the clouded haze I felt the dream once more,
with wisdom born through nature’s falseness of sullen existence.
A long gone vision of a mind once so hopeful,
whose desires were numbed, dreams shattered yet TRUST beheld;
a yearning heart turned into a core of solid gold; hard yet frail.

Where love once flowed in a heart so frail,
eagerness of will echoed in the emptiness to find a way through the dark.
The mind found PATIENCE to fulfill the desired image,
a promise of love, realization of a long-felt need,
thoughts and emotions sacrificed for mortal gestures.

Whispering winds of silence, blowing yonder an arduous past,
with a quiet wish for a reflection of bygone times of tranquility,
to encounter the warmth of serenity through FORGIVENESS.
Forgiveness, not only of injustice and treachery,
but for the disbelief in love’s worth; and destiny’s reason.

Yet you appeared in an angel pureness, a vision of white;
through time to understand the meaning of eternal love
which is not tied by wordly needs, by shallow desire, or pleasures of the flesh,
but of AWARENESS of love’s deepest form of ensued knowledge,
a realization of love’s eternity; at the level of the soul.

In your eyes I saw the depths of forsaken desire,
and the pain of love’s initiation, yearning, love’s sorrow.
When I saw the teardrops running down your cheek, I knew.
I knew you retained the depth of FEELING as did I,
to behold the tenderest appreciation of love’s virtue.

In appearances of disguise life exists, as does love.
Dreams mingled with charm and enticement of reality,
in submission of togetherness to end a lonely heart’s search,
to earn love’s fondness by DEVOTION to its existence,
yet with reverence to retain the purity of the souls longing.

Released from chains of amorous passion, false desire,
I hold you in my heart, gently, with chastity of innocence.
With enlightenment I renounce worldly pleasures,
and enjoy the FREEDOM given, for love to grow,
reach the ripeness of eternity; freedom to aspire endless love.

Delight of divine inspiration to encounter love’s ECSTASY,
its wordly passion fulfilled, and continued by nature’s gift.
A gift more precious than love itself; newborn to love once more.
Love exists in forms of many; passion to unite as one to give new life,
perceived by nurturing care, kindness of the heart; true love’s zeal.

But what is love without HUMILITY; modest humbleness?
Selfish contentment of desire; satisfaction of bodily needs
prone to temptations of deception to be drowned by lusts amorous lure.
Be it not the beauty of Venus or Mars, but that of awareness,
to feel the depth of meaning by lessons of life; and of loneliness.

Witheld from touch of the flesh, or minds wordly eagerness,
PURE love reigns, untarnished, blessed with innocence,
to fathom, and to feel the infinite tenderness of love once parted.
Love needs no proof for its existence; no words, no kisses, no promises.
When love has grown to ripeness, its existence remains with enlightnment.

Is there no easier way to find love’s eternal FULFILLMENT,
then to weather the wrath of love’s pain, fallacy of deception,
rejected hearts loneliness; lonely days followed by darkened nights.
Be it less to weather lightning of the heart to see the light of life.
But how to comprehend the light of life without a sight of darkness?

T.J Grén

Inspired by astrologer Linda Goodmans book „Love Signs“ and it’s concept of initiations of love, whereby each sign of the zodiak has a lesson of love to teach and to learn.
Lessons to teach: Love is: innocence, patience, awareness, devotion, ecstacy, pure, beauty, passion, ho-nesty, wisdom, tolerance, compassion.
Lessons to learn: Love is: trust, forgiveness, feeling, freedom, humility, fulfillment, harmony, surrender, loyalty, unselfish, oneness, all.
For me all this means that LOVE IS ALL. 

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Andrea Dietrich | Details

The Instincts of Innocence

I reflect upon a word -
To understand more fully what it means,
I think of what it conjures up for me -
childhood times -
 those times when I believed all I was taught
from silly things like Santa Clause
 to sacred things
            like God and true religion.

The way I accepted and then reacted to 
my mother’s definitions  of what was wrong and right
  I think is how I might define 
           my instincts ….. of innocence.
Having learned well right from wrong in my youth,
            my instinct was to feel shock or dismay
when I saw others doing      things I deemed immoral,
especially when the doers were those that I looked up to
           inside the parameters of my own church.
However, my tolerance for others’ evil doing 
  increased year by year, 
            Even in my youth, I never judged them outright.
Those girls and boys that slept around through high school
              were judged inside the silence of my mind.
       I never shunned them.

