In the veil of day
in the dead of night
hands are tightened upon young tender throats -
budding voices muted soon submerged.
Hold your tongue and know your place,
eyes on you forever watching.
Ominous clouds hover permanently overhead
while it is forbidden to shape thoughts.
Babes systematically silenced early on.
Their voice cursed for no good reason
beyond a perverse thirst for chauvinistic dominance.
Abuse is known to take many forms -
violence inflicted in a multitude of ways.
Satan pulled me down
and made me frown
with fire all around
and hissing the only sound
I called upon St. Michael… beware!
The devil has a gruesome stare
Can you help me climb the stairs
From the deep dark depths of despair
Beelzebub tightened the chains
And molten lava rained
My muscles twitched and strained
Everything hurt in pain
But then there was a glowing light
The archangel came with delight
He fought to make everything right
and day soon came from the darkest night
The lesson learned is to always with faith
For the glory of God is our destined date
There is no need to wait
For his love is all so great
Full of hope
Leaving for life
Set sail on the ocean
As husband and wife
The kids appeared
The rein tightened
Protecting the young 'uns
From all our fightin'
Left again for protection
A shelter full of strangers
Walking the path together
Surviving only dangers
Losing this, giving that
Never a straight line of rest
Every single moment
Seems to be another test
I got out my sieve
And I could finally see the thread
A system based on borrowing
From the master humanity dreads
The overlords use our suffering
To build the benefits of blood
They get name, fame, wealth
While we sink in red clay mud
Once I found strength to rise
I stood in the face of all my fears
And rather than reject and disown
I brought them near, so I could finally clear
...the bloodline thread
Written by Trudy Schrader on 04-04-2026
He never called it teaching,
just small repairs on ordinary days—
a tightened bolt, a patient pause,
a way of looking twice at what life says.
In his silence lived instruction,
not carved in stone, but lived instead—
in how he met the hardest hours
with steady hands and level head.
I learned the world from how he walked it:
not rushing where the ground was thin,
but placing care in every footprint,
as if each step must count within.
A father is a kind of builder
who measures more than wood or wall—
he frames the space where hope can stand
and learns to catch you when you fall.
And there are fathers all around us
whose names the world may never know,
yet cities rise in their quiet labor,
and generations learn and grow.
They shape the laws of love and waiting,
the grammar of resilience taught,
in lunches packed, in doors left open,
in every battle never fought.
So here’s to him, and all such fathers,
who turn the unseen into art—
for what they build is not just life,
but the steady shape of every heart.
there is no way to disentangle the jumble of ideas in my head
the unscrambling of this conglomerate would be my undoing
my imagination has tightened them, they are interwoven as linen
each piece a parasitic part of the rest of them; how to disentangle?
The thought of dissecting them in strips and stripes is overwhelming
a daunting task, I do not feel up to or worthy enough to attempt
We can do it! My muse yells into my head; she loves a challenge like this.
She begins sorting phrases and sentences as I prepare for a nap.
What was he feeling
Was he scared
Did he feel pain
Did his soul leave his body
Or did it stay too long
What was he thinking
Did he see anything as he died
Could he say his final words
Or were they trapped in sealed lips
No one will really know what happened
All we know is that the rope tightened
And his life was taken
But when did he know it
That is the question we will never know
© Poem – VIII/III/MMXXVI
LRET
The heavens opened and poured thunderously,
Sending all beasts deep into hiding.
Birds cooed softly from their nests,
As trees swayed to the wind’s wild song.
As the rain softened to gentle drops,
He clasped her hand, steady and warm.
Gazing sheepishly at her angelic face,
He led her across the emerald plains.
His heart hammered, trying to break free,
As doubt tightened its grip around his throat.
Fear snatched the vows he longed to voice,
So he let the wind whisper for him.
Summoning courage, he parted his lips,
But the words betrayed him once more.
