Short Slain Poems
Short Slain Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Slain by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Slain by length and keyword.
And so the show begins
in an effort to simplify
they obfuscate
complicate and
obliterate
.......simplicity
Where have all the Poets gone,
has time then captured and slain
Those heraldic writers of messaged truth
—whose shields once bore their names
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
I
Spirit of God gives wisdom:
Read Acts, chapters 4 & 5
Doing charity and kicked down
Ananais & Sapphira: not alive
II
Peter sensed this couple, Christian
Had ignoble motives, sold land
Lied to him, they donated everything
At his feet. Scary bible study. Be warned
Sacrificial
Love for all mankind
Agonizing pain
Indescribable
Nailed to ths cross
God so loved the world
that he sent his only son
as a living sacrifice
to set us free
from sin
pierecrd for our transgressions
no words can describe such Love
that you would die for us
so we can be free
thank you Lord
Amen
Metaphors
I just can't find
for that which throbs
inside my chest,
for that which floats
and fills my head;
I just can't figure out
the setting
of my frazzled frame
of mind;
for there's a fog that
slowly swirls
and dims the sun behind
my eyes,
but not the glow of you
in there
in my love-struck,
love-slain heart!
Relaxing in our comfortable seats.
declaring that it's a crying disgrace
honestly, it doesn't matter to us
further than just facts are required.
to justify all of this suffering and loss
of another heinous crime
we are refusing to look
take a step back.
as the number of victims grows.
every day
Written: May 26, 2022
The slain damned sister
Look at me while you sleep,
Look deep into my eyes.
Sink into a slumber,
Where you’ll never see the rise.
I’ll wash your face with falling tears,
That drown the sight in yours.
While every ounce of pain you gave,
Settles in our pores.
You’ll slowly fade to nothing,
A ghost of what was well.
Sleep tight, my love, forever
And find your rest in hell.
For full nine months forlorn widow,
Every nine hours by window;
Men watching their every shadow,
Still hoping for her Ricardo,
Who'd promised her Eldorado,
This doing in a Choice Meadow...
Now, The Incommunicado,
Gone her main source of Bravado
And Volunteering Troubadour,
To her a Buck she to him Doe,
Ricardo, not innocent, though...
Slain for vanishing with Grang's dough
Sometimes I cry,
as the whole world
engulfs into flames
remorseful eyes can't cry
so they glance enviously
Sometimes I cry,
when a shooting star
births a raging comet
that spilled this vodka
all over my remains
Sometimes I can't cry,
When the world turns
it's back on the suffering
that so many had endured
turning their souls to dust
Now you can cry,
As your mother's ashes
is poured in the sea
of strife to be consumed
by the forces of despair