Long Slaughter Poems
Long Slaughter Poems. Below are the most popular long Slaughter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slaughter poems by poem length and keyword.
He stood in front of the open door pacing upon down the fifth floor with hands rubbing into each other and eyes penetrating the hill. He was sending a silent message to universe to reverse the dreadful curse.
It is a curse that no one can see, it is embedded in the sixth century when the nature of man was as cold a ice and the mountain had to pay a bountiful sacrifice.
And here we are today, trying to roll the heavy burden away with bullets and machine guns and there is nowhere to run. Sometime it has the horse jumping prematurely out of the gate and the whistling toad buried underneath the bush knows the ages that come with the different phase.
It is the younger generation that is impacted the most; they still cannot understand what this thing is all about, strange things are transpiring around them and the heavens are flooded with stories of mankind leisure’s and his ancestor sorrows.
The legend still stands strong of how the bounty came along. They were raiders of the temple and fishermen for the living devils; they prowl the mountains at nights and raid the village, slaughter the men and raped the women and buried the children alive.
They walked round with long beard and giant cigar sticked out at side of their jaws; their rancid whisky breath and moldy, sweaty, smelling clothes clinked to their backs and their budging eyes, lights up in the dark as the climbed down slowly from the mountain shouting profanity in their heads.
See him pacing in front of the door; he is waiting on the alibi to get him to the shore. His face looks grim and his body is thin, he seems to be losing his mind from the altitudes he has climbed.
The door is opened wide and you can walk right in with pride and make your statement.
Removal of the orient gleam of
an ephemeral existence.
The Constrict persistent,
a secure suffocation.
To suffer in gasping provocation.
Null proclimation, writhe.
Grade A exasperation,
desperate for lung expansion.
Consumed by a jaw unhinged
and sealed in
scale-tight enzyme digestion.
Allowed self-doubt to
let myself
down,
this road
I
led myself
down.
Inhale freshwater,
I
held myself
down.
Becoming a defenseless lure,
helpless and approachable.
Grace never held her hand out.
Regrettable rational, internal dialogue
soured by stupidity.
Remedial action, to focus on discrepancies.
Mocked by the laughing flatulence expulsion.
Giggles to self as motor function falters.
Off to nowhere, cease feeling weather.
A headless chicken or lamb to slaughter?
We brought ourselves out here.
Neanderthal deliverance service.
Severed head, served on a bedrock platter,
apple-gagged,
toothless banter.
If only there was a wizard
like Dorthy payed a visit.
If only for our wishing.
A far off land exquisite.
An emerald palace standing.
A place for all to come.
Along a yellow brick road
followed down by some.
A path into a city
where all the dreamers go.
A million tiny munchkins
surrounding you for show.
An Oz home to a wizard.
A great and powerful Oz.
A man to answer questions.
Dreams worthy of their cause.
A place where witches bicker
and evil's fought with water.
Where broomsticks are for flying
and monkeys for the slaughter.
A good witch keeping secrets.
Her wand for waving greetings.
And knowing ruby slippers
means home and not for fleetings.
Are we going to be pruned now like limbs left exposed naked to the elements?*
He is just a simple man
born and raised in middle America,
loves God, country, family and apple pie,
but raising his voice in public,
in Constitutionally protected
free speech, to protest Marxist idiology
taking over his government
has labeled him a potential
domestic terrorist.
The edict has gone out
from those on high to alert the minions
in Intelligence- FBI, DHS
(isn't that what the Patriot Act
is all about).
Any who disagree with "progressive" thought will be pruned from society.
Citizens do not speak out,
do not question
Socialist/Communist/Marxist
maxims infecting every thought
from Congress to school boards
to neighborhood stores!
Inflation, shipping disruptions,
illegal immigration by the millions, Afghanistan debacle, kiddie p*rn in public schools,
abortion on demand; zero through the day of birth.
Terminate the employment
of un-vaccinated nurses, doctors,
flight attendants, pilots
mother's-to-be and those with natural immunity.
No religious or health exemptions.
Keep them out of public places.
While the President says
"No worries, all is well, all is well."
Just embrace the Great Reset!
Woe is me!
"Show me your papers please!"
Arrested and thrown in jail, without bail
for daring to repeat this thought:
If freedom of speech is taken away, then dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter.”**
*Victor David Hanson
**George Washington
Young people go marching, the boys and the girls,
thinking like we once did, they they’ll change the world.
They claim government can be the cure for our ills,
they seem to be forgetting that socialism kills.
Lenin and Stalin put twenty million souls down,
left them to rot in dark pits in the ground.
The gulags and purges were the work of their will,
the Holodomor just clinched it, socialism kills.
China under Mao was the state with the plan,
a great leap forwards needs ever woman and man.
But it was a leap to nowhere, sixty million graves filled,
the greatest mass-murder in history, socialism kills.
Socialism kills, yes socialism kills.
It never brings fairness, it never will.
One hundred million paid the steep bill,
they’d tell you if they could: socialism kills.
Cambodia promised its people a golden age,
beginning at year zero, to build better days.
But Pol Pot’s killing fields, the whole world chilled.
One-third of the people lay dead, socialism killed.
Cuba and North Korea both slaughter and starve
the citizens they hold back through force of arms.
Not nations, but prisons, innocent blood they spill,
all you need to understand that socialism kills.
Some say it might work with better people in charge,
though it fails every time, in countries small or large.
Venezuela is the latest to swallow the bitter pill,
it descends into chaos because socialism kills.
Socialism kills, yes socialism kills.
It never bring fairness, it never will.
One hundred million paid the steep bill.
It can’t deal with human nature, so socialism kills.
My angel I have heard on high.
I'm lost. I don't know who I am.
You seem so high up in the sky,
and I am really in a jam.
By the tinkling of heaven's chime,
I ask myself, suppress a grin,
where have you gotten to this time?
What kind of trouble are you in?
I do not know quite where I am -
maybe, to the slaughter led,
just like Mary's little lamb,
except that I will soon be dead.
I can hear your voice so shrilly.
I will find you, my little lamb.
You needn't be dramatic, silly.
If I must use GPS, I can.
Oh, my angel, I must confess,
I don't know the reason why
I got myself into this mess -
a whale's belly? I want to cry.
Oh my gosh, my little fool -
find you? I wonder if I can?
Don't worry, my precious jewel,
my angel eyes begin to scan.
When grim imagination starts to roam,
anywhere on earth's roundish sphere,
you are always here in our home,
and your angel always finds you dear.
They who cry as victims for the yes side hurl insults
truly heartless trying to remove the truth beginning and end
without compassion in how people choose to feel inwardly
it's a symbol of faith and love expired incorrectly un-natural ways
to cherish every life equally removing it's extreme value
underneath the word human existence has rights
we all know those not blinded by purity over hate
by the want to spill innocent blood opening slaughter houses
to butcher none other than innocent babies
at our doorstep where the majority of them will be condemned
as healthy little boys and girls so sad is the reality of it
Before Sunrise
I shall be off to my doom
One nation’s ruins
My empire consumes
I will march, I will step
Left foot, right foot
In continuous reps
I shall slaughter or be slaughtered
These morbid thoughts
Allow me not to falter
The evening before my departure
Flashbacks of the famine I once brought you
I look upon the face of the infant one
The gods have blessed this father with
I come to hold
The wife I no longer bother to kiss
March I shall
For the empire that has nourished me
From infant to child, child to man
From man, to battlefield god
Your favoritism is what I demand
This morning has come,
This morning has past
In the gods I trust
In this steel, my treasure at hand
To kill, to lust,
No separation of us
No signs of your favor
No shift in my behavior
Grave I may be
The opposition of life often waves at me
As your loyal subject
I write to you
My lord
Your newly speared nomad
The Third Temple
The other Abrahamic religions have heard,
That the Jews want to build their Temple, Third.
But do they expect thousands of animals to kill,
Just so their god can get His thrill?
We know that God likes the smell of burning meat.
While sitting on the mercy seat,
He watches all His worshippers eat,
While they hope to really accrete.
Think of the traffic that will massively grow,
In just moving animals to and fro.
Not to mention the smell in the air.
Many people will avoid being there.
But what about the PETA crowd?
I imagine them to get quite loud.
And other vegetarians will also swell.
They’re not going to take this well.
Imagine all the animals that die.
Tens of thousands per year. They’ll decry.
Demonstrations, of course, they’re guaranteed.
They will cause chaos and violence and people will bleed.
Fanatics will say it’s all for the need,
To stop the slaughter that they impede.
And what about a diasporic Jew?
What is he expected to do?
Travel to Israel just to be near,
The Temple structure he holds so dear?
Close to his God, enjoying the savor,
And hoping to win more of God’s favor.
They’d be required, three times a year,
To be at the Temple and adhere,
To the rules so they do not veer,
From their God, the one they fear.
If that be the case then I will apply
To own an airline and only fly,
All the Jews who won’t deny,
Their God who never hears them cry.
If one is hungry
And bored
Of watching over Mecca,
What better place
To steal an apple
Than from another country’s orchards,
With fighter jets
Twanged in the sky
Like flying bottle openers,
Diving down
And peeling back a tin can roof
Of a school bus
Loaded with 40 children,
Whose shoulders are all
Strapped
With blue and red back packs
That look like little lunch boxes,
One of them
Surely containing
The sweet temptation
Of the perfect apple.
Mistaken identity, can happen.
So, a few bombs,
True,
Have to remove
The dozens of windows
And deposit
The million shards like razors
To flay the skin of the girls and boys
And, in an attempt to remain civilized
About this,
First cook
With fire and oil
The cheekbones from the skulls
Of the five year olds
Who are still alive,
And it’s important to keep fresh
The liver, tongues and hearts
Shish-kebobbed
With splintered ribs, white as serpents,
And finally, then
There it is,
The well done slab of lamb’s meat
Still clung, red as a beet,
Limbs and noses,
To be stripped
From that one buried back pack
And within it, zipped,
The fine taste of a ripe apple
Polished by mom
As a snack that was packed,
That day,
For school.