Long Loss of innocence Poems
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They watch from the shadows
Observing a world far darker
Etched in their very minds
Were memories of olden days
When fear was merely a story
And war merely a fantasy
Parents grieved over the loss of innocence
Many children faced daily
But when would it finally end
When every city is burning
With crows picking at human remains
If there is valor in war
It is found in those who save
When the buildings are burning
They pull out children, women, and men
They work and end the inferno
So that peace may again be found
They watch from the shadows
Observing a world far darker
Etched in their very minds
Were memories of olden days
When fear was merely a story
And war merely a fantasy
Remember with me one final time
For their silent sacrifice
Resisting The Repression
Competition between a brother and sister
Rendition of an eighties song all about how much he miss her
War of attrition between two countries facing off without a resister
Ambition of an Olympian to only on race day end up with a blister
Loneliness creeping in before twightlight starts to break and linger
Ghostliness of a past love coming back like a harbinger
Cosiness of a warmth so engrained it lasts throughout the winter
Holiness of a man ordained with the essence of God in his little finger
Warning all who sit in comfort to stretch out beyond their horizons
Forming all the combinations but still required to sleep with the lights on
Storming through the degradation of more arguments to be right on
Mourning the loss of innocence as I’m forced to find a corner with which to fight from
Objectification of a woman by a powerful CEO
Rectification of a statement that would never have passed “go”
Unification of a people who they never wanted to know
Stupefaction of a system that is only there for show
Culmination of a problem as we sit behind screens in isolation
Rumination of a mind inclined to introspective observations
Declaration of a manifesto by a twisted mass shooter caught before the devastation
Aberration of the justice system as the innocent go without advocation
Sociopolitical violence everywhere you hate to look
Hypercritical eyes inside my silence as they analyse a new controversial book
Parasitical environmental activists looking for the next media stunt to hook
Neurotypical minds that are inclined to complain and then to sook
Elimination of the pain that resides in each passing new moment
Annotation of the grammar as I consider the next component
Liberation of a race that has lived under the rule of a tyrant
Consideration of all the elements predicting the next inquirement
Lamentation of the time that’s passed while reluctantly convalescing
Fragmentation of a life that’s lost while psychologically regressing
Cancellation of a genius comedian speaking the truth just like confessing
Aberration at this cultural shift as I I’ll be resisting all this repressing
The End Elizabeth Moroz copyright
My poems come from the heart because my soul lost its way,
My poems are written hoping that my soul could be found one day,
I sit across from myself writing poems on a mirror to a me I haven’t known since the second grade,
I don’t think I’ll ever see him again,
But I remember the way his smile radiated like sun rays,
Reading up and down the words we’d write away,
They were simple then, morse dots and dashes that weren’t legible anyway,
But it brought that kid a smile just to crayon some color to the page.
We use to just sit down for hours and waste time figuring out where to begin,
A purple crayon to anywhere we could go without pay,
A key to a door that would’ve opened if we’d had our say,
But days passed and that kid got older with time ticking away,
He traded his sweaters for hoodies and velcro for tied knots and cardigans,
His stars died out the back of his eyes,
He’d forgotten how to start again.
Walking through tall grass and broken glass,
Discarding pages of purple drawings in burning bins.
And all I can think of now is just-
Where I was when the changes started again.
My head was up in the clouds,
Down in my books,
Breaking my mental barriers with gnawed metal and dammed up brookes,
Its better than it looks.
My soul found that child down by the shore.
And now I’m here with my heart.
Wondering if they’ll ever visit.
Anymore.
Hibiscus rays of light herald
sun's stretch from night to twilight
in wakening blooms of ravishing red passion—
Oh! how I despise dawn's
blushing optimism and lust for life
for I am too young to cry but too old not to
featherlight the dandelion puff
as zephyrs blew seeds of our fantasies
free to fly the whims and sighs of our summer days
till breezes laid our pixie-dust down
wishes taking root in fast flourish—
pollen-plush dream-weeds grew in fields of gold
champagne flowed voluptuously through our veins
we laughed and pulsed with ambrosia-arousal
and with every nectarous nip
we lived as though we would celebrate love
f o r e v e r
a handful of heartbeats ago
we crystal-gazed into moon’s silver circle
believing in foretold fortunes of our future
our mythologies shaped in affectionate frescoes
sculpted softly into plum-dyed skies
constellations born from fireworks in our wooing eyes
—until the heart-twisting dawn-to-dark
when a cloud of angels cradled
sun-gilded harps
against their white-rose-hearts
teardrops in ecstasies of grief and joy
strummed celestial strings in virgin blue glissandos
lifting his lustrous soul away from me— lifting him
across the bridge to bliss —somewhere beyond me
and behind snowy veils of virtue
I am anemic
if not nothing now
adulterated
by loss of innocence
dwindling
in a dreamless star-broken state
unoccupied
but for the lurid loss that fills me—
and my black skies storm with shrieking tears!
As I was walking late one night along a downtown street
I came upon a sad, sad sight that led to hope’s deplete.
The painted ladies paced the night in black stiletto heels,
and searched beneath the neon light for what the dark conceals.
Along the row of sleezy bars and smoke filled cabarets
where lonely men forget their scars and drown their woes away;
there walked a girl so innocent, so gentle, meek, and mild;
the pains of life lay imminent before this virgin child.
She left her home and came out west, from Kansas I believe;
the search for stardom was her quest; she thought she could achieve.
Her dream be famous and be seen, a movie star to be;
to see her face upon the screen and name up on marquee.
But fame is such a fickle friend, and always out of reach;
when lost, her life did soon descend and innocence impeach.
