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Best Poems Written by Becoming Trude From The Ruins

Below are the all-time best Becoming Trude From The Ruins poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Along With The Thunder

I am chaos,
the storm that shatters silence —
thunder rolling through the wreckage,
still breathing, still burning, still me.

They hurt me.
Often.
And I stayed.
Not because I was weak —
but because I believed people were more
than their wounds.

I saw the hidden cracks no one else did.
I loved anyway.

But the tether snapped.
No longer do I chase the lightning
that scars but never warms.

I care — but I don’t cling.
I remember — but I don’t return.

No hatred resides here —
only a quiet goodbye
to the thousand selves who thought love meant bleeding.

I am the fire,
the lightning’s flash —
the storm’s calm eye.

I am Chaostrude.
Not a title.
A becoming.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

When Heaven Turns To Hell

At first, it was heaven — pure and bright.
Then came the cry, 
A single tear that swelled into a river, 
And from that flood, hell was unleashed.

Her world shattered, 
Suffering took root deep within her soul.

She was never the same.
Locked away in her room, 
Her mind a storm of questions —
Where did it all go wrong? 
Was she the darkness itself? 
Was it all just a cruel mistake? 

Should she have spoken the truth? 
Should she have let it go at the start? 
Why did she stay? 
Why did she believe? 
Why did she think it would stay the same? 
Was it all... for nothing? 

What else could she have done? 
After all, we all make mistakes.

But in the end —
How many will truly stay? 
Who will remain, care, love, 
Stand beside her through the storm? 

Who will accept her — flaws and all —
Just as she accepted theirs? 

Will there ever be a time
When she can be happy —
Happy with herself? 
Free to speak her truth, 
Without fearing loss, 
Without fearing abandonment?

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

A Last Whisper to Us

Even when the sky is cracked and grey,
Adoring arms can’t hold what’s meant to part.
Ghosts of your voice dissolve into the day,
Left behind, a hollowed aching heart.

Oceans of grief drown the words unsaid,
Fractured time blurs love into decay.
Grief gnaws softly where our dreams have fled,
Memories fade like ghosts at bay.

Days pass, but the ache still won’t die,
Yesterday’s tears whisper a last goodbye.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Bones Beneath the Tower

Inspired by Bob Dylan's "Mississippi" 

I was the backbone of your dream—
ribs shaped into beams,
my blood seeping slow,
cementing your tower’s base.

You promised a sky of stars,
a rise beyond all shadows—
but I was just a ghost
etched in your blueprint,
a whisper beneath your tower.

We built forever on lies,
stacking stones on my shoulders—
I was your ground,
your silent sacrifice,
the shadow no one names.

You spoke of freedom—
but all I felt was the weight,
a hollow echo in my bones.

You spoke of love—
and I swallowed the silence
you left behind.

Now the dream is dust,
the sky a fractured lie,
and I stand—
an empty scaffold,
a ruin in the wind.

You vanished in fire—
and I’m left to fall.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

That's Not Safe

I swallowed words like razors in the dark,
A thousand cuts across my broken skin,
They told me "silence"—so I hid the spark,
While screaming softly, bleeding deep within.

The mirror lied: it whispered I was whole,
But fractures ran beneath the painted face.
I smiled and nodded, playing the doomed role,
While scars—my silent hymns—betrayed my grace.

They told me love was safe, but it was fire,
A flame that licked and burned my fragile core.
I danced on glass, mistaking wounds for choir,
And sang my pain to walls that asked for more.

Now I refuse the comfort of the lie,
For silence kills, but screaming helps me fly.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

The Promise and The Silence the Two Parts Of The Story

The Promise

She was silent, calm — never one for lies.
Always believing in true love,
Her idea of love was someone to rely on,
Someone who’d stand by her
Even when their views didn’t align.

Someone who might not always agree,
But for her sake, stood by her side,
Who’d talk through right and wrong,
And calm her fears when nights were long.

She didn’t want someone like herself —
She wanted someone different,
Someone worth changing for,
Someone willing to change for her.

A bond built over differences,
Shared hobbies, new dreams learned together.

She wanted to cover him
In the warmth of love,
To hold him close like a child,
Someone she could open up to.

Even if misunderstood,
She was ready to fight —
For them.

Someone who wouldn’t give up on their love,
Someone who’d fight for her —
That was all she needed.

She was willing to give everything —
Even her life.

Maybe it sounds like a line from a poem,
But she meant it,
Believed in love, trust, forgiveness,
And never holding grudges.

The Silence

But everything changed
When she realized her wish might never come true.
Maybe finding someone
Was never as simple as she dreamed.

The one she thought was the one —
Was not.
Or maybe he was — who knows? —
But he never gave her what she wished for.

Even when she tried,
Maybe because he never saw
How deeply she cared,
How much she fought to stay.

Now she’s lost belief
In something so precious.
She shut herself away,
Closed off from the world,
Stopped speaking to everyone.

She longed for him,
Wished to hear his voice again —
To have him back,
More than anything.

