Long Tortured Poems
Long Tortured Poems. Below are the most popular long Tortured by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tortured poems by poem length and keyword.
SHE AWOKE WITH
A SENCE OF PRIDE
NOT KNOWING THAT
HER FAITH WOULD BE TESTED
AND HER FEAR…
AS THE SUN WAS BLAZING
DOWN ON HER WEAK AND
DEHYDRATED BODY
HER THOUGHTS OF SURVIVAL
TURNED INTO STONE
HER FEET COULD NOT
TAKE THE RAGE OF
THE SCORCHING DESERT
SAND AND HER BATTLE
FOR LIFE BECAME FLAGGING
HER TORTURED BODY
COLLAPSED IN THE
MIDDLE OF ENDLESS
SAND DUNES AND SHE…
SHE WAS LEFT TO DIE
AND FOR THE SAVAGED
VALTURES TO FEAST
ON HUMAN FLEASH
SHE LAY THERE WITH
NO STRENGTH…
SHE WANTED TO GIVE UP
SHE WANTED DEATH
TO COME AND TAKE HER AWAY
BUT JUST BEFORE SHE
COULD NO MORE…
SHE FELT SOMETHING
INSIDE OF HER…
IT FELT LIKE FREASH
AND ICE COLD WATER THAT
SHE EAGERLY DESIRED
FOR SO MANY DAYS
ALL OF A SUDDEN
SHE WAS FILLED
WITH NEW STRENGTH
AND HER WILL POWER
WAS FILLED TO THE MAX
SHE COULD NOT UNDERSTAND
WHY SHE FELT SO POWERFUL
AND ALIVE
AND WHY HER COURAGE
CAME BACK TO PICK HER UP
WITH A NEW LIFE SHE STOOD
UP AND CONTINUED TO
WALK UNTILL SHE CAME
TO A VILLAGE…
TO HER AMAZEMENT
SHE CAME TO REALIZE…
IT WAS HER VILLAGE,
HER HOME WHICH SHE
HAD TO FLED FROM
IN ORDER FOR
HER TO STAY ALIVE
SHE THOUGHT THAT
THERE WERE NO SURVIVIOURS
DUE TO THE ATTACK
WITH OVERWHELMING
DESIREMENT SHE
RAN TOWARDS HER FAMILY…
SHE AWOKE THAT
FOLLOWING MORNING
WITH A SENSE OF PRIDE
KNOWING THAT HER FAITH WAS
TESTED BEYOND
HER BELIEVE
AND HER FEAR…
WAS BURRIED UNDER MILLIONS
OF SAND GRAINS
IN THAT TREACHEROUS SAND TRAP
Form:
Tesslynn O’Cull was only 3-years-old,
when they found her body in a grave near Sweet Home.
It was the worst case of child abuse they’d ever seen
thanks to Jesse Compton and methamphetamine.
This beautiful child was tortured to death,
and I vowed that until my very last breath,
I would tell her story so we’d never forget,
for society owes her at least this debt.
Others saw the abuse, yet they did not tell,
and this child’s life was a living hell.
She was shocked, raped and beaten and no one cared,
as her mother watched, Tesslynn sat and stared.
Tesslynn dared not scream or she’d have to pay
when Jesse threw knives and punches her way.
People came and went, but refused to step in,
so high on drugs that it didn’t matter to them.
Stella Kizer and Jesse Compton must pay their dues,
still the story of Tesslynn is now old news,
and though some may forget, I will keep my vow
to keep her memory alive somehow.
There’s a picture of Tesslynn on my office wall,
and at night in my dreams I can hear her call.
As she reaches out from beyond the grave,
I weep for the child that we could not save,
I weep for the child that we could not save…
Fragmented fantasies collect
yet fail to spark passion's flame.
And painful shadows of regret
morph into nightmares, seeking blame.
He chose to leave, deaf to your plea:
something your heart did not expect.
For, blind to your reality,
forever was hard to accept.
Sifting through the ashes of hate,
love falls victim to phantom fears.
And innocence bemoans its fate;
amidst anguish and silent tears.
Blue velvet skies and gilded lies:
attract a lonely, tortured soul.
