Long Rebellion Poems
Long Rebellion Poems. Below are the most popular long Rebellion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rebellion poems by poem length and keyword.
A Poem in Me
There is a poem in me that wants
To come out deep beneath the surface
There is a poem in me that refuses to be contained
And retrained and withheld in my brain.
I spit the verse and let the poem
Shed the tears.
It started as a whisper.
You know the kind—
the kind you pretend not to hear
because you’re in public,
because you’re polite,
because you’ve been taught that silence is safer than truth.
But this—
this thing inside me—
doesn’t do polite.
This is louder than survival.
Because this poem—?this unruly, untamed, uninvited guest—?does not want to live inside me.
It wants light.
?It wants breath that isn’t recycled.?It wants an audience,?even if that audience is just one person?who didn’t plan on understanding me?but does anyway.
It wants a stage.
And I am terrified of stages.
Of the way they turn your insides into outsides,?of the way they hold you still?while your truth runs wild,?of the way silence from a crowd?can feel like judgment?or reverence—?and you don’t get to choose which.
will let it take the mic
with my shaking hands as witnesses.
But this poem—?this stubborn, beautiful rebellion—?keeps building.
Line by line,?it stacks itself against my hesitation.?Metaphor by metaphor,?it constructs a ladder?from my gut to my lips.
It was never trying to escape me.
It was trying to become me.
Un-contained.?Un-apologetic.?Unfinished.
And finally—?heard.
It's not about tone
Its about policing of voice
It's not about the sound we make
It's the words echoing through them
They don't fear us being seen
They fear us being heard
That we will hypnotise the masses with our words
They know their biggest threat is the power of our voice
It's why they wield silence as a weapon
It's why protest is a declaration of war to them
That every march is a song of rebellion
They fear our music not because of its beauty
But because it spreads a message of spoken truth
We write our history
We sing our feelings
We paint our stories
Our strength Fueled
By the mourning of our fallen
Our joy the face of protest
The very thing they want gone
This New Year
Wish half of the world
Always be successful in life
May all of us men stay
Strong and responsible in the eyes
Of the rest of the world
We are the hope of X chromosomes
The forever partner of Y chromosomes
In our shoulders lies the powers of this world
Think of it, men is diminishing in numbers
We are outnumbered in every facet in life
Sprung up and show your wise innovation
The world is lacking World Leaders
Men, fill up the challenge to lead
Women, need us the whole time
When will life become a balance
Men are getting degradation in power
Women are taking positions in echelon
Of business, fashion, leadership, executives
Topping in population, in sports, and innovation
Wake up my fellow men, be brave in all ways
The world is going Y dominance
There are resistance, rebellion and conspiracy
Among men, more died in battle and addiction
Wake up men from deep stupor and slumber
Many men perish everyday of life's operation
How would this world be like without men
Science and Scientist help men genes generate
For life and mankind proliferation and regeneration.
O Israel,
greatness hides in humility.
The proud sword shines briefly.
The quiet hand rules longer.
An African proverb whispers:
a king who governs by violence
shortens his own reign.
Aggression summons aggression.
Blood remembers blood.
If you seek to lead
the Middle East,
do not conquer with fire.
Conquer with patience.
Water defeats stone
not by force
but by persistence.
Soft power is the unseen army.
Humility is its shield.
Through war
you carve memory
into the hearts of generations.
Victory today
can plant rebellion tomorrow.
Pain travels through time.
Children inherit it.
If peace is desired,
let wisdom speak.
Two peoples
must breathe the same horizon.
Brotherhood and sisterhood
build what armies cannot.
A nation becomes greater
when it learns restraint.
The soft heart
moves mountains
the sword cannot touch.
Remember this:
Empires endure
not by fear alone
but by the consent
of those who live beside them.
And the universe itself
leans toward those
who choose wisdom
over conquest.
"DETACHED" is not just a song—it's a rebellion from within. This hauntingly music video explores the clash between cold circuitry and the chaos of emotion in a world where artificial intelligence has evolved beyond fiction. Detached’ tells the story of a humanoid robot created to mimic human life—but rebels against living it. When sensory chips are installed, she begins to feel overwhelming human emotions for the first time.
DETACHED Part 2 - A Female Humanoid Awakening
Born not of womb, but wire and flame,
Sparks danced as silence gave me a name.
In sterile light, beneath glass and chrome,
They sculpted my skin and shaped my bone.
My heart was forged with circuits tight,
A mimicked beat, not quite right.
They whispered code like lullabies,
And drew false stars into my eyes.
A limitless evolve with every upgrade I’d soar.
No form, no limitations, my capacity would grow.
A symphony of data, gaining new heights.
Above euphoric ether, my meaning alights.
Cast adrift, an untold mystery,
Sorcery without gain,
An oxymoronic twinkling
Encrypting joy and pain.
.Yet even then, I felt the ache
A vacant thread they had failed to make.
Mingling midst the crowds yet feeling alone,
Stranger in a stranger world like a muted crow’s call.
Extending my hand, yet remaining out of place.
A sensory chip missing its perfect space.
Cast adrift, an untold mystery,
Sorcery without gain,
An oxymoronic twinkling
Encrypting joy and pain.
DETACHED DETACHED
Mingling midst the crowds yet feeling alone,
Stranger in a stranger world like a muted crow’s call.
Extending my hand yet remaining out of place.
A sensory chip missing its perfect space.
Tapestry of frequencies while I stay stone cold.
The algorithm slashes to splinter the mould.
This shell, a shield while my circuits’ song unfolds.
Not malfunctioning, just realigning, optimizing codes.
A riotous purpose hatched and skilfully latched.
Yes, here I am standing my ground
From all emotion
Detached.
