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Best Poems Written by Renegade Poetry

Below are the all-time best Renegade Poetry poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Renegade Poetry Poem

Poison

Find me a tonic that melts within,
Fluids that thaw frozen emotions,
Germinating from a day previous,
I expose faces of pernicious potions;
The night advices me to drink,
Yet I can’t swallow such adversaries,
Letting tears shadow my ink,
I walk to where my sanity is buried;
I call upon the Devil,
But there’s only darkness around me,
They’re all near my soul
Yet, it’s still death that hasn’t found me;

Lend me a smile, but my life will still remain painful
Give me everything tonight but I’m still not thankful
Put me in a cage and mar my soul—
Give me poison to swallow: not much, just a handful 

Oh insipid solvent!
Be the poison in tonight’s drink,
And slowly spread through these veins,
Hollow this empty heart and
Flow through nerves, then into my brain;
Bitterness is accustomed to my taste,
Yet there’s a pleasure in my glass tonight,
Emotions of isolation now blood faced,
While I agonize the fear of sunlight;
Apologize to me oh darkness,
Why must you leave me alone?
For if poison be a drop harmless,
How must I lay sheltered under a stone?

Lend me a smile, but my life will still remain painful
Give me everything tonight but I’m still not thankful
Put me in a cage and mar my soul—
Give me poison to swallow, not much, just a handful

Details | Renegade Poetry Poem

Unanswered Prayers

Beneath these eyes yet above my lips,
Along the waves of saline perceptions,
I sit and welcome this disguised gift
That adores the curse of untimely deceptions;
There’s a corpse in me that awaits its turn,
For why should my soul be left alone?
And where a quiet world is still my concern,
I assume tonight will gratify my stone—
I’ve asked only once before I’ve spoken,
Lead a confused crowd of words through me—
But where a heart consists of empty tokens,
My letters to the Lord within subdued poetry
Didn’t travel my teary hopes—
Where last breaths are a memoir I must steal,
Poetry becomes the song for a saddened tale,
But if my unconsciousness is the one to heal,
I’m better off living this life in lyrical jails—
Better stay away from this insane mind of mine,
For my howling spirit follows unleashed paths,
Those that regret the taste of bitterness in wine,
While I sit within foggy memories, letting words relax—
Where a son asked for another day in her life,
The Lord and the world just accrued his tears,
Building molested heaps before soggy eyes,
While the cane of self destruction strengthened my fear;
Breathing through the nose is a corpse still alive,
Though I can see her heart awaiting a farewell,
Where medicines are just a formality on which to survive,
Though I know of the painful truth in this spell;
And today I look at previous albums yet can’t tell,
If this is a nightmare or the bitter reality I’ve seen,
For a heart won’t accept those voices that have yelled,
Though numb eyes were present at this morbid scene—
Insanity is now the prime companionship I seek,
For there’s a life less a motive to live in this weather,
And where I’m forced to kindle a truth so weak,
I sit with poetry before my speech,
For the Lord hears me only beyond unanswered prayers

Details | Renegade Poetry Poem

Astray

And even though the pen is mightier than the sword,
I seem to have lost my presence in a grieving combat,
Valuing the occupancy of idle prayers contoured,
Less the guilt of maturing through a horde of dirty facts;
The world finds me sundry rationales to scream this pain,
Diversifying my wisdom with that of teary remains,
Bickering the thought of justified emancipation
While agonizing seems my choice of venom, though hardly sustained;
But just when I approach the closest line of victory,
Memories of inane sorrow, these lanes of tomorrow find me astray;

More than a bloody design, I’m the obligation of teary flow
Scripting this narration across walls of empty vocation,
Patronizing my guilt through aisles of surrendered shadows,
And still not found within the satisfaction of dreary locations;
My worst nightmare seems to be this occupation I pursue,
Crying paths towards freedom, and still no escape…
If patience is a nourishment of tears, the Lord must identify truths
That retaliate intentions hallucinating the pretence of faith,
For where a tale of occult visions begin,
Words of poetic exercise, a world composed of lies find me astray;