Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength.
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Untamed Grief
What comes out of grief dissected, I ask
When it’s mutualised for its pain to mask
Does it settle down like blown dust?
Or disappear like sun rays at dusk
What transcends from grief suppressed?
Does it fly away like a raven?
Or it stealthily searches for another haven
In the subconscious of the beholder
What proceeds from grief deferred?
Does it abscond like the morning dew?
Or it keeps on gnawing like a tumour
And denying a soul of all humour
What incarnates from grief embellished?
Does it pierce like a sword?
Or it exterminates softly without a word
Grief is the reality of life
But shouldn’t eternally blanket a soul with strife
And though every life is garlanded with petals of grief
The stint of its tears ought to be brief
So the taste of living can always be rife!
poem by Valerian Mwenda
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Being forced to work, and forced to do your best, will breed in you temperance and self-control, diligence and strength of will, cheerfulness and content, and a hundred virtues which the idle will never know.
quote by Charles Kingsley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truth Will Not Multiply
Space has all the silent approval,
truth will not multiply.
Another funeral takes place
in the barren field of lies.
Fire burns the life’s hopes,
while town mourns the death.
Sunshine bakes the eyes
but truth will not multiply.
Desireless peak of thoughts
sets out the smoke,
towards our homes,
trampling the shame, guilt and hurts.
We were still indulging in useless talk
but truth will not multiply.
Virtue has a unique impulse
a drone in the ears.
Fog was waiting for the sky.
The planet empties a bucket of sorrow.
I will favour the faceless name,
but truth will not multiply.
poem by Satish Verma
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But Truth Will Not...
Space has all the silent approval,
truth will not multiply.
Another funeral takes place
in the barren field of lies.
Fire burns the life’s hopes,
while town mourns the death.
Sunshine bakes the eyes
but truth will not multiply.
Desireless peak of thoughts
sets out the smoke,
towards our homes,
trampling the shame, guilt and hurts.
We were still indulging in useless talk
but truth will not multiply.
Virtue has a unique impulse
a drone in the ears.
Fog was waiting for the sky.
The planet empties a bucket of sorrow.
I will favour the faceless name,
but truth will not multiply.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grief Is Never Having To Say I Grieve
Your grief has been too heavy
I don’t know how much grief buries you down
Please let me weep with you
Please let me weep with you
Like the others, I adore you for keeping up with life
I could imagine how you cry in your thoughts
How like blade, grief cuts your heart, your throat,
the top of your skull - slowly
Like wars in history, there are no exits
and there are no choices
If you were there, you had to face those rattling guns
Plead, please plead
Remember “Our Lady of Sorrows'
Mary carried part of the grief Jesus has
been carrying to save us, during the crucifixion
Mary had no one with her
She was helpless, yet in those moments
God’s strength kept her unmovable and brave
How long does grief stay?
People are not things
How long does grief stay?
If you lost something, you can always build it again
How long does grief stay?
If you lost someone, and someone, and someone
again, in any way – they are part of you
For as long as you live, grief changes into
remembering happy days with each other
Grief becomes faithfulness
Grief changes unto faith
Those drops of blood, while Jesus prayed in the garden
Is grief
Grief is never having to say “I grieve, ”
but “I love, ”
This is how long grief stays.
poem by Rosalinda Flores Martinez
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A Fire Within My Heart (Vengeance)
There is a fire in my soul, it has burnt me to the bone
There is a fire in my heart, it has melted flesh to stone
There is an inferno in my breast, it rages out of control
There is a firestorm in my chest, it has consumed my being whole
There is a fire in my heart, it has melted flesh to stone
There is a rage with in my soul, vengeance will by my own
There is a burning in my mind, for death I am hell-bent
There is a desire in my conscious, filled with devilish intent
There is a fire within my soul, and it rages just for you
This fire burns with anger, may it guide my sword hand true.
poem by Tim Vallie
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On Ye Bishop Of Meaths Death
Mourn widdowd Iland, Mourn, your Pan is dead.
Mourn ye unhappy flocks your Sheapherd Pan is fled;
Around your grief in dolefull straines convey,
& Lett ym in sad Eccho's dy away,
As sympathising wth their masters care,
As if they felt th' unlucky newes they bear,
Of this so true a saint heav'n seem'd to send him here.
To shew how good in innocence we were:
So true a saint.—
We thought he was no man, but from ye skyes
(as there were oft of old) some angell in disguise,
But see to undeceive us to our grief, he dies.
He was with so good thoughts so freely springing blest,
ye divine garden so few briars did molest,
As if a Paradise were in his breast.
Serene his mind as heaven did appear;
His lookes serene as mercy's self might wear;
His actions might in Justice scales be try'd;
When ere he speak & heav'n a theam suppli'd,
Hed melt ye rockiest hearts like Moses to a tide.
But now he setts, his paines & toiles are o're,
& heav'n rewards ye seer with all his store:
He's spent wth doing good, & now lies down at ease
Stretcht on ye Pillows of æternall peace.
