Long Repaid Poems
Long Repaid Poems. Below are the most popular long Repaid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Repaid poems by poem length and keyword.
Just Tom and Mabel in the village,
No honorific ever known,
Too far down the pecking order for
Such respect to be shown.
Like so many in that village
My Dad and Mam worked on
A still almost feudal system
Wage slavery not yet gone.
Oh, they were respected,
Looked up to in their way
For their ability to work
An honest long hard day,
But, bottom of the pecking order,
Kept firmly in their place
Part of the lower orders
Workers of the Human Race.
Like any good parents did
They made sacrifices for their child
Which I realise now I repaid
By being unruly, rebellious, wild.
Somehow I survived
In spite of my attitude
And I really think i did
Try to show them my gratitude.
Tried to stand tall for my beliefs
Be an honest and reliable man
And, just like my Mam and Dad be
As true and honest as a body can
Still way down the pecking order
In my allocated style and place
I bowed my head to no man,
looked them squarely in the face.
There were times of hardship
Time when it was rough
But like my Mam and Dad I coped,
Survived when the going got tough
It was that example they set me
That helped me to be able,
Still proud many years later to
Be the son of Tom and Mabel.
I’m broken. All that’s left is a shadow.
I’m death. All that’s left is an echo.
I’m cold. All of my feelings are drowning.
I’m pain. All of my breath is leaving.
I’m darkness. The light has been killed in the gloaming.
I’m helpless. My spirit o’er mountains is roaming.
I’m lonely. All of my kin has been taken.
I’m anger. The soul of the ones left forsaken.
I’m hurting. All that’s left is a token
I’m fear. Wings sprout from those who are broken.
I’m sinking. Bear up from the shadows with light.
I’m dead. My soul fled from dread in the night.
I’m buried. My body may rest in the earth.
I’m risen. My spirit will join in the mirth.
I’m flying. Death cannot hold in my soul.
I’m crying. His Love has repaid the toll.
Corrupt heart, depraved mind
A master of time, the weaver of trap
One whose mouth, falsehood emit
Gone from men, man and ghoul part and part
A victor, the slayer of ten men
A wolf in sheep’s clothing
The stopper of the flow of time
Catching his victim, in his well made net
Armed with a sneering dog
He is myth, the god of men
He was here before humans lived
The devil we can see
A menace since he was in diaper
Daily baths in the pool of tears
Constant loop of wretching blows
Till he killed the first, a debt repaid
He swore to fight as long as he live
Till he becomes one, the evil incarnate
Indomitable will, never to de-rail
He became the killer, the liar, the satan
He walks unimpeded to glory
A war dog, feared berserker
Hushed whispers turned raw
The god of men, the breaker of dreams
By Dana Redricks
"For while we are in this tent, we groan, being burdened [often weighed down, oppressed], not that we want to be unclothed [separated by death from the body], but to be clothed, so that what is mortal [the body] will be swallowed up by life [after the resurrection]. Now He who has made us and prepared us for this very purpose is God, who gave us the [Holy] Spirit as a pledge [a guarantee, a down payment on the fulfillment of His promise]. So then, being always filled with good courage and confident hope, and knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord— for we walk by faith, not by sight [living our lives in a manner consistent with our confident belief in God’s promises]— we are [as I was saying] of good courage and confident hope, and prefer rather to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord. Therefore, whether we are at home [on earth] or away from home [and with Him], it is our [constant] ambition to be pleasing to Him. For we [believers will be called to account and] must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may be repaid for what has been done in the body, whether good or bad [that is, each will be held responsible for his actions, purposes, goals, motives—the use or misuse of his time, opportunities and abilities].
Therefore, since we know the fear of the Lord [and understand the importance of obedience and worship], we persuade people [to be reconciled to Him]. But we are plainly known to God [He knows everything about us]; and I hope that we are plainly known also in your consciences [your God-given discernment]." 2 Corinthians 5:4-11
Now, in her solitude she sits draped in mock fur,
As the movie spool ends, silver lights begin to fade,
So, she slurps on her sorrows with a soft bitter slur
‘The sheer backless organza’ – a red-carpet stir,
The true benefits of fame, featuring a chauffeur and maid,
Now, in her solitude she sits draped in mock fur
In ‘Wuthering Heights’, the Protagonist connoisseur,
Violated when the ‘Sirs’ want favours repaid,
So, she slurps on her sorrows with a soft bitter slur
Her fluffy companion gives a discontented purr,
Along with diamond wedding rings, her only accolade,
Now, in her solitude she sits draped in mock fur
Missed out on an award – an offering greater than myrrh,
Behind a painted smile, a cut-throat tool of the trade,
So, she slurps on her sorrows with a soft bitter slur
Then the dreaded moment, as quick as a blur,
At thirty-five, replaced by youth, promises betrayed,
Now, in her solitude she sits draped in mock fur,
So, she slurps on her sorrows with a soft bitter slur.
13/11/22
Third Person Villanelle Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
Third Person Villanelle Contest
Judged: 23/11/22
Writing challenge - X'd poems second chance poetry contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Emily Dickinson: Drove He Knew Haste
It was like a day like no other,
a day like so many before this,
college bell rang like a high school bell,
a bell like so many that bother.
Cornelius a friend, Bethany,
his friend, Tyra her friend, then there's Schell,
everybody's friend, and of course Mike,
he is the driver with a bad knee.
