Long Scars Poems
Long Scars Poems. Below are the most popular long Scars by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scars poems by poem length and keyword.
its very hard to say who i love the most
i love all poets from coast to coast
dickenson, poe, frost, shakespere
an endless line of poets i fear
but when it comes to real poetry
and some not all may agree
there is none better than sorrow or greif
to bring to life ones poetry
they awaken a ghost living inside me
holding my attention ever so silently
they share our spaces with a sombre pride
tell their stories with tears in eyes
they aim there words at broken hearts
and with a tired line they start
others unpoetic they wail
but all from abuse and death they hail
they bring the words that stir our equlibrium
make us cry when our spirits meet with them
laughter and happiness they have their place
but saddness and toil you cannot erase
i'll screem my sorrows as high
as the listening skyes
rage with anger as if my soul died
and with my words dampen every eye
inspire, unite, defy, denigh and teach
make it seem as though i preach
make them look up to the stars
and think about there own scars
(I would have won that contest.)
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Show compassion for what your friends need.
Be patient when your child learns to read.
When they have fears, listen to them cry
And when struggling to find their way, tell them to try.
Be aware when a friend needs to heal.
Try to understand how they feel.
Forgive them when they do you wrong.
Help them feel God's love and be strong.
Do not judge your friend's mental scars.
Everyone fights physical wars.
Pray to know the right words to say.
Give your friend hope so they won't go astray.
Open your heart, accept their weaknesses too.
Care about them, value the great things they do.
Show and tell them your love is true.
Try to feel what they are going through.
Copyright © Darla Seely | Year Posted 2023
I have a few insights for every situation.
I walk alone on this Earth like a fugitive demon.
I draw nearer to the flames with every transgression.
I despise glory, yet that harlot will make my legacy immortal.
Wounds remain open in my tormented heart.
I chose solitude to preserve my surroundings.
Dark forces shine in my eyes ever since I discovered the pleasures of chaos.
My contempt for human beings makes me laugh when piles of dust try to undermine the rise of my celestial spark.
They will never betray me.
I have never granted my trust to those traitors.
I do good to my fellow man to erase a few sins in the grimoire of my karma.
I speak with eloquence,
I dress with elegance,
To conceal the fury blazing through my veins, widened by the darkness of the abyss.
My stay in this dimension is a nightmare filled with scenes of horror.
I watch men preach democracy while dropping tons of bombs on lands overflowing with wealth beneath their fertile soil.
I am not your brother, I will not lie to you,
We do not share the same indelible scars.
I will never be a hypocrite, unlike those parrots who repeat the fleeting vanities of liberty, equality, and fraternity.
Where I come from, a man is free only if he accepts to bear the weight of his chains with dignity.
The heirs of the slavers wish for me to remain property.
My family tree was ransomed by the predators of the Republic of Enlightened Slave Masters.
I have excelled in excess since the very first minutes of my life.
The only laws I respect are those that sanctify the blasphemies spoken by my insolent tongue.
When I was younger, consumerism scourged my convictions so that my ambitions would be merely financial.
You who read me, do not seek transcendence in the obscenity of my ramblings.
I wield a colonial language like a weapon of war against those who sanctify anti-Black hatred.
I await the reaper like a condemned man at peace in death row’s corridor.
I am not a poet, merely a prophet confined between filthy walls shaped by human madness.
No tears will honor my dusk.
In the furnaces, my throne is gilded like the entrails of the sun.
Animistic descent from sanity
Boorish attitude, sense of lost control
Crawl out of your skin, bloody vanity
Darkness claws like a black hole
Eternal uncertainty wreaks mayhem
Freedom not given, glued to midnight
Glutton of attention, cannot condemn
Hungry for life, all bark and no bite
Insanity placed on my sweating forehead
Justification, she’s just sick
Killjoy I may be, the day I dread
Labels in my throat choke me quick
Meaningless apologies, see from my eyes
Nights of liquid lucidity, a dull mind by day
Oh the pain, its thorns shred my heart and thighs
Persistent thoughts, worries carried away
Question my identity, a woman without a face
Remember happiness, a fleeting memorial
Scars on my ribs, my heart’s knives trace
Tears on my face, struggles sensorial
Ugly feelings of hate, daily reprise
Veins of ice or so it feels, words tongue-tie
With echoing sighs my dream dies
Xenolith, smile covered, stifled outcry
Yearning for a hand to hold on to
Zealous recovery, fail and reverse
I wake up, still tangled in yesterday’s shadows.
The world presses in too hard,
but I’m already used to that weight.
I don’t fight it anymore.
I just exist -
drifting through the cracks of my mind,
sitting between memories and uncertainty.
There’s a storm inside me,
but it’s the quiet kind.
The kind that doesn’t shout,
just moves,
leaves scars that never heal,
yet somehow, they shape me.
I stand with pieces of myself scattered
across the floor,
not quite whole,
but no longer broken in the same way.
I’ve learned to walk through the mess,
through the echoes of lost things.
It’s like wearing a mask
that fits too well.
But there’s light in this.
Not the perfect, shining kind,
but the kind that slips through the cracks.
I’m still standing,
still breathing,
still pushing against the weight of it all.
I laugh, sometimes.