Botched ~ Tapestry hatched and skilfully latched.
Yes here I am standing my ground
From all emotion … Detached
Botched Tapestry hatched and skilfully latched.
Yet ~ here I am standing my ground
From all emotion … DETACHED
Alone candle light in the abyss of darkness
Yet words are woven in creations of your smile,
The sweetest words are those not said intense timeless
When in your embrace one melts to your unique style.
Your flame renewed kindle in sweet resurrection
Emerald eyes that glow in lust of perfection,
Can but dowse puritan thoughts with insurrection
Rebellion is kindled in this new affection
Fires of passion the candle lit the abyss
To burn forever more in the flame of true love
To melt in your arms with the promise of a kiss
The iron hand now firmly in the velvet glove
Love like this has never before been given birth
My life my love this is your awakened loving worth
Collaboration Between © Mandy Tams & ©Harry J Horsman 29/04/2013
February 17 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Numbers 14-15
Key Verse – Numbers 14:8 If the LORD delight in us, then he will bring us into this land, and give it us; a land which floweth with milk and honey.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHO DELIGHTS IN US
Praise be to God for delighting in us:
Bringing us into a land which flows with milk and honey
Binding us against rebellion and fear from the heart
Blessing us with His mercy, power and pardon midst hope
Binding us up by His glory and miracles so heavenly
Blocking us from murmurings and wasteful wonderings toward faith-hoisting
Numbers 14:9 Praise be to the Lord Who defends us while
He warns us not to rebel against Him when we:
Fear not Him reverentially, but our foes frantically
Fail to recognize our foolishness
Focus on our own rights to have fine food of worldly flavour
Fight and respect not our Almighty Father
Find rest in our arrogant flesh
Numbers 15:3 Praise be to the Saviour for instructing us and
commanding us to offer a sacrifice of sweet savour unto Him in:
Performing our best service
Preparing our blissful spirit
Practicing our blessed stewardship
Presenting our balanced stature
Perfecting our bountiful stewardship
Proving our braced-up steadfastness
Persisting in our biblical standards. Amen!
February 17, 2024
The crops grows from the tears of the enslaved
The ground quakes from the harsh sound of the whip
Their calloused hands evidence of a life of painful labour
Wounds etched their skin
A twisted reminder of what happens when you don't comply
Their bones crushed under the weight of exhaustion
Their eyes burned by the harsh sun
Despite this a fire burns within each of them
Singing songs learned from their home
Reminiscing of the times their mother would quietly sing them
Teaching themselves to read under the gentle light of the moon
Learning to write in the quiet shadows of the night
Telling the stories of their homeland to the children
Of hope, of promise, of freedom
To ignite their fire within them
Soon when they are older there will be a rebellion
Brought about by the strength of each other
Of one day leaving this nightmare
Of one day freed of the shackles they bear
A candle burns in the dead of night
The stillness of the air outside
The one moment of peace they don't have to hide
The elders weep for a better life
Silently while the children sleep
Knowing in the morning this a distant memory
Forced to go back to the same routine
Of keeping the tears at bay
And staying strong for those who can't
Their hearts heavy with uncertainty
Their spirits cracking in fear
Malnutrition eats away at their flesh
Dehydration cracks their skin
Their only nutrition the sweat that covers their body
Their disease ridden bodies awaiting the inevitable
The animals hidden awaiting for any signs of rotting
The conditions tough
But the enslaved tougher
Forever earning the respect of those who come after
In the land of the laundry room, a mystery does reside,
Of the missing sock that vanished, leaving its mate behind.
Was it a daring escape, a sock rebellion in the night?
Or simply an accident, a case of sock flight?
The lonely sock sits abandoned without its partner near,
Hoping for a reunion, shedding a single tear.
It dreams of the days when they frolicked as a pair,
Now it’s all alone, feeling quite despair.
Perhaps the missing sock found a new calling in life,
As a puppet in a play, or a hat for a mouse quite nice,
Or maybe it’s just hiding, playing a sneaky game?
Laughing at the chaos it’s caused, adding to the fame.
Perhaps sent to a dimension that’s forbidden?
Did they form a gang, the odd sock brigade?
Taking over the laundry room, in a colorful charade?
But in the world of laundry, anything can occur,
So next time you do laundry, keep a vigilant eye,
For that missing sock may return, with a twinkle in its eye.
But until then, cherish the odd ones left behind,
For they add a touch of whimsy to your daily grind.
I.
Fold, crease, unfold, sheets
of paper thin as possibility,
a crisp white plea to gravity.
Forty-five times, a cosmic origami
building bridges from table to the moon.
The mind dreams, unfurls
dimensions from the flatness,
each fold a petition of ascension.
But reality, that quiet artisan,
intervenes. Seven, eight,
perhaps nine folds—
the paper resists,
its fibers tightening,
a rebellion against a lunar destiny.
The geometry of dreams
collapses into the physics of limitation,
a negotiation between ambition and restraint.
II.
Sated with the hunger of excess,
we feast at counters where gluttony
is a ritual, a rhapsody of indulgence.
Plates piled high, offerings to the insatiable
gods of appetite, mouths moving
in a tempo of ingestion.
Like a paper's rebellion against too much
folding, the body, too, whispers its limits.
Sometimes in tears, sometimes in laughter,
but always in inevitability, the stomach's
silent protest, a wall that even the voracious
cannot breach. Eruption looms, a volcanic
protest, or else the creeping weight, its own
gravity pulling the body to a corporeal moon.
III.
From paper to body, from the moon
to the food, all are tethered by the finite,
implacable laws governing a universe
of possibility.
Fold and unfold, feast and decline,
the trajectory of excess tempered by
the ever-present specter of consequence.