He revs the engine, repaid with stares,
he backs up into a bush and bike,
scars his frame, the bike is his brother
gives the once over, shows that he cares.
Driving hastily, Tyra then scream,
Michael look on, car roll in a stream,
Corn, Beth, and Ty, all in a wet dream,
Whilst Mike, Schell and I, all swim downstream.
2020 February 19
Rhyme Scheme;
abca, dced, feaf, hhhh,
Howmanysyllables;
16 lines x 9 syllables per = 144 syllables total
Losses not consolidated leave contributor raw
Arrears rip pages of rational compassionate law
Turblent thoughts toss turn to channel retaliation
Embittered brain rubs static into smooth radio station
Nocturnal curtain eternal drawn over forgiving stance
Tortured cortex tar drips coal smudge repugnance
Behind lids of eyes fingertips pressing upon
Lacking exposure conjures warped projection
Attonement can't be granted during darkness
Confessions sparkle once in white starkness
Killing accountability in murky private mind
Proliferating hatred sees old harm magnified
Asperity of sins committed stew in torpid trench
Years of historic plot twist regale harsh revenge
Bulged breeding dim ideas seethe evil scheme
Attack mapped by movie shock putrid scenes
Creeping balaclava covered crow bar at chest
Knavish initiation repaid with blood reaps debt
24th August 2021
Written for Contest : The Colour Black
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
MIGHTY WIND
Mighty wind,
upon the souls of men,
returning that to which has been sown,
A troubling storm,
the skies stirring to warn,
a furious funnel aiming to claim its own.
Hearts filled with dread,
most troubled heads,
for the chosen deeds which will be repaid,
For what's greatly sown,
will again be owned,
every brick and mortar that has been laid.
Hearts of faith rejoicing,
for the ominous voicing,
that to God, doth vengeance belong,
Men reap sooner than later,
and abundantly greater,
everything to which has been sown.
What is sown in the night,
shall be brought to the light,
though it seems that evil shall win,
Oh how they shall scurry,
for what was thought to be buried,
when revisited upon them again.
O Mighty Wind,
who can contend,
let all the wiser, the lessons be learned.
O restless wind,
to what greater extend,
shall men's wages of sin be earned.
Let all men heed,
what manner of seed,
to the Mighty Wind to which they have sown.
The awe of their shock,
that God won't be mocked,
He hears every prayer, every cry, every groan.
The mind holds a power so fierce it becomes the inner flame that drives the body forward. But sometimes the heart burns in a way that does not destroy — it torments. A fire so relentless, so consuming, that a person feels trapped inside their own chest, as if cursed by the very emotions that once gave them life.
Yet even a suffering heart can feel the opposite of that flame when an angel enters their life — an angel sent by Yahweh Himself. In the beginning, the fire did not consume the man; it simply revealed how deeply he could feel, how silently the inner flame can burn without warning.
The pain he carried did not come from the flame. It came from people unworthy of his kindness — people who received his gentleness and repaid it with neglect, excuses, and betrayal. He prayed for them, even asked others to pray for them, yet they turned their backs on him and hid behind the claim that “God might put us back together” while offering nothing but distance and doubt.
The false woman — the Belle of the East, the traitor to the Servant — will one day cry when her temporary joy turns stale. Her belief in the man collapsed because he refused to bow to her demand for instant gratification. He wanted to build a bridge, but she burned the very materials needed to cross it.
Let those from her past shape her future, for she has chosen to look backward, like the woman who became a pillar of salt — frozen by her own refusal to move forward. She is not the promise God spoke of. She is not the covenant. She is the Belle of the East who revealed herself as a Jezebel in disguise.
The disloyal always smile after betrayal, but their smiles eventually collapse under the weight of their own choices. And when the joy they chased turns stale, when the thrill fades and the truth returns, their laughter will turn to tears.
Only then will they realize they were never the blessing — they were the sandpaper. They scraped, they wounded, they tested, but in doing so, they polished the man they tried to diminish.
He becomes refined. They remain discarded — used, worn, and thrown aside like something meant for a moment, not a destiny.
I took a trip through hell.
Not to visit but to settle a debt.
Actually, I just visited a different part of hell,
One I wasn’t familiar with,
Having spent a great deal of my life
In a hell opened on my behalf by others.
The trip across town didn’t phase me,
Or change my situation.
Hell is not where the devil’s live,
Nor where Satan hangs his horns.
Hell is an uncharted wasteland
Into which the unsuspecting victim is cast.
There is no rhyme nor reason
To the presence of those present
Save unfortunate circumstance.
The debt I chose to settle centered
Around the years I languished in this hell.
The debt, I knew, could never be repaid.
I also knew that those who claimed
They owed no debt must be confronted
By the mockery of their fear.
They had to see the face of those
They stole from, defrauded and banished
To a hellishly angry and lonely exile.
So I took this trip to hell
Just to piss them off
To put them on notice
That they were not the one’s in charge
Of my hell.
I bent their trident forks
Pissed on their fire
Chewed on their brimstone
And asked them for some hot sauce.
For hell had made a man of me!
Not a good man, not the best man,
But a man “tried of the fire”
Still pissed off and ready to kick
Some Satanic ass.
To those who doubt there is a hell
I offer this warning
You may be there already
Yet unaware of your circumstance.
I have been to hell, and had a Hell of a time.
Now that time is over
As is the fear of the demons
And the bastards who allow them reign.
John G. Lawless
©3/6/2023