A few more decades passed. 
      Religion’s walls around me were wearing down.
  I never did cement the cracks in my walls’ foundation
      as did some others in my community -
               others who sought to strengthen their own walls
    with instincts of innocence espoused inside
                        the sanctity of chapels.
When was it I let my childhood instincts  totally crumble?

Generally more tolerant than many of my friends
  that I grew up with, I saw “other” people
with eyes that rarely blinked  at what I deemed to be audacity.
Those with different customs, or with strange new religions
          I have accepted in my life and tried hard not to judge.
Some things, however, I cannot tolerate.
             Societies that put their women down and 
people who abuse the weak, emotionally as well as physically,
Never will those actions I accept.

Now I ponder this: Are the instincts of innocence simply tied
          to what we learn as children?
I have seen select groups of people shunned
            by both the religious and the non-religious
simply for the fact that they are different!
And from whence comes the idea in a child’s mind 
to make him think that someone should be shunned?
Do our instincts of innocence simply come
from that time of life
when we looked up to our parents as our Gods,
accepting their every teaching as Gospel
and feeling fear to ever go against them?
Many things we learn are for our good, and
societies would turn to chaos without some guidelines
akin to the ten commandments.

On the other hand,
as a child, I was innocent.
    My instinct was to trust in strangers.
              Then I learned better.
My instinct was to cringe but say nothing   
   the time I was inappropriately touched.
Thankfully, since then, I have learned better.
In some instances, I would say, 
our instincts of innocence
                                                should be laid to rest!

For a long while now, I’ve been seeing
a small but significant segment of the population
that differs in their sexual orientation or preference.
Those who taught me in my youth
 that I ought to be as meek as a child
         still point today to ancient Scriptures
                  as the way for all to keep their innocence.

But my walls have fallen down.
    I stand here in the rubble
              unsure that I've done right or wrong
         in letting many of my childhood  ways of thinking
                   collapse so utterly.
The instincts of my thinking adult mind tell me that
     I am not wrong to stand with those who want their right
                to the pursuit of their own happiness
despite the fact their actions are denounced
         by the very teachings on which I was raised.

Can we ever really lose completely 
those thoughts developed from our early teachings, 
which led to the instincts of our childhood innocence?
At times, I cannot be completely at ease
in what I have let go of and in who I have become,
for the instincts of innocence 
     still dwell           in the caverns of my mind.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details


                            ~ Punished~
One evening with her dad she met this man at a bar very
handsome well mannered visiting from England.
After a few visits she started feeling him approaching her 
with nice compliments.

His attention made her fall In love with him
For months he took her out running to the beach 
shouting out loud I love your body i love your eyes
you’ll never belong to nobody but me.
On a moonlight night he was holding her so tight 
kissing her lips caressing her tits expressing his 
desire to light up the fire that was burning in their
entire body and soul.

As he was her first this is what she thought at the 
beginning she was very reserved yet she liked the 
fire she was feeling they were new to her his kissing 
was sensuous he smelled lovely he was caressing her
hair while sitting on the sand she was so taken by her
thoughts suddenly she heard.

Oh my darling let me love you my way let me make you 
my woman without any delay I beg you to give up and 
stop the fight I am promising at the same time to marry 
you very soon I will ask your dad that you will become my 
wife next Sunday at soon.

She wanted to believe him her head was spinning her heart
was beating to the sounds of his powerful movements
she was reaching the sky so quickly sensations of ecstasy 
she was feeling with his compliments whispering his love 
to her out loud while she was dreaming of the marriage 
as being lifted up on a carriage listening to the horses 
tapping on the course to the hotel room where they will 
spend their honeymoon as she will become that bride 
at noon.

Before even her dreams were over she felt him suddenly 
role over and ran away with no delay she could not understand
why ? Why? Did he leave with no good-bye.

Not realizing she was undressed hurried to get dressed ran to look 
from side to side asking herself why did he hide he promised me 
to be his bride? even if she was yet a child.

She sat where they loved each other looking at the ocean maybe
he will come back he must he told her he is in love.

Already it was dark in a low voice having no choice she ran 
home straight to her room wiping her running tears and fears
covering her feet to feel some heat and fell asleep not to see
her dad as maybe tomorrow he will come back with an 
explanation to his act. 

Hoping not to be deceived and very soon to be relieved
when he ‘ll knock on their door and swipe her off her feet 
tell her dad to fix their marriage.

