Sacrifice Poems - Poems about Sacrifice

Desert of Love

Before thee, flowers hold no grace,
Where ruby shines not as the lips' own face.

Though flawed, yet thoughts of union dwell,
I seek a lover, whose beauty casts its spell.

From patient heart, my steadfast will thou took’st,
And suddenly alone, my soul thou forsook’st.

Within love’s desert I wander lost, my dear,
And from thy thorny grief my feet are

A black mothers sacrifice

Broken cries diluted the still waters
A mothers pain as she prepares a better life for her daughter
Her bones ached with exhaustion 
Her fractured breathing heavy with guilt 
Buy she knew this was the right decision 

She wraps her baby in a blanket made of love and sacrifice
She hoped these feelings would be carried into her

The sacrifice of freedom for love

Freedom
A dream he never allowed himself to hope
He couldn't have his heart broken
Not when it belonged to his black woman
Not when it carried his emotions 
Not when it carried the love that kept him mobile

'You're free'
A prospect of a new life
One he had hoped to share with his beautiful wife
But 
Nothing in life comes for

Godlike

With all the Gods who've been and gone
religiously believed in and prayed upon
for sure Thor was but one
but who'll be the next to come along
will we sing praises to him it or her
faithfully erect an edifice to edify
incense burn sacrifice virgins
bow down on our knees to deify
will fire and brimstone or flagellation
appear in the equation
with

Peace Without You

Today I learned
that being me
always here for you,
always yours in intimacy
was never enough.
I did not give you
the peace your soul was searching for.

It shatters my heart…
how did we come to this?
I learned today
you were looking for comfort
in someone else’s words,
and all this time
I thought I was your world.

Have I taken you for granted?
Was it my

The sacrifice of drowning so others could be saved

Empty, that's all she felt 
She hated the numbness that would blindly attack
She did so much for others 
But she couldn't help herself 

She carried the weight of being black
Where racism would slowly break her back
She couldn't even go to a hospital they'd probably throw her out 
Calling her 'dramatic'
Saying she should go somewhere else
This

In Love, a Soliloquy

My heart shatters with every harsh word, saddened glance, and argument. I can feel it being ripped from my body and thrown into the depths of my stomach. The only thing that ever heals it, is your love and kindness. I am forever grateful to you for every breath I take, every sight I get

Loretta

She might have painted the sea—
or a golden field of wheat
beneath a hazy summer sky—
but he took her brushes,
left the bristles splayed,
the paints dried out,
and the turpentine cloudy.
And though she said nothing,
her easel disappeared one day
like a wispy cloud no one missed.
After that,
she painted nothing but dinner.

They had imagined themselves
sharing a studio but
he needed all

Memorial

One day a year to mark a sacrifice profound
One day a year to visit the ground
One day a year for the bugle to sound
One day a year a nation’s memory is found
Hardly enough for the terrible cost
Hardly enough for the lives that were lost
One day a year for the flags to adorn
One day a year

The Unpaid Debt of Sacrifice

(She taught while her child was sent home 
in the tongue of olden sorrow)

She stood before the class—
chalk in hand,
heart in shards,
yet her voice did not waver.

The sun poured through cracked windows,
spilling golden lies across the floor,
as if the world outside cared.

But behind her calm,
behind the grace stitched in her wrapper,
a storm raged—
not of thunder,
but

ember lover

Looking at her is like 
a grainy old romance
warped in a bathroom mirror—
time distorts in her footsteps.

She’s always smiling, 
even when tears circle in her eyes. 
Only on certain nights will she 
pull off the mask 
and fracture in hush, splintering inward.

She speaks little—
perhaps the quietest soul I’ve known.
Her days revolve around his breath,
his smile

Combustion

I’ve always dreamed of painting
with fire—
lash the canvas with embers,
watch the smoldering orange spread, 
chasing white into flame—
before my chaos dies into silence.

It feels natural, this
need to see my art burn—
they’re not complete, not before
the charred ink is bathed in heat.
I paint with alcohol then
ignite—
so my work is no longer 
just raven lines on pale

Sown Sacrifice

R-eap
O-r
V-ictory,
E-ither
L-ets
Y-ou
N-icely

C-hase
R-eward
U-nder
Z-enith

©bfa051325
Monocrostic (Birthday of Rovelyn G. Cruz)

The Greatest American Generation

They came with dust on their boots and a morning star,
Shadows of boyhood still clinging to their shoulders—
They were sons of the land, faces bright with the dew,
Carrying small, cherished photographs in their breast pockets.

They rose with the sun’s trumpet call at dawn,
A summons to arms, to fear, to death—
Yet they did not tremble,
They carried

Price of Freedom

An old man once said:
Freedom isn’t free

As a child, I grew up,
never understanding those words.

As an adult, I learned,
the tree of freedom is watered with blood.
I thought we had paid enough.

But as trees wither without water,
so does freedom without its tribute.

As such I hoped,
we could pay with sweat and duty.
But once again-we choose red...

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