Long Trauma Poems
Long Trauma Poems. Below are the most popular long Trauma by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trauma poems by poem length and keyword.
A great man, bloodied upon the stage,
Lifted high his fist in a fit of rage.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” was his Battle Cry.
He lived through the trauma, too driven to die.
A crooked man, intelligent but troubled and young
Lay sprawled on the rooftop with a powerful gun.
His life snuffed out in a moment, he didn’t hear the cry,
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” echoed by thousands standing by.
God’s Grace and Protection covered the park that day,
Although the protectors were in chaos and stark disarray.
A Higher Power had declared the time was not here.
It was destiny calling for 45’s Battle Cry cheer.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” will stay in the minds and the hearts
Of the millions of Patriots ready to play their own parts.
They stand tall and resilient with no fear or dismay.
Our Country’s values and dreams won’t be stolen away.
We will never give up. We will never give in.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” until we are free again.
Chula Fleming © August 11, 2024
Belief is the nemesis of uncertainty,
in times of torment we keep faith
in God's gift of blessings bestowed upon us.
In a world without morals
Children of summer seek refuge
in colder climates; leaving behind
loved ones in the care of the almighty.
In days of Devilish darkness,
sad stars hibernate like somber souls.
Upon the return of solitude,
whilst shaping strings of silence,
a troubled tongue becomes a soundless voice.
Reminiscing unredeemed memories,
heartbeats echo gently at nightfall,
as a black blanket covers indigo horizons.
Shrouded shadows in manipulative mirrors,
shield the sensitivity of sincere speech.
Without words, embodied emotions,
integrate into invisible inflictions.
Perpetual pain from a poisonous past,
repeats in an unrhymed repetitive rhythm,
as fragile fingers trigger hidden trauma.
There are secrets in suppression,
with so much lost in a suicide of expression.
Spiteful spirits reappear, reflecting like
neoteric neon drops on midnight shores,
washing away forlorn forgotten footsteps.
Trials of time leave behind trails of truth,
as facts of fate fail in this false fairground.
Reflections of regret resonate a reality,
where the world is working on its own worries.
In hollow nothingness, no one offers holy hope -
only silence remains.
As snow covers frozen shores,
hearts look to horizons of higher powers.
Hope for a prospect of principles
from our creator, creates
realms of reverie offering refuge.
Lost in a moonlight dream world,
dormancy evokes pale hued horizons.
A serene scene of saffron, scarlet shades,
glowing gloriously in a devotional dawn.
After an advent of adversity,
ascending in adornment of appreciation -
born again blooms blossom to butterfly breaths.
she realised that she lived all her life as two separate people
identities that would not mix but kept her separate from herself
one that ran away from hardship trauma and reality
full of justified anger resentments and self-pity
with the alter Ego taking her to flights of fancy or delusion
sitting on a rock by the sea and pretending everything was okay
in fact two worlds that could not be further apart and disjointed
alcohol had become her solution and absolute power
wielding a powerful sword of self-harm and depression
through sobriety she found her absolute Higher Power
and a spiritual path of honesty willingness and openness
but faith without action was futile until she faced her own demons
on her journey she believes that she needs her independence
and on that way forward there is no place for him any longer
does not wish there was and made it clear that such certainty would not change
‘I still love you so much and that will always be that way’
but her words ring hollow and the romance of the century is dead
‘My walls have come down which is terrifying and necessary’
and he needs to be careful that the heavy bricks of separation
do not crush him in the process of emotional turmoil
because standing tall is difficult under a mountain of rubble
and he cannot succumb to her darkness for there must be light
he is grateful that he is sober as well and accepts what cannot be changed
guilty that he defined himself almost exclusively through the marriage
made his amends strengthened his belief in a Universal Vital Force
and begins to live life on life’s terms one day at a time to stay sane
his expectations are modest which is one way to avoid further disappointment
Ego and selfishness have been deflated and there is plenty of room
for a God of his own understanding who wants him to be happy joyous and free
My Son & My Little Princess have one hell of a mother.
She also is a hero of sorts and she's one unlike any other.
She was pretty much abandoned at her moment of birth
by her mother who disappeared off of the face of the earth.
Her mother took off with her father's best friend.
She probably had legitimate reasons,
but she left her children behind in the hands of a fiend.
He was the ultimate in child perversion.
So at the age of 8 she was on her own. She had no choice but to run away.
She'd rather eat from dumpsters and sleep in depots.
Staying at home had a worse price to pay.
The cold of some nights were never as cold as his cold and clammy huge hands
all over her sweet innocence when ever he wanted. When ever her daddy demands.
Her life since then has continued to be
one of hardship and unthinkable tragedy.
It's as if after dealing with one trauma she's faced with another,
but through it all, you couldn't ask for a more devoted and most loving mother.