Yet when fantasies end, love dies:
and broken hearts, levy a toll.
Yet, hope evokes a magic trance,
whereas past mistakes are erased.
And granting love another chance,
yesterday's players get replaced.
It's hard to live in
A world where
People, en masse
Accept this mandated schedule...
An indoctrinated philosophy
From birth until death
Abiding by beliefs
Of ancient times!
Tell me, where's the upheaval
The unrest for revival
A rebirth of progressive thinking.
I cry inside, biting my lips
So no one can hear my
Inner torment.
We are all unique souls
With our own respective
Blueprints, yet we
Squish and bury our
Distinctive gifts between our
Breast bones, challenging
The beating heart with
So much passion-
To walk the beaten path...
A path already made clear by
Our ancestors boiling
Under the hot sun
Sweating and bleeding
And tortured to death
Fighting for our freedom.
I cry inside, biting my lips
So no one can hear
My inner torment.
We walk this Earth
In open air yet making
No indentation on
Our own stretch where
Our ancestors played their part-
Existing only in the hell of
Powerful mad men
Puffed-up in relay teams
Passing the golden baton through
Nepotism, avarice, and
Mendacity... a self-serving elite
Us, the en masse,
Complicit in their every
Wicked whim, we
Wallow in this
Faux complacency
Of acceptance
As if it's all good
By ticking the
Ballot box.
I cry inside, biting my lips
So no one can hear
My tortured soul.
© 2015 Denise Morgan?
love song…
(in five movements)
I
your love
is like the sun
the ember
of my life
fueling my being
energizing my soul
putting life
into my life.
II
each time
you grace my thoughts
my heart dances
to a symphony
of unsung melodies
teasing the rhythms of my being
caressing my soul and serenading my soul
with pregnant memories.
III
when you left
i buried you in my heart
from the tomb
of my love
i resurrect you
with each gentle thought .
IV
sometimes i sink
into the craters of my mind
and when i’ve become
filled with the full
ness of self
i climb back
pulling hope
from the hole
in my heart
dripping crystal tears
praying a lover’s prayer:
maybe one day
we’ll get it together again
V
the fair chance of it all
engenders old hurts
piercing bleeding hearts
checking each other
checking each other
just to be sure
it’s not a game
life is full of misery
like bitter songs
moaning and groaning
weeping tears cascading
over tortured souls
chasing happiness
between the pews of pain
mothers accept with joy
as babes burst from bleeding wombs
to liberate two like the one we once were.
To be tortured in darkness, listening to the screams trying to invent the destruction of all those who are formless, trying to emerge in the vastness of indecency, moving slow as the Sonic rays of a radar moves the ocean frequently, the persecution of darkness in the creatures who survived with the same color.... and out of the Darkness to be executed in the light, which they confined themselves into exile this innumerable chain of Unfortunate Events seem to be bound by more then just hatred but maliciousness, how can the darkness abandon itself for the light, it's foolishness.... then how could anyone ever sleep at night, as I look at the Sun tears as if I was crying, but in all reality from the light I was dying.
Eyes, silent and soft, a whisper
Falling across so many hearts,
Breathing in affections, singing
Caresses, messages…
Yet filled with melancholy
Doubt and despair, darkness
In clouds of regret, without the
Sparkle of life they had once,
Long ago…
When he was young, filled with
Wonder and inspired…
By the brilliance of the sunrise,
The intimacy of a starry sky,
The music pulsing through the
Rainfall, and the delicate brush of kisses
Easy against a secret, liquid
Like laughter and flowing into
The seas, in colors bold and vibrant
Hues so alive they tremble,
Echoing wonder in hopeful sighs
Eyes, mournful and dejected,
Pain cutting through the heavens,
Abiding within the soul who knows
Even in the painted smile,
The brushed on eyes, the splattered
Dyes faded and worn, in tatters…
A coat that is never warm, but colder
Than the winter storm, like bitterness
Painful and burning through the
Heart who knows that it is the loss
Thrashing inside him, dimming the light
That once kindled his joy, his happiness
It is this cloud that hangs
Across his heart, obscuring hope
With a desperation…
That quiets the glimmers of a
Reflection, both graceful and accepting
The thought of yesterday’s gifts
The love that he lost, the truth he
Never seemed to grasp, the death of his
Bliss, pouring out into seas, oceans
Deep and dark – filled with fear
Dread that seems to settle
Inside his spirit, blending with his
Feelings, becoming a part of him,
So he can surf through the night,
Suffering and enduring the agonizing
Rags of his memories, fleeting
Through a mind tortured with angst
In tatters, Tatters can’t find his way out
From amid the punishment, the past
With its endless doubt, its persecution
And the labored tears that never
Do release him from the grief, the ache
Tatters, the clown, with his painted
On smile and funny garb,
Is just as dead inside as the child
He buried back before he became…
Tatters, the clown!