It’s not always pretty,
but it’s real.
The kind of laugh that shakes off the past,
the kind that says, “I’m here.
Still.”
I am the fight,
and I’ll keep moving,
even if the path is rough,
even if I’m still learning how to hold the pieces together.
Because I know now -
The cracks don’t define me.
They just show where I’ve been,
and where I'm going.
Loneliness while there was a family
A tragedy when there was hardly a relationship
Father and Mother apart
Yet I grew stronger
Now that is the art of survival
Relationships gone wrong
Physical attraction and
That is just a fraction of the story
Yet I grew stronger
Now that is the art of survival
Friendships gone wrong
The heart can be fake
This will make you see the real person
Yet I grew stronger
Now that is the art of survival
The scars that have shaped me
Taught me that life goes on and
Brought me to the place of resilience
The scars that have shaped me
Showed me the essence of life
Mark Frank
Copyright 2022
In Siberia, orphaned babies die
secured with ropes, workers seldom untie.
And amidst filth and stench, they gasp for air
ignored by everyone who ought to care.
Helpless souls entombed as if in a womb,
swaddled in shrouds where there's so little room.
And the tight enclosure drives them insane
racked with anguish and incredible pain.
Infants view life through cold iron bars
riddled with self-inflicted wounds and scars.
But humanity seems more than willing
to ignore this newest form of killing.
Every human has the right to breathe free,
not cruelly bound, where no one can see.
But these bundles of life await death's call,
as the weak and injured die where they fall.
Left to their nightmares and torments as such
without a kind word or gentle touch.
And feeble bodies house imprisoned minds,
pray God doesn't judge Man by what He finds.
7/12/2017
We live in the shade of the wood
That’s called the Ancient Wildren.
It’s been there since creation.
We are it’s Chosen Children.
Strangers have arrived and
Our prospects are not good,
They are bringing in machines
To destroy our Wildren Wood.
A sense of horror hangs
As though floating in the air.
You can almost feel and touch
The of sorrow and despair.
The Wildren shows no sign
That’s it’s aware of its fate,
Unchanging and unknowing it
Just seemed to stand and wait..
The great machines advanced
In the bright morning light
As we waited with tears,
Sadly anticipated the sight
Of a forest of dead stumps
As slowly, one by one
The destruction progressed
Until every tree was gone.
The wood howled with anger
And without any sign of pity
Destroyed each machine
And person from the city.
With the coming of the dark
There was nothing left in sight
To show there had been
A ruthless survival fight
Not a single tree fell though
Many bore the scars,
The only evidence to show
That they d been in the wars.
Every machine gone as though
Being absorbed by the ground,
No evidence they’d existed,
Was anywhere to be found.
We still hunt in it’s fringes
Wondering if and when
The strangers from the city
Will dare return to try again.
Wildren Wood stands and waits,
Allows us to cautiously enter,
And sometimes we hear
Loud howls from its centre.
It’s been there since creation.
It’s called the Ancient Wildren.
We still live in its shade for
We are it’s Chosen Children.
This is it the real me, the me you haven’t met
I bet you don’t believe it, that’s if you do bet
I am tall, but not beautiful, and not very slim, I am afraid
But back in my younger days I was considered a saucy maid.
My heart is full of love but very well disguised
Some think I am hard as nails and that’s because I’m wise
If you hold your heart out, for everyone to see
They will take advantage, especially of me.
So I let them think otherwise, but I’m always here to help
Just keep those puppy eyes off me, or my heart will melt
I grew up in poverty, but there was love in the home
It just got put aside sometimes, when we were left alone.
In strange homes we’d find ourselves, not really sure why
But we had each other, we could hold each other and cry
Then there were the bad days when all our nightmares did come true
But we still had each other and so we all came through.
Time to grow up, and take what life did throw at us
Use our bond of love forever, let’s forget about life’s fuss
We none of us grew up, without our scars from living
But when your heart is soft, you can do lots of forgiving.
I dedicate these words to my eldest brother James
Like a father and a mother to us in everything, but name
His demons didn’t leave him and not knowing hearts would break
If only he knew the gap he left when his own life he did take.
If only he were with us to see how his children have grown
If only he could feel the pride in them a pride he should have known
To James although I never heard you, ever called by that name
We loved you dearly brother and we feel no shame.
A long time you’ve been gone you took so much with you
But our love still holds, it will be forever true
Through no fault of your own and you bear no sin
Just remember we still love you, my eldest brother Jim.
19/03/ 2014 © GG
To Jim 1951 - 1990
Remember the emperor
In Japan, especially in Tokyo, people are a strange mix of efficiency.
Young people are adolescents until they are forty living in an aspic
of western pop culture that does not exist anymore; when their parents die
they either grow up or become recluses unable to cope with the world.
The older generation did well and there are many of them like shingles
in the emperor’s driveway.
Japan had a meltdown 12 years ago which was good for the country
people have less haste and go to karaoke cafes once a week singing
a sentimental song about lonely cowboys.
I was in Nagasaki once, just as Nippon was rising on the financial firmament
but got too close to the sun.
I was amazed how quickly the scars of the nuclear had physically healed
but mentally, there must be a corner in their psyche
that can´t forget and will find revenge one day in the land of the rising sun.