Long With sympathy Poems
Long With sympathy Poems. Below are the most popular long With sympathy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long With sympathy poems by poem length and keyword.
Tell me your story, leave out no fact,
I’ll pose my questions with sympathy and tact,
You’re a brave woman with a pure heart,
If you’re now ready, breathe deeply and we’ll start.
You were fifteen, vulnerable and shy
Discovering life as every day went by,
Protected by the hearth of community and home,
Your world a few square miles from which you did not roam.
And then one day your confidence was shorn,
A callous act from which a pattern of anxiety was born;
Your silent tears prove anguish knows no bounds,
But I must be sure your memory has grounds.
The boy was Brett of that you have no doubt?
“The very one whose name from every rooftop I will shout.”
And yet for thirty years you didn’t tell a soul?
“My sadness couldn’t breathe from the innocence he stole.”
I’m told your friends know nothing of this day?
“I’m filled with sorrow as its pure truth that I now say.”
Your memory is shaky as to what happened when and where?
“Not a day goes by that anguish I don’t share.”
I can’t begin to feel the way you clearly do,
But looking in your eyes I see the terror’s true.
None can forgive the actions of this heel
That from his deed he could your joy so steal.
Whilst we can’t know it was the man you claim,
No doubt one did your soul unjustly maim;
Your trauma known, your burden shared
And through your truth a lesson clearly aired.
I knew the end was near. I think she did, too.
I just held her hand and could feel the warmth slipping away.
She tried so hard to be brave and keep the tears from escaping her eyes.
There was nothing more left to be said.
We had already poured out our goodbyes throughout the months long ordeal.
Now, all we could do was wait.
She tried to speak but was too weak.
I simply shook my head and mouthed, “I know”.
The nurse came in and checked the monitors one more time.
She looked at us both with sympathy; knowing what was just minutes away.
The room seemed to grow darker. Her hand slipped out of mine.
And … it was over.
I finally passed away.
As spoken by the Voice of Wisdom
O House of Israel,
Heed the sound of the wind that carries ancient truth across the sands of time.
Once you wandered through deserts and kingdoms,
Once you suffered at the hands of empires and tyrants,
And the world wept for you—
So great was your sorrow that even your enemies offered you a home among strangers.
In the year of man, 1948,
Your banner rose among nations, a fig tree reborn.
You were embraced not with steel,
But with sympathy,
Not with fire,
But with the open palms of those who knew grief.
Palestine did not draw sword at your arrival—
The people opened their gates.
Arab hearts, once warm, extended olive branches,
Their tongues tasting of hospitality, not hatred.
The children of Ishmael made room for the children of Jacob.
But tell me, O Israel,
Where has your wisdom gone?
Have you not read the Psalms of David?
Did Moses not teach you the weight of the stranger’s tears?
You were welcomed, yet you conquered.
You were protected, yet you occupied.
You turned the promise of sanctuary
Into an empire of watchtowers and blockades.
Your defense turned into offense,
Your wall of safety became a prison for others.
The same anguish you once endured,
You have now inflicted.
And now behold—
The desert echoes with bitterness,
The blood of children calls from the soil of Gaza,
And the ancient prophets tremble in their graves.
The nations, once silent, begin to whisper.
The Middle East, 473 million strong,
Watches and waits, wounded and awakened.
Will seven million stand against the tide of centuries?
The covenant you had with justice—
You have traded for iron domes.
But remember, O Israel:
Peace was your greatest weapon,
Wisdom your strongest shield.
But you drew the sword, and now the sword returns.
Do not say you were not warned.
For as the African proverb says,
"The hyena called the ants, and the ants beat him to death."
O land of Abraham,
You still have time to choose the path of peace.
Not all gates are yet closed.
The Lion and the Lamb may still lie together.
But know this—if pride be your compass,
Then desolation shall be your inheritance.
The future does not belong to those who conquer,
But to those who reconcile.
Let wisdom return to Jerusalem,
Lest Jerusalem fall again.
Dear PoetrySoup friends,
I haven’t been around much lately, but when something touches one of our own, it hits deep. A few hours ago, Ed Ebbs ’s wife shared the sad news of his passing. My heart is heavy. Ed wasn’t just a talented poet, but a devoted family man, a gentleman, and a kind soul, always faithful to his beliefs.
Let’s take a moment to visit his poetry, honour him, or say a prayer for him and his loved ones.
.Ed Ebbs:
He lived with kindness, grace, and care,
A faithful heart, so rich, so rare.
His words will linger, soft and true,
A gentle soul, we’ll not forget you.
In quiet strength, he led the way,
A beacon bright, both night and day.
His legacy, in every line,
A lasting gift, pure and divine.
Now joined with angels up above,
He rests in peace, surrounded by love.
With sympathy,
Charma
Such an awful day I have a cold.
I wish I could give it away.
To someone special with sympathy.
Although I wouldn't want you to have this empathy.
Outside its a wet cold day.
I have to go out at some point.
Thats the problem with being alone.
No one else to share the load.
Stale food because I wasn't hungry.
Sour milk so no cup of tea.
I dont feel sorry for myself or angry.
Sometimes I should take better care of me.
I knew as I always do not to work on my car in the rain.
my body gets wet and the muscles ache with pain.
I have to have hot baths with showers.
To turn up my body heat. To sweat it out.
And still my nose runs. Sometime it sprints.
I should have shares in tissues I would make a mint.
So if you are true friends here on poetrysoup?
