Long Pity Poems
Long Pity Poems. Below are the most popular long Pity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pity poems by poem length and keyword.
I Did Not Kiss You Goodbye
By Franklin Price
03/27/2022
I did not kiss you goodbye
On the evening that you died
It has not ceased to bother me
If I said, I would have lied
I was saddened by self pity
That I was being left behind
That was not supposed to happen
It had never crossed my mind
Our daughter Dani and myself
Were holding on to you
When the Lord took you to Heaven
And your life on Earth was through
A calmness overtook us
Peace and sorrow in our head
Your soul had gone to Glory
Your body left there in the bed
The priest came soon thereafter
Said his last words over you
That evening had become a blur
What was I supposed to do?
Hospice called the mortuary
Who took the body left, away
All of this within a hour
At least it seemed so on that day
I realized, I had not kissed you,
As God took you by the hand
I said the words, “I love you”
I pray to God you understand
That we're only separated
Until we meet again on high
I'll kiss your lips again in glory
When I leave life by and by
Salem Village, Massachusetts
May 11, 1692
Of evil works in league with the devil, I am accused.
Spit upon, bolts tethered in chains, I have been abused.
People mardle I cast spells of palsie to make them twitch.
Blinded by fear, they labeled me a sorceress, a witch.
Superstition is to blame for blinding their eyes.
I claim innocence when affronted by boisterous cries.
"Burn the witch!" they shout in frenzied outrage.
Until tomorrow's trial, I am to be kept inside a cage.
These Puritans are wrong to think they do God's will.
Christians should not have such an urgency to kill.
There is no talk of banishment. That would be a blessing,
but the crimes they say I committed, I am not confessing.
Other women in the village are facing this tragic fate.
Pity that our lives will be in the hands of the magistrate.
Sorrow fills me knowing I will meet death on the gallows
and tossed in a grave, not worthy of ground that is hallow.
I am already convicted in the minds of those who leer.
My pleas of having done nothing wrong, they do not hear.
All of a dudder, I hear them say, "She is a witch possessed!"
"Forsooth," I will cry in court, "to witchery I have not confessed!"
Somewhere from outside, I faintly hear a church bell clanging.
Then, a hoard of voices screaming, "It is time for hanging!"
I write these words before the mob comes to take me away.
God, please keep me in your heart. I will not live another day.
Bridget Bishop,
Falsely accused of being a witch
Anger smolders like burning coals;
igniting flames that consume souls.
The Gaza Strip is bombed in mass,
as hearts shatter, like broken glass.
Torrid tongues of fire lick the sky,
tasting Death as the jets scream by.
And there is no safety in caves
nor shelters that morph into graves.
Israelis don't believe it's odd,
Muslim blood stains the hands of God.
For words scrawled on banners of hate:
tout that Gaza will rue its fate.
Mother and child, entombed by Death:
pray for vengeance, with their last breath.
And spilled on the altar of pride
an ocean of blood: drowns each side.
There is no pity found in age;
for the young and old, share their rage.
And as righteous flames sear the ground;
hate, mistrust, and revenge abound.
The day has arrived, his legions now march
From Hades through the crevice to earth he'll leave parched
Almighty flames will his soldiers follow
Never caring who they engulf, no remorse for their sorrow
Town after town, from city to city
He'll carry Hell's torch, never to wallow in their pity
And when the strong succumb to his wrath
Followers of the white will in turn change their path
No more will you see colourful pastels of hue
Or even the skies and it's innocent blue
The greened rich lands farmed for thousands of years
Will die dry decrepit, no rain for it's tears
Civilizations will be swallowed never to rise
Even thunder will be silenced whilst the masses death cry
The day has now passed the year twenty twelve
It's time for the dark master to once again delve
We are ladies-in-waiting and martyrs,
as tears are hardened like trails
of muddy barracks…
yet in the aggressive power- courts;
each detonating bullet hemorrhages
all veins of war- torn flesh ,
our stained faces pretending to play
and underplay the hurt of wounds within.
How long are those late twilights
as we anticipate a riddled uncertainty
within our homes' rotten gates and dim lamps
for the screeching angst to halt. cease:
The radio blasts hideous self-pity
into the stings, the bladder of evenings
when a combat fires deathly pellets
through broken hearts of our sons, husbands :
Will daytime become Aurora’s reward?
Maidens of hope, we wail and quaver
for men in camouflage… dear life, speak!
Are they lost. dead. or agile?…
pained, we remain mute ladies-in-waiting.
~*~
Contest of Broken Wings: Broken-Hearted Poems
Written 10/14/2017
SMOKE BLOWN
By: Ryechine Money
Rewritten by: Poetic- Life
July 12, 2021
Her watery word were larded with lies, The cold and calculated diffidence in her persona was to fool only fools, but never the wise, we’ve been down the well – trodden road many times before enough times to know when,
Smoke is being blown ….