She waited for days and days but that day never came 
she knew then it was only a game and she`ll never see 
him again and will never be the same.
That early morning she woke up before her dad to cheer up 
herself for him not to doubt she had maybe made a huge 
Having her coffee she pulled the newspaper and screamed
Oh Oh the man she loved was an addicted rapist being 
searched from the Interpol in England, he had convinced 
everybody doctors and nurses that he was cured.

Continuing to read she read his history that he was battling 
addiction of raping teenagers for the past twenty years. Lived
most of the time in jail.
She cried and cried she was raped by an addicted rapist who
was never cured.
She could not eat or drink not knowing what to think 
while running to the sink that’s when she found out 
but couldn’t shout that she was carrying a rapist child. 

Where are you? She thought you were honest
But you were only an ordinary man still battling
your addiction.

Forgive me Oh My God! Her dad
forgave her out of love to his innocent daughter.

She had to keep her child and trusted herself
to bring him up not like his father.
And she did her son became an international lawyer.

   Therese Bacha
Contest for PD....Any Poem Goes.

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Ir0nic ZiNk | Details


Baby birds tweet as their long skinny necks stretch towards blind faith. Somewhat frantically; newly born; next to dead; fragile existence; protected with life. Regurgitation from the same embodied mouth that an egg came from. Hidden from the world in a tree of life and chosen by the universe, without choice. Bound by instinct, life's purpose is to live. Feather light with a solid frame; wings for flight flap for unexplainable reason…; decomposers prey on the dead. Predators’ gifted with unmatched naked eye site; take life. Meaningless meanings that explanation is interrogated by; comparing this ability to fly with freedom. Arguing its merits as well; baby birds incubated from eggs rely on instinct…; unable to see with their eyelids stuck shut. Definitions define with answers…; created by a man. Facts become law. Acceptance leaves out the option of debate; born into this world with instincts and long necks…; only to rely on blind faith.


I have a special place in my heart for this poem. Naming a poem ‘Huffing Paint in the Minivan’ just randomly popped into my head upon a recollection from my teenage years. My closest brother (at that time of my life) made a comfortable living selling twenty bags to all my high school friends. He bought a big blue van that we called the Smurf Mobile because we removed all the seats and lined every inch of the interior with super thick foam and we lined it with camouflage blue. And it was a full-size van; not a minivan. For whatever reason, huffing paint in the van just doesn’t have the same ring to it as Minivan.
The idea of the title originated in roughly 2002 when I was up early one Saturday morning. I was packing for baseball training camp in Omaha, NE, when I noticed the Smurf van rocking and I heard whispering voices. When I ripped open the back doors I was greeted by my two best friends and they were, in fact, huffing paint in the mini-wan; gold paint…
The two of them, complete idiots getting caught, looked like baby birds trying  to flap their armsd like chicken wings. I laughed and then aided their secret huffing society by shutting the doors, left with a mental image that I won’t ever forget. 
About the metaphor that this poem most surely is, I am pointing out the innocence of newly found life; in general. We are dependent on our guidance; vulnerable to life at the most fragile level possible. This inability of the baby birds to see is an imagery tactic that is extremely versatile in regards to relatable on a majority scale. It is my poetic mission to point out the options of our ignorance. Ignorance as a stigma rather that definitive word and has a great deal of hype attached to its meaning; ignorantly misunderstood. As we all are born ignorant and clueless to life we look to our closest role models for answers to what’s right and wrong; true or false. As we eventually become of age to freely think about life and begin forming our own opinions and establishing beliefs that we can only deem as self evident. I mention the food chain as a reminder of the circle of life. And through this is an entire seemingly naturalistic poem, about baby birds that rely on blind faith in the ability of their caretakers to provide as an instinctual behavior; without question. Logical led belief would be that we put faith into the ones who love us. Ultimately reliant upon faith in a higher meaning to life, truly believing that life is a blessing no matter how bad things may be right now, deep down we know in our hearts that we have a special place here on earth. This positive life outlook is the most effective way to achieve our ultimate life goal; happiness…

Copyright © Ir0nic ZiNk | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by John Hamilton | Details

Life in the so called free world

                                      Life in the so called free world

                                  So we live in the free world...really?

                                     Are you free to go out at night
                                        go where ever you like...or
                                        are you afraid, living in fear
                                 hiding behind triple locked doors with
                                        bars on the windows, like a 
                                               prisoner doing time 
                                              until daylight comes?

                                               Who rule the night
                                        are they not the delinquents
                                            and gang members and
                                               gun toting criminals
                                        that have the freedom to kill
                                            and to do as they please.

                                        Land of the free? You decide!