Dearest Jamie, you're family and I'll always love you, but I also want you to know
I still often look upon you in loving awe. You're not just family, you're one of my heroes.
WEARING WIRES PREGNANT BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FOR THE FBI FROM JUNK SICK OFFICERS QUITE SCARY IN ITSELF YOU ALWAYS KNOW IN THE BACK OF YOUR MIND THAT YOU'RE A WORTHLESS RAT TO BE EXPOSED BY KILLERS ENVY RAGE EVEN JEALOUS BEINGS ACTUALLY WANTING TO BE YOU WHEN THIS OCCURS IMPOSTERS EXPOSE YOUR IDENTITY TO THE ACTUAL KILLERS AWAITING YOUR DEATH LAUGHING TAUNTING WATCHING YOU PANT FOR YOUR LIFE THESE ARE LOW LIFE INDIVIDUALS DESPERATE WITH NO LIFE OTHER THAN EXPOSING YOU TO DEATH AN UNTIMELY DEATH YOU SURVIVED OVER AND OVER AGAIN THEY LAY WAITING DRIVING HYUNDAI VEHICLES PERPUTRATING FRAUD UPON THE REAL FBI INFORMANT YOUR DEATH IS BEING PLOTTED PLANNED YOU ARE FORCED TO CONTINUE WORKING UNDERCOVER AS AN INFORMANT TO STAY ALIVE UNTIL YOUR IMPOSTER IS THE ONE THE KILLERS FINALLY KILLS IN YOUR PLACE THEN AND ONLY THEN DO YOU BEGAN TO HEAL SURVIVING BEING AN FBI INFORMANT FROM CHICAGO MEANWHILE YOUR IMPOSTER CONTINUES IMPERSONATING YOU STIRRING UP STRIFE PLACING YOU ON THE FRONTLINE TO BE MURDERED YOU WATCH CARS PILE UP HYUNDAI FLIPPING INTO DITCHES DODGES RAMS AND FORDS FINALLY DYING RIGHT AT YOUR FEET YOU UNDERSTAND THIS IS A BLESSING FROM GOD YOUR KILLERS DIE AT YOUR FEET YOU STAND YOU PRAY AND TRY NOT TO EXPOSE YOUR SOURCES LOOKING OVER YOUR SHOULDERS SLEEPING AWAKE PTSD PANIC ATTACKS IRREGULAR HEART BEATS UNCONTROLLABLE FAINTING NARCOLEPSY DAYTIME SLEEP APNEA TRAUMA RELIVING TRAUMATIC EVENTS AWAITING THE DEATH OF YOUR KILLERS THATS YOUR SAFE PLACE FUNNY RIGHT GOD BLESS THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION AND GOD BLESS AMERICA
No particular rhyme nor,
reason explains to boot
within mind of this (boyish
looking) ole coot,
why sudden flashback didst
kickstart metered metrical foot
when during bout with anorexia nervosa,
I did not give a hoot
analogously harried and swiftly kicked
with barebones styled tailored jackboot.
Said eating disorder, sans
self starvation arose
without explicit explanation
this grown man tries
till he gets himself bluenose
to recapitulate an ill fate,
he conveniently chose
still baffled, thus
without aversion disclose,
silence of echoes
confidential matter
I willingly expose,
said trauma that
nearly did foreclose
emotionally mortgaged corporeal property
boarded figurative
windows, whereat up goes
for sale sign testament to
recalcitrant stalwart hardnose
father and mother felt
obligation to interpose
lest premature demise,
would invariably juxtapose
dealing mortal psychological
(albeit unfair) blow
to parents plus two sisterly kiddoses
perhaps family pets (cats and dogs),
whose meows and lows
punctuating equilibrium
volunteering, (when suicide
gripped stranglehold)
spurring personal tragedy
with sincere manifestoes
(mainly not a verse
to dabble with poetry)
striving to cater to nonheroes
to thwart tragedy, whose nose
(mine) sniffs fallout mainly upon me
woebegotten life somber
(time to cue oboes),
asper the plethora of
influences that predispose
one in the throes
of adolescent experiencing
oh ma dog...gushing hormones
analogous to young lives
loose then taut like mama's yoyos!
The sun closes her eyes, and I must close mine, this time,
but my breaking blood-brain barrier bids otherwise.
Another long night bodes foreboding in this light.
Forbidden thoughts seep deep from blood to brain.
I must fight, again, another tormenting night.
Earth's most frightening repetitive
cycle
plays on repeat as I try to cycle through
my backups to no avail, leaving no choice.
Swallowed by every detail of distress, I wait.
I await the end of another night laced with fear -
packed with pills meant to sedate me, but never did,
I waste away, waiting for the sun to open her eyes once again
If you question the abused instead of the abuser,
you have already chosen your side.