Then you know what do, just take my cold.
Come on now be told and be bold.
Please please take this cold...
Her son died when he was but a child…it was way beyond her belief…
She wrapped him in her arms and walked around…unable to control her grief.
She walked from house to house…”I’m looking for medicine for my son” she said.
Some felt pity…some laughed saying, “Whoever heard of medicine for the dead.”
She finally wandered to the feet of a wise man…she cried, “Oh please wise one….
can you give me medicine…medicine for my son?”
The wise one said, “I will make your medicine…but you must travel the countryside…
And bring me grains of mustard seed from every household in which no-one has ever died.”
The woman was delighted…at last a way to bring her young son back to life….
but at the first house where she stopped …the man had recently lost his wife.
The woman listened to his story with sympathy…as he made his feelings known….
understanding the grief he still felt…was similar to her own.
And at every house she turned to…on every face…with every breath
She heard stories of long sicknesses…of tragedy and of death.
When she began this mission she thought she was alone…
that no one else had cared
But now she felt a little differently knowing the grief she felt was shared.
With tears in her eyes she returned to the wise one…her mission finally done
understanding the grief she had been feeling…has been felt by everyone.
She handed her son to the wise one…who was the first to understand her woe
Having found her grief a little easier to accept…
she found it a little easier to let him go.
Wonder not
if my thoughts are thrilled and twisted
daily and deeply by the albums of your ways,
I succumb severely to the impulse of imminent interplay
so dumb with joy, grateful for the fusion of our fevers,
I've never let you leave my mind,
you haven't finished eating your portion of my heart,
there is so much more for you, still in my chest, on my eyes,
I am your rare happiness,
that bare beast of a woman's best distress,
trigger your storm sirens with a single drop of Goodbye,
serve you with the most sensational sadness,
replenish your youth with an admiration that won't die,
knowing that I am not a makeshift man, nor a loyalty within a lie,
that I'll punish your pulse with peppered pleasure
because I can, because I must,
pull your hair just to hear those breaths beg for big flares,
treat the smooth and sweet lascerations of love's lament
butterfly cut into the surface of a girl's search for sincerity,
we get intoxicated on performance of personality,
buzzed beautifully from believing in the addiction of adoration's affliction,
We know we can handle one another's hurt
as warriors bleed hard because they sell themselves the sacrafice,
that we can process history with humor by breaking the shame of blame,
synthesize epiphany with sympathy to nourish symphonies of Divinity
we realize that intensity is the regal implement of our tournament,
I like it when you tell me the tough truths,
that you want to be loved for more than one reason,
that being respected in segments isn't enough,
that he will never be me,
that words can outlast the disappointment of distance,
that the world overwhelms you when you most expect,
that sometimes you'd rather be a heart attack
before being a pretty song or a favorite memory,
I understand your need for absolute affection, absolute attention,
lets allow our love to be confusing, dazzling, on the verge of villainy,
it isn't steady as a sleeping heart beat
or ready for celebration like a " gee wiz " graduation,
it is our Love, and its undefinably volatile and lovely,
Your cosmos gives a question that feeds one answer,
that love is ours, safe in the arms of Armageddon,
I remember the ember of our future
spazing on the hearth of fresh earth,
don't ever miss me Babe, just keep lovin me -
J.A.B.
I walk along the slippery shore.
of the shingled beach
that welcomes the inland sea.
The sun rises slowly in the east,
lighting my way amongst
the small rocks and drying seaweeds.
There is a lift inside me
that nurture enthusiasm.
Peace and quiet reign around
disturbed occasionally by the barks
of sprightly dogs that race upon the sand,
the squawks of gulls gliding gluttonously
swooping down for their repast.
I look with sympathy on other walkers
on the beach. Thus, I meditate,
a marvellously therapeutic exercise.
Who am I, Lord, to deserve all this?
The quiet meditation calms my mind.
lowers my blood pressure,
a spiritually potent release.
My mind is tranquil,
I know who I am,
my soul is happy.
Line of inquiry:
“joy, empathy, compassion
on an upward arc
an effervescence eternal
causes bliss ignition to start” - Unseeking Seeker
When sanctity of sane sense turns into anger inferno
with fury embers erupting from the violent volcano,
curling up feral with the spreading smoke of spite,
rationale rays remain concealed in sobriety spectrum.
We need not run away from the blaze to self-heal,
or seek shelter in the disdained den of disregard,
nor we should ignite another flame in enraged soul,
face malice intrepidly, and feel good in retaliation.
As a fire can’t ever extinguish or contain another fire,
for, it burns fast in the linked space of attachment,
we confront malevolence with calm confidence of poise,
don’t let the flame incinerate the serenity of our souls.
When flow of absolution springs with love from within
with embracing empathy of mounting divine fountain,
compassion douses spiteful fire with sympathy shower,
emanating with timeless joie de vivre of innate ecstasy.
Oh, Mother India,
The sacred smock of your cremated children
Over your revered land, I see
The lamentations of the death-stricken families
I daily hear
The unbearable agony of your offsprings, in my
heart, I constantly feel.
Do not despair holy India, for it is not only me that
shows compassion
But
The whole world, with sympathy, has turned its
Eyes upon you
All nations are willing to assist you to overcome this
Horrible affliction
Thus
You to return to your illustrious status
And
The love of humanity to be glorified!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
01 May 2021
*There have been at least 300,000 new infections every day in the past week, with more than 360,000 new cases and more than 3500 deaths in the past 24 hours.