Like those who came before her found, to make ends meet somehow,
you had to compromise your ground, give up, give in, and now
she’s doomed to always walk the night in black stiletto heels,
and search beneath the neon light for what the dark conceals.
And this, my story thus concludes a tale of childhood lost;
for most the quest for fame eludes, and comes at such a cost.
April 30, 2018
Written: September 30, 2023
____________________________________________________________
Incipient of dusk, with heavy eyes shutting.
My spirit dies with each day of leisurely cutting.
Folding oneself in a featly state of reminiscence.
I recall when love meant a loss of innocence.
In the depths of time, I recall a letter you wrote.
With words that touched my soul, every note
In ink stained with passion, emotions blaze.
A testament to passion in an ethereal maze
As the curtain opens today and casts
Sets blur in mists of fallen drops, amort contrast,
Vivid hues of happiness are now washed away.
Leaving only shadows of what used to sway.
The inability to forget your final farewell
My heart harbors words: Infinity to dwell.
The facts remain
Poverty greed remain
War power remain
Struggle death remain
Starvation famine remain
Fire devastation remain
Flood catastrophe remain
Rape loss of innocence remain
Murder loss of life
Christmas rebirth
Beyond Christmas Hope,renewed, for Peace on Earth.
I wrote this some time ago
SOLDIER OF BATTLES.. Steve Hudson
It started, in silence, in infancy; the eyes look beyond the darkness
To understand the sounds of rage, echoes of misunderstanding,
The beginnings of normalcy wrought with disturbance,
Bereavement for the loss of innocence and the first lesson learned.
The lines in ground becoming clearer.
The only thing that ever came easy for me is warring,
Not because I chose the ground, but because it chose me.
Here is your sword; here is your battle,
The field is endless and there is no turning back,
So find your heart and find your place among the ranks
You sojourn with.
You tell one another it will be okay, and that we will pull through,
But no one really knows.
Its only after our first encounter and mortal blow that we find some
Courage to face another foe.
The welcomed peace endured for a season, then skies darken
On eminent splayed horizons and shadowy realms of spirit
You try to make sense of the next wave of terror,
Taunted and vexed at every turn.
Your enemies take form in shapes of, what is true?
Wrestling, pondering among bloody concepts and the why.
Wounds received through fearful encounters take shape of scars,
Scars take shape of trusted moments carried through
Onslaughts of deception.
Fallen men on smoldering ground, tormented by hounds of confusion.
This is how it started, but not how it ended for you see,
There was One we found in heated skirmish
Battle hardened and sure footed, the spear and shield wielded
With skillful hands, He inspired confidence in us all.
On days we found respite, He sat with us and taught strategies in warfare,
The secrets to winning the hearts and minds of defeated bretheren.
The certainty and comfort in His eyes, told stories of ancient victories held.
A kingly stature though plain to view, never considered Himself better
Then the lowliest man I knew.
We asked about some of the scars He brandished,
“They are scars received from the greatest of man’s struggles,” He said,
He got them while defending the poorest of souls.
It was then we understood, it was of us He spoke.
So now we gladly fight for this One who became the captain of our heart,
We’ve learned from the truths that have pierced our very souls,
our greatest cause and reason to be.
A soldier of battles was He…
Her selflessness exquisitely expresses itself in a mystical way
With absence of arrogance, her decisions benefit the greater good.
She has survived abuse unknown and unrecognizable by thousands
Her loss of innocence is their gain,
She brings rainbows and unicorns to the summit.
She keeps her worries and fears away from the minds of the others.
Wanting them to relish in their innocence,
Not wanting to burden them in any way.
Her survival instincts are on ready alert.
She is wary of the disguised and the hidden.
Bringing truth and justice into the forefront.
Uplifting and adoring others.
My fury and outrage remain unabated , it seethes like magma
and spreads itself throughout my being , it is barely contained
I shield it to keep the damage within , so it does not consume me
or those I love and want not to hurt.
My dark raving hisses and steams awaiting release , with screams,
hysteria that I may not be able to save the one that becomes my
vent , the outpouring eruption of pain , that I would whip and lash
with lurid pitch that it might cloak with agony the one whom I love
upon its receipt .
Why cannot I cover it and shift my focus to that which builds and
does not tear down and ravage as I have been ravaged?
Why does not that majesty of things that stand before me
not move me to ease or peace?
Oblivion , that vast chasm that plunges deep within my
soul ice cold heart , I wish it destroyed , but its the only thing
within that seems still alive and beating.
I wish it replaced with tenderness and warmth that it may
mark you with pleasure and not agony, clothe you with
beauty and not the ugliness that has taken up residence
and keeps its rent.
In sackcloth and ashes I mourn the loss of innocence , not
for myself only but for all those who suffer , and raise
not their hands against the perpetrators of their suffering.
God do not let me join in acts of perpetuation , that I strike
others in kind , in repayment for their deeds.
My life has been sacked and looted , thieves have stolen every
precious piece of personality that might make me redeemable.
Raw and naked estate exposed, my inheritance from Adam ,
I was molded in pain and forged by fire imprinted by a storm
of ire......
Oh God , why did you preserve me so that I had not died and
left me alive to cry , scream at the trials of fire that blister
the souls of men....
Awaken oh my heart , do not sleep in the death of love , and
the reign of savage pain , and the cries of those who live in
affliction , whose cries have been silenced before you.....
My tears have become stone , my walls a castles fortress
I cannot cast aspersions it holds you as well as I,
unlike the earth my stone cannot drink in the sun
Job moments
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC