Long Survivor Poems
Long Survivor Poems. Below are the most popular long Survivor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Survivor poems by poem length and keyword.
Who is that woman in the mirror?
The big blank eyes.
The mouth that never smiles.
The hands, always shaking.
I don't know her.
What can I do?
I am afraid of everything and everybody.
I only want to be home.
But I don't want to be alone.
I don't feel safe.
Why am I always crying?
Anxiety attacks that take my breath away.
Flashbacks of violence, so lifelike.
My body still hurts from his fists.
I don't know why I can't heal.
When will I be me again?
He stole who I was.
He broke me into a million pieces.
Then he gave the pieces back.
I don't know where the last piece is.
Where will I end up?
If I don't have that last piece,
Am I still a survivor?
I'm a blank image.
Alone. Unsafe.
Crying, anxiety, flashbacks and hurting.
Unhealed.
Please tell me,
Is that really "surviving"?
Sheer Phawn was not like other jungle creatures. She did not blend into the landscape.
She was not fearful of the unseen dangers, or the dark shadows, or the lack of sun.
The secretive cloak of the jungle and the diabolicalness of its floor did not alarm her.
There was no hiding for her, no secrecy. No reverence at all for her mysterious surroundings.
The plane had crashed two days ago, and Sheer Phawn was existing on adrenaline and anger.
She was furious; at the pilot, the crew, and all of the passengers which had died, and left here.
She was tromping through these unknown grasses, in a furious way, glad that she had an axe.
It was one of the few things she decided to grab as she left the plane. There were only two survivors.
Jim something was the other one.
She was mad enough to stomp and tromp, but these vine-encrusted tree trunks and grasses
Slowed her progress, increasing her furiousness to almost a frenzy point. Was no one looking for them?
She cut a little niche out of some grasses with the tiny axe, and screamed a war cry as a snake slithered
Under the spongy jungle floor at her feet. She did not see his head, but if she had, she would have
No doubt cut it off, she was so mad.
This jungle from hell which had been so foreboding and intimidating two days ago was irritating now.
“AH! LEE-OH! YAH! HEY!” she screamed, pretending she was tough, while she was really just sad.
There was no echo, as there never is in the jungle. Jim, the only other survivor of the crash, suggested she sit.
Sheer Phawn laughed, maybe a bit too loudly, and she caught herself.
Jim had been looking a bit suspicious of her lately, she did not want to give him fodder, so she sat.
She did not want to give her plan away, but she was never letting her axe out of her sight.
She kind of thought of Jim as a possible future lunch, and it was not good to let this out.
Cannibalism is a lot more difficult if you make lunch into a friend, right?
She sat down while boring Jim told her things she did not want to hear. He droned on.
She pretended to listen, too angry to hear the words. Neither heard the tigers until it was too late.
As I look back, I know when
we drifted
Though faulted with being
believed
Trust this, I emptied my soul
Holding will destroy your soul
Forgiving myself first, open
door to be free
Forgiving mom, allow healing
can't you see
You missed real love Mom
shared
Forgive is to heal , so life
enjoyed
What Happened
When will your excuses stop
Mom waited, you lost
I believe you like this life of
dark anger
I miss mom, we enjoyed life
What happened decades is unspeakable
Survivor I am, not unspeakable
Your emotions embarrass
mom
Sadly you couldn't enjoy mom
Treating everyone with cold attitude is lonely life
Thanks for the lesson, my peace always win fight
Sisters are supposed to secure generation
Loosing parents, and siblings build new foundation
You and I can't fulfill these dreams
My heart has finally healed a past pain
I will plant new beginning with amazing mom
Life is a gift to love, grateful, share, teaching not chop up
I'm not perfect, but I gaining my inner faith, hope, and love with kindness From God
Wish you well Sister
Far away in a distant land
Where nobody knew my name
I carved out a throne of ice
And buried myself in the womb of winter
The Reaper held my hand
And the other held piles of pills
I shakily held onto hope
As she healed from her own attempt
A honeybee died weakly in my hand
While I stared at the setting sun
I buried it and my fears
In an unmarked grave
I awoke in the doctor's arms
My attempted death left me frail
The honeybee slept peacefully
As its bunkmate came to strangle me
As I burned my last memories of the Reaper
The sun shone on my back again
A wounded Devil Survivor on a March
Having a title made me feel stronger
The Reaper blotted out the sun
And her aura fooled me into believing
A bitter soda and rum
Embraced me and kept me warm
I embraced my role as a Hermit
As she flew away to quench her lust
The unforgiving summer sun drenched me in sweat
As I began to detox in the heat
I embraced my role as the second place prize
And offered my seed as greedily as she demanded it
And as I returned to my throne of ice
I found it completely melted
Apollo himself couldn't give me the strength
I needed to fight every challenger
I dropped my sword and scabbard
And left my throne room to the dogs
The universe was setting up
To repeat itself in a grand reboot
I doped up in any way I could
To ensure hitting the bottom didn't kill me
The Sun and Moon shone on my broken body
As the Reaper's last traces burnt in the light
Still alive but numb as could be
I began my Detox Reboot
Withdrawal symptoms wrack my sleeping frame
But I'm more alive than I've been in years
As snow clouds form over my broken castle
I prepare to craft a new throne
My lover is to me a cluster of henna blossoms
from the vineyard of En Gedi.
Song of Songs 1:14 NIV
he is vulnerable
with me.
he is charming, handsome —
his silver hair and bedroom eyes.
i press my nose
into the featherbed of his chest —
the mix of his scent with cologne
his arms encircle me
embrace only me
the ripples of henna
paint a vista
for my love and me —
our song of songs
blossoms
we’ve left youth behind
embracing the divine.
he knows me —
the cluster of our fingers
singularity, our intimate jokes
and home sweet home.
after the sprig of coolness
excites and weaves
into the dendrites and sinews
of our life,
comes the wintergreen crest
of the ocean’s shiver,
climatic and familiar
rock of our houseboat —
survivor of tempests.
j’aime mon mari —
love defies the language
and sound barrier, the dangerous
reefs. communication,
as our pressed together crowns
on downy pillows,
speaks with its own lavender ink.
6/10/2019
"The story of our life is like a leaf-
Bring beauty to this world, however brief."
Quote by _Daniel Turner, Poet
I live my life with enduring unflappable patience and calmness. I have a
code of morals, and rules of conduct that give me strength to handle all
adversity. Time has given me a mentality of a survivor, there is a force
burning within me. I face each situation with logic and integrity. I know
my limitations. Truth is a moral that I hold high and my ethical beliefs are
never diminished, yet, I can look at long held traditions and question them.
I have walked with grief
shed tears that fill oceans blue~
compassion I give
I have found my tranquility, serenity, and peacefulness and a wisdom to
know right and wrong, poise, grace, virtue and respect. When filled with
hesitation, and apprehension I go to my core and faith and I am lifted high.
I send weakness away and thus I am liberated and free to be me. I do not
seek affluence, opulence, or worldly riches. My treasure is waiting above.
At the end of my life, my stoicism will grant me entrance through those
golden gates. But, in the here and now, I am a faithful friend, reliable and
honest to all. I will give you my empathy, encouragement, and my love.
from dark pits I crawled
sorrow my chain and anchor ~
now fly free and strong
At first, I was not considered or given the time of day.
I was very disappointed for being treated in such a way.
I requested a little consideration, to enter their conversation.
I had more experience and qualifications for that top position.
They thought about me, conversed about me, and then said "No".
No, because they had other ideas for that spot, and it did not include me.
I was okay with that, because at least I had demanded their respect.
Perhaps to appease me, I was given a token position and a title.
I gave it my best shot, but it just didn't fit and within a year, I quit.
Filled with faith and self-respect but no job, I didn't worry; I'm a survivor.
No money, no food, no welfare line, but I found a job to become a baker.
New job, a nice apartment, a nice car; my wife and baby; we were survivors.
God made me this way, and I give Him much praise for seeing me and my
family through the hard times of our early years. Make no mistake about it,
those early years of struggle and toil build strength, gratitude, and character.
Such adversities also prepare us for the latter years.
08302017PS
I have watched tree-giants
in deep forest-cathedrals
declare glory, speak of heaven
in sanctuaries where birds rejoice
between branches
under leafy-windows
– green and gold.
I have seen where roots
pierce stone.
Then, glazed December
cracked. Empty
summer storms
thundered,
stabbed lightning
straight through giant-hearts
to the dirt floor.
Fire:
raging fever, contagion,
pain, death, loss,
ashes.
And afterwards,
the once-burnt feet of a lone koala,
a soothed survivor,
were clinging anew to the arm
of a tree, waiting
for more disaster.
We heard the next thing coming
on the weather-report
and put the bikes in the shed.
Here it is!
One cloud, like a fist,
hits hard. Leather-dry-sky
splits into a dark stampede.
Invading gales
rip bones from trees,
pelt rain at dust,
dust that leaps up,
surprised to fall as mud,
mud that tumbles, twists
into bubbling brown
creeks, rivers, dams;
overspills,
smothers,
kills fire,
drowns.
It’s all been on my screen,
along with the newborn grandchild
un-kissed.
When will I tip-toe
to see new growth
on the charred forest giants,
hear loud cicadas chant,
and celebrate – singing
with lorikeet lunatics,
and a first kiss?
Sill dressed in beauty -
this weary world patiently waits
for the next.
................................................
Written after 2019/2020 'Black Summer' bushfires and floods, and Covid related news and lockdowns.
I am me.
I am not what you perceived.
But
I am me
An African princess.
I am not a slave.
But
I am me.
A daughter of a king.
I am not a victim.
But
I am me.
A victorious survivor.
I don’t fear betrayers.
But
I am me.
A brave heroine.
I don’t listen to haters.
But
I am me.
I am a powerful human being
There, upon the altar of her essence,
All remnants of her world, now torn apart,
A prayer giv'n up to cancer and its lessons ...
The flesh and passion torn from 'round her heart.
All remnants of her world, now torn apart,
Thus given to her illness, in extremes ...
The flesh and passion torn from 'round her heart,
So drowned the embers of her hopes and dreams.
Thus given to her illness, in extremes ...
Her sinews and vitality, (and mate) ...
So drowned the embers of her hopes and dreams,
Her love and prospects, now an empty plate.
Her sinews and vitality, (and mate) ...
Not nearly all she was, within those clashes -
Her love and prospects, now an empty plate,
Life and love would yet rise from the ashes.
Not nearly all she was, within those clashes,
A prayer giv'n up to cancer and its lessons ...
Life and love would yet rise from the ashes,
There, upon the altar ... of her essence.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Pantoum" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
* For my mom - my brave survivor ... you have shown me what true courage looks like. *