If you require proof, before you offer the abused compassion,
your loyalty is not to the truth.
If you tell the abused to “get a second opinion” about their abuse,
you are not seeking understanding. You are avoiding it.
If you call the abused “brainwashed” for telling the truth,
you are protecting the lie.
If you shame the abused for speaking out,
you were never safe for them to begin with.
If you villainize the abused so you can remain comfortable,
you are not confused. You are complicit.
If you accuse the abused of “not getting any better” because they won’t conform,
you don’t care about their healing. You want quiet.
If you reduce the abused to “changing the family dynamic” when they name it,
you are protecting the system that allowed it.
If you tell the abused to move on and “get over it,”
you are asking them to abandon themselves for your convenience.
If you mock the abused when they tell you how they feel,
you have revealed exactly who you are.
If you isolate them, withdraw from them, and give them the silent treatment,
you are continuing the harm.
If you call the abused selfish for not considering you in their own trauma,
you have no understanding of love.
If you tell the abused that “wasn’t my experience” to silence theirs,
you are rewriting reality.
If you threaten the abused to “tread carefully with you” that there is “no coming back from this,”
you are not protecting the relationship. You are protecting control.
If you stand by silently while others do these things to the abused,
your silence is not passive. It is participation.
If you do all this and still say you “don’t understand” why the abused pulled away.
you understand more than you admit.
If you claim the abused are "punishing their children" for protecting them from people like this,
you have an inverted view of who is actually being harmed.
And if you do all of this while believing you hold the higher ground,
you have lost your moral compass.
“You will know them by their fruits.” Matthew 7:16
Angry words have fear-mongering consequences,
said rhetorical behaviorist Hillary,
then Kamala, to Donald,
we would no more peacefully
and compassionately select a Donald Trump as President
than we would bipartisan co-invest to win Donald Duck for Empire Builder.
Words mean things,
said linguistic behaviorist Anat
to her fellow Economist Collective,
and the absence of kind words means something too.
We're not sure what
but I place my bet
on more discommunicating eco-political
ego-apartisanship.
FatherSun enlightenment led toward EarthMother liquidity.
We know this from our indigenous history
of Yang/Yin Win/Win
environmental science books
but this is difficult to see
how exactly this could be
without sufficient silence to recall
what dipolar co-arising energies lie in wait
within this shared bilateral brilliance.
Fire and water,
progenitors of stardust
eco-empowering,
sacred ecologizing
fertile organic planets
birthing health moisturized wealthy regenerations.
To paraphrase bodhisattva Joanna Macy,
Co-invested communing economics
is not more wishful monopolistic thinking
(or messianic ideation).
Active political gathering verbs
enlightening sacred habitats
do not wait for renowned
divisive
drowned-out
dis-organic trauma issues
to be reverently resurrected
and religiously re-membered
by monoculturing Donald Ducks
or by some Anti-Other quacking
self-serving colonization
of patriarchal monotheistic
discommunicating misbehavior.
Active Hope wakes up in love-life's ecological
EarthMother baptismal beauty
wonder
fertile light and flowing power sabbath
on who's silently communing behalf
we can act in sacred light
for animated
organic
polyamorous co-empowerment.
To the responsible Hillaries, and Kamalas:
Follow positively cooperative light,
not so much darkly threatening
reactively monolithic
swampy miscommunication.
To the authoritarian Donalds:
Follow your competitively brilliant
SunFather responsive truth
with EarthMother beauty
loves polyculturing liquidity,
not so much your prized
monopolistic
and monotheistic
anthro-patriarchal
discommunicating fear and anger
military-industrialized pathologies.
At the foot of the stairwell
face up she lay, knocked, smashed, kicked,
robbed, disfigured, lifeless so
it seemed, when the police came,
with ambulance attending.
In the trauma ward it was
all we knew, except her name
was Edith. Over eighty
the nurses guessed she might be.
Her face so swollen, she lay
unconscious, so dependent
on attentive hands nursing.
Edith was just a form; charts
recorded her distressed state;
a person we could not know.
Without family would she
have anyone to live for?
The third day two young people
arrived; shocked to see her so
unresponsive – as neighbours
they came again with others.
Before she opened her eyes
we began to know Edith,
her nature mirrored in those
she had befriended, cared for.
Cared for, injuries began
to heal. Pillowed, her hair washed,
we could imagine her as
lively, full of interest.
One day she seemed aware of
conversations, their presence
touching, encouraging her
response which came with a hand
held out to grasp friendship; found.
From there it was a long way
for Edith to get back up;
and to walk, to climb those stairs
to home, but with therapy
she was remade with young friends,
friends to live for. She was found.