                                        What about freedom from lies
                              that are spread like manure on the ground,
                              and we eat of it's poisonous fruit everyday
                                          and it becomes a part of us
                                               and the cycle repeats.

                                                 What about freedom 
                                            from hate and prejudice? Or
                                                Is it alive and kicking
                                              in your neighbourhoods?

                                             Hate and racism run wild
                                             like the wolf and the lion
                                              seeking to devour their
                                           next innocent young victim
                                           who waits wide eyed like a 
                                               deer in the headlights
                                             waiting for death to come
                                                without even knowing
                                                     what hit them.

                                          What about freedom from fear?
                                        When it is preached in the pulpits
                                        that God is vengeful and tortures
                                             for an eternity in a hellfire.
                                           Does that make sense to you
                                             that a God of love tortures
                                        and torments, when we are made
                                              in his image and torture
                                                 to us is repugnant?

                                        Life in the free world is really free?
                                                       You decide.

John Derek Hamilton
January 17,2016


Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Manon peel | Details

Child set free

The child sat on the sofa,
her body laiden with bruises and covered in lice. 
She was only the age of one,
         maybe two.
     How could this be true?
I stared at my friend and she at me.
Tears flooded my eyes, how could this be?
My friend babysat this baby. 
Knowing the condition, 
This child should have been set free.
Her mother fed her condensed milk 
     as that was the only thing around. 
Her belly swelled from the lack of proper nutrition. 
I proceeded to change her diaper.
My cheeks stained, my eyes wide open,
 what was it I did see?
   A rash so bad, skin broken, she cried from the pain...
With my own money,
    A soothing cornstarch bath, lice shampoo. 
Oh this poor child, I'd had wished I knew!
Reaching with glove covered 
    hands for the phone.
             Calling the police and children's aid.
This child...NO THIS BABY.
With a broken heart I let her lay.
      A proper bottle of milk with supplements mixed. 
She drank and drank I was determined to fix......
      In clean clothes retrieved from another friend. 
The baby laid and held my hand.
Proper cream on her bum
      to help her heal.
My heart, angel baby did steal.
A rap on the door; 
     Police and children's aid arrived. 
Her own mother would be chastised.
An ambulance not far in tow.
        This little soul;
  Finally she would be free!
Was this the best decision though?
     My friend left behind.
In the ambulance, to the hospital we go. 
I refused to let children's aid 
     take her from my arms. 
I knew they wouldn't cause her 
        any harm. 
But my heart said no.
A privilege, they allowed me to accompany this innocent child;
         Finally at peace!
Her mother arrested for child neglect. 
What exactly happen to her, causes me to reflect.
       She lost custody of this one.
At last..... baby you have won.
She was now clean. 
My mind and thoughts returned to the mother, 
    not images of peace but images of regression between the mean.
   I had small children of my home. 
Food in their bellies and a place to roam.
    They were always in clean clothes,
even with their dirty noses.
I made sure my kids needs were met.
It didn't matter to me if 
       I didn't get.
As long as they were fed and cared for.
   I'd go without if they needed more.
You see, a child should never be in such a place.
    The mothers that follow this path should be disgraced.
  I don't care, your circumstance.
Your child will never have a chance.
If their needs are never provided for;
     they will die an agonizing death. 
You will roam free, after baby takes           
         their last breath.
In our society, there you will always find help. 
To abuse your small one in such a way.
        It was certain anger I felt.
I wanted her to feel the same pain.
Seeing only red, 
      I needed to refrain.
I stopped seeing that one friend. 
             A friendship at its end.
You KNEW about this ABUSE and 
       YOU allowed it to continue. 
        Those in need, take heed;
            If I ever find you.. 
   Know this to be true.
You will never see your child again.
They will be freed and a future
                they will attain. 

Copyright © Manon peel | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Elisa Christensen | Details

My Little Kings

I met you on the road of Longing,
As you took me hand in hand,
My heart burst with love wide open,
And so our journey began.-

My Kings, my life is yours,
I have lived to this moment for you,
And from this very breath until my last,
I am devotedly yours in all that I do.

We splashed and played that day,
Along the water's crystal edge blue.
As the grey heron gracefully glided,
And the gentle, green lace lay softly in dew.

I looked at my First King and asked,
As his eyes sparkled crystal blue,
What will you teach me this day?
For it was what you were born to do.

At that moment, I barely caught him,
As my dancing around him led to a fall,
And although I knew he was hurting,
With tears he said nothing at all.

My heart, at the mere idea of,
Causing my Little King pain,
Like the most delicate glass it shattered,
And I vowed to never be so careless again!