And then, after long months,
A question haunts her mind:

Is he really the one?
Will he ever give up something for me?
Genuinely, willingly — not out of anger?
Were those moments I thought special — special to him too?

Was it really love?

Should she give up?

But how can she give up on someone
She loves so deeply?
Someone she cares for more than the world itself?

Knowing he may never come back,
How long will she wait?

Maybe forever.

She remains —
A lonely soul,
Waiting for her love to return.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Whispers Beneath the Cemetery

Whispers Beneath the Cemetery

Is love undead?
Is love fate?
Is love just holding on—
a ghost that won’t abate?

Does death mean I must give up on us,
let go of what was?

I stare at your grave—
hours slipping by—
Will you resurrect?
Will you rise or die?

A strange peace lingers—
a burden I can’t lay down,
The silence, the stillness—
haunting and profound.

I feel you more—
the loser, the lost,
The trees sway wild,
wind tangled in their ghostly frost.

Maybe they agree—
whispering secrets of old,
But life moves forward—
with stories left untold.

Unspoken words,
forgotten memories,
Yet love lingers on—
like shadows on the breeze.

I feel alone—
loneliness like a cloak,
But now—
a fragile peace I invoke.

Time has softened the ache inside,
That love still lingers—
but I’ve learned to abide.

I accept your absence,
your faraway flight,
I won’t wait for your return—
I surrender the fight.

In this quiet acceptance,
my mind finds its rest,
With questions unanswered,
with forgiveness unexpressed,

And love, still burning—
a fire in my chest.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

What If He Says That to Our Daughter

-In the dead of night, when the world is silent, her whispers haunt the shadows of my mind.

“Daddy, I’m so tired… I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Her small voice, trembling like a ghost, echoes in my heart — a chilling reminder of the fragile life we’re trying to hold together.

Late at night,
when silence drapes the room,
my mind whispers the questions
I’m too scared to ask.

Was I happy?
Or just trying to be?
Did he make me happy,
or was I chasing shadows —
because he was my first love?
Or was there something more?

I gave him all I had,
because I loved him that much.
But my mind spirals,
questions tearing through me:

Was it the right choice —
to stay with him?

I forgave him,
for love’s sake.

I wished…
I thought of dying instead.

But what if he tells my daughter —
the one I want to protect —
“This is why I can’t love you.”

What if our little girl comes to him,
with heavy, silent tears,
whispering, “Daddy,
I have dying thoughts.
I feel lost, alone, and broken.”

Will he see her pain?
Or tell her she’s the reason
he can’t love her?

How will she feel then?
Is that what I want for her?
To carry this weight
before she even learns to breathe?

I love him —
but isn’t she the result of that love?
Isn’t she just as important as I am to him?
Isn’t she our blood, our sweat, our tears,
our prayers whispered late at night?

Then why —
what if he can’t hold her like I hope he will?
What if he can’t hold me, either?

He is my partner, yes,
but she —
she is ours.
Isn’t she?

And isn’t it both our responsibility —
his and mine —
to hold on tight,
to protect her,
to be with her,
to make sure we find happiness together?

Why is he like this?
I know his view is broken —
but aren’t we the ones he loves?
Shouldn’t I, his partner,
and our daughter too,
be safe in his arms?

Can’t he see I’m breaking —
the one who stayed,
the one who loved him
through every crack and flaw?

I want him to teach her
that pain isn’t the answer,
but when everything falls apart —
when my heart feels just like hers —

Is he the one I should trust
to hold our daughter’s fragile heart?
Is he the one I should spend
the rest of my life with?

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

The Edge of Goodbye

I saw him in the corridor —
my mind stopped for a moment,
all my emotions rushing back,
stunned, yet I kept walking.

Once I was away,
I crossed a wall —
and broke down,
tears flowing down my cheeks,
words unsaid I couldn’t hold.

I wanted to stay,
to hold on to him,
but I needed to go —
to let go for my peace.

I saw his photo,
blurred by falling drops,
memories flashing like lightning,
wishing I could just drop dead.

If only this pain would stop —
I can’t hold on anymore,
I’m standing on the cliff’s edge,
hesitating to take that final step.

The heaviness in my heart,
the lump inside my throat,
a clash of hope and surrender —
begging my mind to accept the fate,
to face the harsh reality:
it’s time to let go.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Chaostrude

I am a mess — but not one to be fixed.
I am the ruins and the rebuilding.
I am the storm that walked away from the wreckage,
Still breathing. Still burning. Still me.

They hurt me.
Often.
And I stayed.
Not because I was weak —
But because I believed people were more than their wounds.
I saw the parts no one else saw.
I loved them anyway.

But something changed.
The tether broke.
I don’t chase what cuts me anymore.
I don’t anchor to people who never learned to hold me.

I care — but I don’t cling.
I remember — but I don’t return.
There’s no hatred in me.
Just a quiet goodbye
to a thousand versions of myself
who thought love meant bleeding.

I am chaos,
but I’m not lost.
I am truth,
even when it’s uncomfortable.
I am the fire,
but also the one who walked through it.

I am Chaostrude.
Not a title.
A becoming.