The things at first glance seem alluring can often be quite dreadful upon closer examinatim … Though she may be unduly revered by the unseeing and the unknowing,
She has become abominated by those who have already felt the ice-cold tactility of lies suffocating embrace,
One sight glance upon her uncaring opaque eyes would be a definite result in one’s untimely demise, high and mightily she site civilized piece of society with a subtle hint of unhinged brutality, More’s the pity for those who do not obey, I’d say they’d be lucky to be thrown into a prison, Never again to see another sunshine day, Dishonest, Dishonorable, Despicable, Manipulative, Cruel, and Unindicative…
Conniving, Condescending and carnivorous is she what is her name you ask? Well surely my friend you’ve heard of her before… her name is … this portion is one of my Rayo’s
By: Ryechine Money Rewritten
Rewritten by: Poetic- Life
July 12, 2021
A glance that seemed expendable, but the closer I looked the deeper her beauty sprouts
From a period I consider lifeless came purpose
My heart just kept drawing closer
kindled by the urge to express beauty as an art
I had my projections but love defiles
It strings you to a soul yet embodied in the smile of another
Running wild your heart races
Swift lightening engulfing your senses
I am but a soldier left for victory or pity
Like an espionage at enemy lines I've made my choice
Love is worth the fight so I'll see this war till the endless end of forever
It may take my all, but that is my call.
To the one I chose above all.
She no longer loves me
She said her heart feels it
She can't even try to pretend
Like she can really control her heart
Don't pity me let us celebrate
She had the trouble to be true
Like I am untied to one sided love
The heart can now easily let go
I feel so free -out of the cage
No body can lie to me now
Pretending to feel cherished
I really love her for such a truth
If you meet her down town
Don't look at her with wild gaze
Like she be untamed cat as a cheetah
She had learnt to be true and loving
She no longer loves me
She said her heart feels it
At first she would pretend
Yet now she can't even try to ...
A solitary tear escapes my eye,
As poignant thoughts shuffle my decor.
If only I could rewrite the script, defy,
To release the burden that anchor my core.
"Why me?" reverberates through the ventricles, mummified,
Ripped apart by destiny's cruel spell.
In this moment of truth, I stand crucified,
Awaiting light to penetrate each cell.
Acquaintances revel in my agony,
As I waddle through the puddles,
Tripped by the weight of bitter irony,
In molasses-like mean shackles.
Yet I strive to rise from the ashes of fire,
As cadavers of self-pity unleash,
Infusing life into a desert's sapphire,
Elevating my spirit—hope as a feast.
FOR YEARS I TRIED TO
FIND MYSELF IN WORK,
IN THINGS AND BOOZE
WHEN FACED WITH
WRENCHING
DESPERATION I DIDN’T
KNOW THAT I COULD
CHOOSE
I PUT DOWN BOOZE AT
TWENTY NINE AND
THOUGHT I HAD BEEN
SAVED
BUT THINGS WERE
STILL MY GOD AT
HEART THOUGH I
THOUGHT I HAD IT
MADE
MY LIFE AROUND ME
MUCH IMPROVED NOW
SOBER I HAD A CHANCE
BUT WITH MY HEART SO
DESPERATE FOR AN
ANSWER I NEVER
LEARNED TO DANCE
AT FORTY THREE I
PICKED UP BOOZE
AGAIN AND MY THINGS
COULD NOT SUSTAIN ME
BOOZE NO LONGER
NUMBED THE PAIN AND
THAT AWARENESS HAD
NOT FREED ME
FROM MYSELF I TRIED
TO GET AWAY FROM THE
SHAME AND GUILT
AND FOUND LITTLE
PURPOSE TO BE AT
ALL, TO SURVIVE, TO
HAVE THE WILL
I PUT DOWN BOOZE AT
FORTY SEVEN AND
THOUGHT I HAD BEEN
SAVED
BUT THINGS WERE
STILL MY GOD AT
HEART THOUGH I
THOUGHT I HADE IT
MADE
FOR YEARS TO COME
I’D LOSE IT ALL AND
WONDER WHAT WENT
WRONG
AND SING TO MYSELF
SO I COULD HEAR MY
SAD, LAMENTING SONG
O’ PITY ME I HAVE IT
ROUGH I USED TO HAVE
IT ALL
I USED TO BE
SOMEBODY ONCE LONG
BEFORE THE FALL
MY SONG TURNED INTO
POETRY WHICH I USED
TO ASK FOR HELP
AND WITHOUT THINKING
I HAD TO WRITE WHAT
IT WAS I REALLY FELT
A LONGING IN MY
HEART THAT I RECALL
WAS ALWAYS THERE
TO KNOW MYSELF AND
BE WITH HIM VOID OF
ANY FEAR
AND THROUGH HIS
GRACE I FOUND MY
VOICE-OH SECRETS I
WOULD TELL
THROUGH WRITING
POETRY I FOUND THAT
I WAS BECOMING WELL
THE WORDS UNLOCKED A
PLACE INSIDE I
ALWAYS FEARED TO GO
BUT NOW WITH EACH
EXPRESSION I FEEL MY
SPIRIT GROW
THERE ARE LESSONS I
STILL NEED TO LEARN
AND LESSONS I WILL
TEACH
AS I LISTEN TO THE
STILLNESS OF GOD I
AM WELL WITHIN HIS
REACH
I PUT DOWN ALL THE
THINGS THAT CONTINUE
TO GET IN MY WAY
AT FIFTY GOD RESTS
IN MY HEART I KNOW I
HAVE BEEN SAVED
I HAD TO LEARN THAT
LIFE IS NOT THOUGHTS
BUT THE ESSENCE OF
WHAT IS FELT
THE ANSWER CAME TO
ME SUDDENLY THAT
NIGHT I FINALLY
KNELT.
8-10-14