So ye fam'd Pithian Priestess when her soul
With ye demanded Oracle is full,
Vext with ye God yt rages in her breast,
Nature is tir'd, her spirits are opprest,
She flyes to sacred groves, & sinkes away to rest.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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I would point out that the cultural advance of these people has been suppressed in the past and continues to be suppressed in the present by policies designed to keep them in ignorance.
quote by Hideki Tojo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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X
Tell the people
Tell the people that arrive
Tell the people
Tell the people that arrive
We don't need to multiply
We don't need to multiply
We don't need to multiply
We don't need to multiply
Die
Show your people
Show your people how we die
Show your people
Show your people how we die
We don't need to nullify
We don't need to nullify
We don't need to nullify
We don't need to nullify
No one needs to nullify
No one needs to nullify
No one needs to nullify
We don't need to nullify
We don't need to
We don't need to
We don't need to
We don't need to
Ask your people
Ask your people what is right
Ask your people
Ask your people what is right
We don't need to mulitply
We don't need to multiply
We don't need to multiply
We don't need to multiply
No one needs to multiply
No one needs to multiply
No one needs to multiply
We don't need to multiply
song performed by by System Of A Down from Toxicity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Door's Grief
ah, the door's grief is not really brief,
it has been there since the hinges were fixed,
though it does not sound like an old man
grumbling, though its creaking sound
is hidden on a dropp of mechanical
oil,
there are those who still slam it
and out of too much fear
its grief lies hidden continually
on every closing
when you open it, it gives a respectable smile
yet you fail to understand
what was suppressed from what was not so valiantly expressed
there is no word for this
even the door cannot describe it
till this moment
when you close it again and again
as it becomes
another wall of the house again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bwtween two
forced to choose between the two,
forced to choose between honesty and dispair,
forced to choose between beauty and destruction,
forced to choose between life and death,
forced to choose between 3 years and 5 years,
forced to choose between who i am friends with,
and still with the choice of both i loose one.
poem by Matthew Boisjolie
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It is in Virginia and Georgia that the war now rages and where it will continue; for at these points - Richmond and Atlanta - the enemy's main strength is concentrated.
quote by Knute Nelson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To D-
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp
A friend whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detach’d thee from my breast for ever.
True, she has forced thee from my breast,
Yet in my heart thou keep’st thy seat;
There, there thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.
And when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On thy dear breast I’ll lay my head—-
Without thee where would be my heaven?
poem by Byron (1803)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Grief is a Mouse
793
Grief is a Mouse—
And chooses Wainscot in the Breast
For His Shy House—
And baffles quest—
Grief is a Thief—quick startled—
Pricks His Ear—report to hear
Of that Vast Dark—
That swept His Being—back—
Grief is a Juggler—boldest at the Play—
Lest if He flinch—the eye that way
Pounce on His Bruises—One—say—or Three—
Grief is a Gourmand—spare His luxury—
Best Grief is Tongueless—before He'll tell—
Burn Him in the Public Square—
His Ashes—will
Possibly—if they refuse—How then know—
Since a Rack couldn't coax a syllable—now.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Philippians 4: 13
The strength to resist the night
The strength to endure the day
The strength to keep righteous paths in sight
The strength to take them without delay
The strength to find a purpose in life
The strength to find the truths it brings
The strength to kick away from strife
The strength to stabalize the rock it clings
The strength to light a friend’s day up
The strength to resist wrathful foes
The strength to fill a stranger’s dry cup
The strength to shun sin when it opposed
The strength to feel a injured man’s pain
The strength to hold a reject’s hand
The strength to act against any gain
The strength to love without demand
The strength to understand that our King
Has blessed us with more than we can contain
Therefore regardless what time may bring
The strength will continue to reign
poem by Anders Lim
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Walk With Me
Put
on your
walking boots
the ones with the
old frayed laces,
So I can take my grief
where harsh wind whines and rages,
tearing across desolate hills.
I shall lean myself on your shoulder.
Say nothing, let me sob into the rain.
poem by Diana Rosser
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To D
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp
A friend whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
True, she has forced thee from my breast,
Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat;
There, there thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.
And when the grave restored her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On thy dear breast I'll lay my head--
Without thee where would be my heaven?
February 1803
Frozen Buds
Frozen buds are born into the world of blood and hate
They fall day by day
Caught up in the storm of rages.
Young lives are wrecked
Childhood is turned into cold hate
Guns are thrust into small hands
Innocent tears run down dusty cheeks
The tears of a newborn child run into rivers of blood.
They are forced to hate
Forced to kill
Forced to sacrifice their life for something they do not understand.
Many childhood years were cut short.
Their childhood was frozen
Wrecked from the start of their lives.
Innocence to anger
Toys to guns
Guns to kill
They do not deserve this life.
Where is human kindness?
Forever fearing
Forever scarred
Frozen buds live to drown in a never ending hate which was never theirs.
poem by Natasha Kirke
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Tempered by Fire
Fire burning oh so pure
Calm, steady and so secure
Strength tested by the fire
Burning through one heart's desire
As if forming fine steel
All that one knows and feels
Stripped of emotions completely
A cleansing so bitter sweet
Tempered in bright fire
With one heart's desire
To the very depth of one's soul
Beyond to it's fiery core
Trying to escape from the pain
Wanting so much to gain
As if in a deep and dark well
Struggling to remove a painful shell
Running tired from the sorrow
Looking for joy on the morrow
Forced through one's grief
As if shaken by a thief
Consumed with pain and grief
Leaving one so very weak
Tested and tempered by fire
Flames that purified one's desire
poem by Lorie Robertson
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The fountain of content must spring up in the mind, and he who hath so little knowledge of human nature as to seek happiness by changing anything but his own disposition, will waste his life in fruitless efforts and multiply the grief he proposes to remove.
quote by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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