"I do," she whispered with a knowing smile—
She had already read his heart.
all types of titles spell
some 'tightened meaning'
with respect poem words
and 'thought concepts'
of some overall ideas that
do 'reflect spectrums'
within the writer and
the 'poem reader'
len
Bitterness within
Agony and Pain
Coldness outward
Hate arises
Settling pause
Trust no more
Peculiar sure
Torture high
Fulfilling why
Love doesn’t live here
Forbidden enter
Thorns cut
Deep down wounds
Surpassed in no return
Broken unspoken words
Outdone
Withered and disguise
Hardened agony
Tightened grip
Emotions destined
Thorne of never heal.
Fitness freaks fake friends,
Who want wit weighs war...
Against age and acts;
Hopeless help heightened.
Invalid aim fends,
A perfidious sore-
Words, deny its facts...
Memories sure tightened;
Slipping in-out sight,
Of shameless mind's frame
Beeping off insight,
Wishing faults reclaim:
Peaceful glumly past,
Now endures contrast.
Memory is a noose around the neck.
Each tug, a reminder of what’s lost
The harder one struggles to break free,
The tighter it constricts, the greater the cost.
It clings, relentless, refusing release,
A weight too heavy to shed.
Even after you let go of the person,
Their presence lingers, memories spread.
How formidable is the grasp of the past
Its hold unyielding, a relentless foe,
Their memories,
With every recollection the pain intensifies
Like a tightened noose, a crashing wave.
The smothering grip that won’t let go.
The more you remember,
The stronger the pain.
A relentless ache of unending strain
In the end,
It’s not the noose that kill you.
But the memories, a relentless bane.
Your own mind becomes the battlefield.
Where the shadows of the past take flight
Haunted by the echoes of what once was
A relentless struggle against the night
Yet surrounded by the darkness
A glimpse of hope
For even in depths, light can be found
And with courage one can prevail
Rising above the memories which surrounds
God made her black;
She draws no attack...
Against His plan to shine,
What lust and fun do dine.
Beauty is of duty,
To value skin so sooty
Off cosmetic stupidity:
Intelligently fruity.
The key to her heart;
Money drives but not wide,
Lies penetrate but not apart,
Love tightened so to take side.
The key to her mind;
Reasoning gears up but not accurate,
Guess measures but not actually bind,
Conviction brightens so to be moderate.
The key to her soul;
Breath handles but not authentic,
Sickness threaten but not whole,
Living boosts so to be analytic.
67.
The Elements of Life
Earth – this solid mass
Eversince holds us
We'll never escape
From its tightened rape
Water – this solvent
Makes life sufficient
Cleans and occupies
Dwindles, fall and rise
Air – this loosened gas
Fills empty areas
Allows respiration
Triggers production.
-11/27/2011
(Dumarao)
*First Incubus Collection
Entanglement
We were bound from a single wave, like two tears fallen in the same dream,
and time tightened around us like a gentle snake that sleeps.
When I think of you, you tremble in the distance like a weary star,
and the distance becomes an extinguished song that doesn't know how to end.
We are two colors born from the same broken light,
slowly spinning through a sky that recognizes our silence.
If I fall into a shadow, you light an invisible candle,
without knowing why, without asking if it's still allowed to hurt.
Our love is a magic that promises no salvation,
only a deep correlation between two lucid solitudes.
We touch without hands, like two echoes lost in stone,
and we remain together even when we part.
Last night I wandered in a dream
as dark as any pit my brothers cast me in,
and three shadows rose like men with hardened hands,
approaching as if to break the spirit the Lord preserved.
Their footsteps thundered on the ground of sleep,
and fear—sharp as the desert wind—
tightened around my chest
until even my breath felt stolen.
But I remembered the God
who speaks through visions and midnight stirrings,
the God who lifted me from prisons
and from the snares of those who meant me harm.
So I tore myself awake—
as one who bursts from chains—
and the dream faded like chaff on the threshing floor,
powerless in the morning light.
Now I stand, heart steadying,
knowing this:
Not every dream is a prophecy,
and not every terror is truth.
Some are only the remnants of sorrow,
shadows testing the strength of the soul—
and the soul, upheld by God,
endures them all.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.