Rebellion Poems - Poems about Rebellion

Their violence Our defiance Their complaint Not our debate Their envy Fuels our energy Their violence We won't be silenced Their ignorance Can't bother us Our energy They aren't ready Our voice They have no choice Our power They are sour Our strength They try to destroy by going to these great lengths Can you finally understand The matter at hand Do you...

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I wore my sins like velvet lace, Then set your garden all ablaze. I never once said I was kind-- I only promised not to mind. The chandelier you loved? It fell. I laughed and called it “doing well.” Your rules were quaint, but far too tight-- I loosened them with fire and bite. Abandon all grace here, my dear-- The wine is sharp,...

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"I’m Still Here, And I Will Shake You" I’ve walked roads you wouldn’t whisper about. Where shadows don’t follow, they lead. Where the air tastes like sorrow and the silence presses like a loaded gun against your temple at 3 a.m. The dirt remembers me. It groans where I nearly gave up, where the weight of my own breath felt like betrayal. You want real? Not...

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The sound of wheels on tarmac Keeps me focused Keeps me grounded Keeps me present The sound of wheels on tarmac Takes me farther and farther away From everything I have ever known Chained up like a worthless dog The sound of wheels on tarmac Reminds me that rebellion Always comes at a price You just have to decide if it’s worth the prize The sound of...

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It’s hard to always know in life which way is best to go. Following fads and trends tends to be not, from what I know. But does that mean in everything you go the other way? I’ve tried that and I’ll tell you what at the end of the day - if you live life against the grain most times you will be right. But if it’s...

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Brains and guts orbit the soul— that polar star searing in the marrow of being. I was born somewhere between Einstein’s neurons Ginsburg beat poetry, the birth of rock and roll, revolution marches, and the calloused hands of a carpenter, where ink stains fight oil slicks, where the soft susurrations of Plato wrestle the raw shouts of Spartacus. Do you think Socrates...

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For Tom's 1984 The Fall of Big Brother In the dark soil beneath the weight of stone and silence, the meek are not mere shadows, they are tubers, reaching deep in furtive places, attracted by the throb of earth’s abandoned wisdom, nourished by murmurs from organic charcoaled scrolls, faded fusain etchings, and ageless voices interred in the dust. The surface cracks open in silence, quiet shoots, that...

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They came with flags, with fire, with steel, Spoke of trade, yet came to steal. Lands once free, now marked and chained, A stranger's law, a tyrant's reign. They mapped the sky, they named the trees, Measured rivers, claimed the seas. Their words replaced the native tongue, Ancient songs left unsung. Not just land—our minds they took, Rewrote the past in gilded books. Fed us...

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In the copper-clad cradle of time where gears whir fugues to forgotten dreams..... the fog—a somnolent specter—drifts..... veiling the calculus of progress a manuscript etched by steam and soot. Hark The hiss of pistons proclaims a triumph—or perhaps a dirge— for we have harnessed Hephaestus’ fire yet grasped not his wisdom. Verne's visions chart the oceans of steam while Shelley weeps for monsters born in...

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Born in the breath of woodsmoke and fire, I learned early to love the art of falling. Leaves tumble like poorly kept secrets, trees strip down without shame - modesty’s for summer, after all. October hums with rebellion: bonfires blaze, sunsets bleed, and the wind, cheeky as ever, slips its cold fingers into every undone button. History rattles here - 200 years since Waterloo fell...

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Grab it Hold the feeling Clench that burning fireball While you’re crashing through the ceiling Bash your head into the wall And show them What you can do While you hold it to the sky When the abyss stares right back at you You’ll just spit into their eye They won’t take us now They cannot win Live like you’ve always been dead Reanimate yourself And then You’ll see that...

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I’m not worthy of a crown, not with my tongue wrapped in curses, or my hands stained with gin, toasting to life with a glass that’s seen more dirt than decanter. Champagne flutes? I’ll take a tumbler, thanks. I don’t wear dresses that swish and sigh, no silk surrendering to the wind - I wear leather that’s seen more miles, denim that hugs without...

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Read the faded sign freedom fighter, every letter says it’s not too late; Beautiful rebel there’s a wall to climb, eradicate anything blocking that route; Let your doctrine become the General; Lead the courageous! Own that label! It may seem like you need an alibi or to let the clock wind down to zero; Navigate and arm this holistic rebellion....

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I wanted to write a poem, that wasn’t poisoned with my pain and lack of optimism to prove to myself, to others, that I’m rising from the ashes, stronger than before. Back to being that free spirit, not drowning in a bottle of wine, laughing ’til our bellies hurt, here for you, girl, wherever you are. But it would have been a lie. It’s why I faced...

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The Last 39 Minutes of My Life In the last 39 minutes…. 38 minutes…. 37 minutes…. I never was able to stop counting the minutes…. 36 minutes…. 35 minutes…. I start to wonder what would happen…. If I took my last breathe…. What it would taste like…. 29 minutes…. I should’ve taken that job…. I should have moved to New York…. I should have ignored my parents and...

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