"My Dear Mom, don't you understand?
A perfect you is not what I seek,
I want a mother who is brave enough,
To dance with me when I'm strong or weak!

Your love for us is without limit,
In all that we are and that we do,
Give us the gift of loving yourself the same,
Be gentle and forgiving of yourself too."
My Youngest King ran up to me now,
And the sun sparkled off his golden hair,
"My Dear King, will you still find me beautiful?
Even when my glow and shine are no longer there?"

"My Dear Mother, there is no beauty,
Like the beauty you are in our eyes,
As we are to you, the green in your world,
You bring the blue to our skies."

There in the forest, I began to sing,
My sons' favorite lullabies,
And suddenly the birds all joined in,
Flitting down to us from the skies.

Although my voice cracked horribly,
And I constantly changed to a worse key,
I noticed the boys smiled and hummed with me,
As if I was in perfect harmony.

As the sun glittered down through the trees,
Casting green and yellow light shows all around,
I understood for the very first time,
To them I was the perfect act, perfect sound.

My Kings, I spoke, slowing a bit,
My eyes on the earth's raw floor,
What if I just don't know the right things?
Don't know the best or need to know more?

What if I misguide the King's best ships?
Or lead his finest ponies astray?
What if you look to me for help in need,
And I fail you on your most critical day?

My tears dropped heavily onto the wide leaves,
And my heart beat hard at the thought,
Cruze slipped his small hand into one of mine,
And Neeko the other then they told what I sought,

Our, dear, sweet mother we ask nothing of you,
Except your love and acceptance, nothing more.
And just as I lifted my eyes to see them,
I heard a distant mother lion roar.

You are perfect just by being ours,
Our Queen, our Mother, our Love,
Just as we, your Sons, your Little Kings,
Are your perfect gifts from Heaven above.

Come walk through this life with us, Mom,
And let use show you the many ways,
We can share our lives and the joy they bring,
In all of our many glorious, sunny, days.

And when your gift of unconditional love, Mom,
Has turned us from Little Kings into Great Men,
We will present you with gifts to show you our love,
A new set of Little Kings for you to love again!

Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by John Hamilton | Details

Delusional reality check

Delusional reality check

Do you feel it?
I know you do,

you know the feeling,
that nagging feeling

deep down inside,
inside your soul,
your psyche,

the part of you,
that even you don't 
go to visit, very often
it's a very, very,
scary place.

So instead, 
you try to avoid thinking
about it...
that thing, 

that's always present,
that thing, that
you can run from, 
but you can't hide from
because it's 
always there, like your shadow
there's no escaping it.

You saw the news last night,
as it raised it's ugly head again?

You tried not to watch it,
so you change the channel,
but there it is, again,
you turn off the tv
and turn on the radio
but there it is again!
breaking news,
you try not to listen
because you know 
what will happen if you listen...
your life will change...
again... forever.

But you did hear it!
you did see it!
the unimaginable happened
innocent children...
killed at a music concert
by a suicide bomber.

Those words,
never used to 
come out of your mouth...
but now it happens 

And so, 
you try to convince yourself
that everything will be alright!
but you know...
the truth...
deep down
inside your very core
and you want to scream
(they could be my children)
where are my children?
Oh yeah, they're upstairs
sleeping, safe and sound...
but are they safe?
Am I safe?
Who is next?
will they strike at the mall again?
or the airport again,
or at the restaurant again,
or just walking down the street...
will I get mowed down by a truck
for no reason at all!
maybe at school, 
there will be another shooting 
and my children?
No stop it!
stop it right now!
stop thinking like that
don't get hysterical
if we show any fear,
or if we change our normal routine,
they have won!
and you won't let them win right?

So, you put on your mask,
your happy smile,

that prozac induced
blank stare,
and you go out with your friends,
to the usual places,

that nice little french cafe on the corner,
the mall, for the sales of course!
look at that nice little black purse!
Oh I need another one!
that, will go so nice with my,
oh no, 
I don't have a dress to go with this purse
oh, look over there!
it's perfect!

you know what you're doing,
you're distracting yourself,
trying to convince yourself, 
that all is well...
everything is fine!
really it is!!

your distractions, 
your delusional illusions,
will not keep you safe,

deep down inside 
you know it!

You pass by a mirror
and see yourself,
you fix your hair,
then you stop to analyze
your face, 
and then, 
you see it!
At that very moment,
you realize...
they have won!

John Derek Hamilton
May 23,2017

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2017

Long Poems