TATTERS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
January 3, 2023
Where the hell am I, for God's sake how did I get here, what have I done to deserve this un-humane madness. I knew what I was doing, I had complete control of myself. It wasn't the alcohol nor be it the pills that were prescribed to me for anxiety. It was me in a nutshell, because that's who I am and that's who I will always be. I knew exactly what I was doing, when I was doing it, and why I was doing what I had done. It was a simple little piece of art that fit me to a tee. This little but meaningful tattoo of a heart showed others who I was and that it was meant for others to give them hope in life. That's all it stood for and all it was meant for. So why ask I, have I been snatched from my home like a spider from its web on your wall and thrown into this hellhole like the spider in a jar and tortured by the likes of a rulers' law. The ink that I have stained permanently on my left forearm for others to see and feel comfort will always be a part of me, like it or not you damn foolish bigot. For heaven's sake...let me out of this hellhole Satin.
the ink on my arm
the devil didn't like it
it's for heaven's sake
Abominable barrage bombards
fortified barracks show
warring subsequently, incandescently,
and brilliantly doth glow
biden time, this
garden variety Joe Schmoe
hunkers down deep amidst disarray
within arched bunker poe
wet tickly donning
pence sieve stance against row
battery weathering incessant assault
invariably waiting for Godot,
albeit devout atheist doubting Thomas
suffers major blow
wavering, vacillating, undulating...
ominous foreboding,
viz more'n one circling crow
decries status ranking sincerely
truly posthumous hero
reconnaissance delivers...
yup absolute zero
looming dark shadow
futile against inconsolable sorrow
anonymous bookish deadened
erstwhile febrile fellow
good as gone, cuz yours truly...
fresh outta ammo
resigned killed in action
another unmarked grave
housing lovely bones
courtesy contemplative bro
charred body foretells, know,
and promises not one daisy will grow
despite fervent obeisance
soul fully do I futilely bellow
worse fate than death
i.e. gulag archipelago
feebly decrying, lamenting,
lamely pleading against
bleak unfair in apropos
sentence never granted furlough
never to witness celestial amarillo
beatific, cathartic, fantastic...,
nor chase gold pot end of rainbow
all pleasant dreams, I must forego
seek neither fame nor glory hobo
content whiling away (Billy me)
idolized time solitary Homo
sapien re: me tortured afterlife
enslaved forever guilty "fake" pharaoh
moans... suddenly joyous tears flow
aforementioned psychedelic mashup
figment of imagination - psycho
illogical gallimaufry, hallucinatory,
and illusory expo
attempt lame analogy how I wallow,
when setting sail
to launch crafted poe
whim, whereby invisible
battle scars attest
successful amphibious ambition
inundated battling lightspeed tempo
competing ideas exhaust
thus, I seek comfort of
soft cloud like pillow!
Imagine if you will a man
who has given himself to the world
he's endless in his beginnings
and left time for all uncurled
He's known to many as a savior
he gave his life without pause
his only sin is forgiveness
his only mission was his cause
So many feared and judged him
while he wound his way in life
he touched people with his faith
but in his heart there rested a knife
They tortured and tried to make fun
his death they tried to bestow
a memory of unkindness
but nothing like this do we know
If only we would appreciate
the sincerity behind this stand
what he endured for us to be
was tragic and not worthy of his hand
he'll live forever in our hearts
we'll always know his love
he trusted us to carry out
his mission from up above
we need to be loyal and worthy
so he can be heard even now
we can do our best to honor him
and try to find justice somehow