Stained Poems - Poems about Stained

She scrubs the floors with hands that bleed, her heart, a brittle thing beneath her chest— a reflection of the shattered glass she once danced on, believing love was a crown meant to fit anyone. The prince's ring, so smooth, is a shackle, and his kiss— not a promise, but a contract with the devil’s own whisper. Her stepsisters wear their cruelty like fine silk, while her smile fades into...

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Sip from a chipped teacup, the glass is still half full. A grin frowns upside down framed by two twinkling eyes. Her brilliance lights this town. Sip from a chipped teacup, just turn the rim around. Press on and work it out, beauty and bold en force. Pure gold in a blackout. Sip from a chipped teacup, no need for something new. When it’s...

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My heart is a stained glass window, fragile as a Rose in May refracting light from every angle, it holds life's leeway Suffused with fragments of love, I can be warm as night filled with a sense of awe, when you tilt me to the light, ...

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Where the hell am I, for God's sake how did I get here, what have I done to deserve this un-humane madness. I knew what I was doing, I had complete control of myself. It wasn't the alcohol nor be it the pills that were prescribed to me for anxiety. It was me in a...

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Breath of light, casting shadows over the night Soothing stars and moon in her gentle embrace Hurling nervous sea against beaches so white Gentling the surf with a calm time can’t erase Cobalt sprays fall against the sandcastle reefs Stirring wells of euphonious tones of grace Mists of joy, glazing the trembling cloverleafs Sunlight glow murmuring peace to the coastline Sand dollar stories...

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Such a common smell Used in places all over Restaurants to grocery stores to schools to bathrooms a smell this clean cant make me feel so gross Kills 99.9% of viruses & bacteria Kills the germs left from my stomach surrendering its contents Huddled over and in pain a smell this clean cant make me feel so gross I was always sick as...

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Hoisted high Black flags sail, Camouflaged by a misty veil, A bow braced with forward guns, Upon a ship no-one outruns, This sight was seen through a scope, A view of horror crushing all hope, Terror races through the ship, For they are within Davy Jones grip, Bustling panic to throw weight over the side, Anything and everything to save their hide, Dark swells...

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The clock strikes twelve, and the world exhales, a breath held too long, now let loose in fireworks. Here’s to beginnings wrapped in the glow of possibility, where dreams unfurl like banners in the wind, and hopes spark like lanterns lighting the night. This year, I will weave stories from the threads of my soul, binding words into pages that whisper...

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It’s always those who can’t spell, abracadabra; They try to darken the Sun, enshrouding the world; Hiding that midwinter spark, as hope lights a match; Heat stained cheeks of the night sky, there’s no going back....

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Blood-stained poppies mark the day that human sacrifice did harden the skins of the less murderous mass for such a brutal aghast affair, how the God all mighty would formidable bear witness to grief beyond repair Out into the fields, neither would yield-with bullets they would tear but what would a stealthy, shrewd general care if many died on duty which...

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pierce this gloom glass can hold stone & stone can hold glass both hold my gaze sun and moonlight gather me in let me sit in quiet contemplation ...

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The clock chimed twice, Habitually, I folded my scarlet marked sheets,? Adjusting my smeared diopter glasses as I glanced at the empty library beneath.? Empty, no surprise, since the earlier hours—? But to me, it was always just whispers and echoes that would later haunt. Alone, always.? I don’t mean to complain; I like the quiet, truly.? I pull out my sheets...

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From the depths of my heart, a rhythm starts, a symphony of words, a dance of art. My pen, a conductor, leads the way, across the parchment, a melody to sway. Emotions surge, a vibrant hue, on the canvas of my soul, they bloom anew. Love's gentle whispers, pain's piercing sting, a tapestry of life, my heart does sing. Each stroke a brushstroke,...

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There is no bloodless Jesus There is the Blood Stained Jesus There is no bloodless gospel There is the Blood Stained Gospel The Power of the Blood of Jesus reigns Supreme We are Cleansed by the Blood to Serve the Living God Jesus was born to DIE He came to DIE for the SINS of the world— He brought the Kingdom of God...

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In a world of flowing shades, my hands stained with waves of ruby, A tapestry of pain and sacrifice, in suffering I drown. Through the shadows of despair, true love emerged, A gift of agony, a dream ennobled by courage. From the soil of my soul, the roots of passion deeply pierced, I gave my all, my essence, for a...

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