For More Than Fifteen Years
For more than fifteen years he intensely hated life.
For more than fifteen years he intensely hated his parents.
He intensely hated his parents for giving him abuse hell life.
He intensely hated his parents for subjecting him to abuse hell life.
A hell life that no mortal child or man should suffer through live.
A hell life that he a mortal soul could but suffer through die live.
So much of the best of thee could not survive that broken bitter life.
Important parts of thee did not could not survive that broken bitter life.
Only love can restore renew those lost parts of thee.
Only love can restore renew that lost heart of thee.
So many of us are but puzzle pieces of men women we should be.
That is parents crime across generations unabated abuse misuse.
The circle of repetitive violence abuse can be is broken in thee.
You will set all your children and all their offspring free.
You will free generations unborn yet to be.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
Suttee
LAMP of my life, the lips of Death
Hath blown thee out with their sudden breath;
Naught shall revive thy vanished spark . . .
Love, must I dwell in the living dark?
Tree of my life, Death's cruel foot
Hath crushed thee down to thy hidden root;
Nought shall restore thy glory fled . . .
Shall the blossom live when the tree is dead?
Life of my life, Death's bitter sword
Hath severed us like a broken word,
Rent us in twain who are but one . .
Shall the flesh survive when the soul is gone?
poem by Sarojini Naidu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Upon The Disobedient Child
Children become, while little, our delights!
When they grow bigger, they begin to fright's.
Their sinful nature prompts them to rebel,
And to delight in paths that lead to hell.
Their parents' love and care they overlook,
As if relation had them quite forsook.
They take the counsels of the wanton's, rather
Than the most grave instructions of a father.
They reckon parents ought to do for them,
Though they the fifth commandment do contemn;
They snap and snarl if parents them control,
Though but in things most hurtful to the soul.
They reckon they are masters, and that we
Who parents are, should to them subject be!
If parents fain would have a hand in choosing,
The children have a heart will in refusing.
They'll by wrong doings, under parents gather,
And say it is no sin to rob a father.
They'll jostle parents out of place and power,
They'll make themselves the head, and them devour.
How many children, by becoming head,
Have brought their parents to a piece of bread!
Thus they who, at the first, were parents joy,
Turn that to bitterness, themselves destroy.
But, wretched child, how canst thou thus requite
Thy aged parents, for that great delight
They took in thee, when thou, as helpless, lay
In their indulgent bosoms day by day?
Thy mother, long before she brought thee forth,
Took care thou shouldst want neither food nor cloth.
Thy father glad was at his very heart,
Had he to thee a portion to impart.
Comfort they promised themselves in thee,
But thou, it seems, to them a grief wilt be.
How oft, how willingly brake they their sleep,
If thou, their bantling, didst but winch or weep.
Their love to thee was such they could have giv'n,
That thou mightst live, almost their part of heav'n.
But now, behold how they rewarded are!
For their indulgent love and tender care;
All is forgot, this love he doth despise.
They brought this bird up to pick out their eyes.
poem by John Bunyan
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Rise, Oh My Soul, With Thy Desires To Heaven
1. Rise, oh my Soul, with thy desires to Heaven,
And with Divinest contemplation, use
Thy time, where times eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse:
But down in darkness let them lie,
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
2. And thou, my Soul, inspir'd with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye,
That holy Cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour, and thy sin did die:
For in that Sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure.
3. To thee (O Jesu) I direct my eye,
To thee my hands, to thee my humble knees,
To thee my heart shall offer sacrifice,
To thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees:
To thee my self, my self and all I give;
To thee I die, to thee I only live.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Hymn
Rise, O my soul! with thy desires to heaven,
And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time, when time's eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;
But down in darkness let them lie;
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye
That holy cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die!
For in the sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life treasure.
To Thee, O Jesu! I direct mine eyes,
To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees;
To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice;
To Thee my thoughts, who thoughts only see;
To Thee myself, myself and all I give;
To Thee I die, to Thee I only live.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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No Gospel like this Feast
No Gospel like this Feast
Spread for Thy Church by Thee;
Nor prophet nor evangelist
Preach the glad news so free.
All our Redemption cost,
All our Redemption won;
All it has won for us, the lost—
All it cost Thee, the Son;--
Thine was the bitter price,
Ours is the free gift given;
Thine was the Blood of Sacrifice,
Ours is the wine of Heaven!
For Thee, the burning thirst,
The shame, the mortal strife,
The broken heart, the side transpierced;
To us, the Bread of Life!
To Thee, our curse and doom
Wrapt round Thee with our sin;
The horror of that mid-day gloom,
The deeper night within.
To us, Thy home in light,
Thy “Come, ye blessed, come!”
Thy bridal raiment pure and white,
Thy Father’s welcome home.
Here we would rest midway,
As on a sacred height,
That darkest and that brightest Day
Meeting before our sight;
From that dark depth of woes
Thy love for us hath trod,
Up to the heights of blest repose
Thy love prepares with God:
Till, from self’s chains released,
One sight alone we see—
Still at the Cross, as at the Feast,
Behold Thee, only Thee!
poem by Elizabeth Rundle Charles (1863)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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You Should Have Hated Me
The day we met and got together,
The day you changed my life forever.
I was locked up alone, you set me free,
But I say now, you should have hated me.
The day I said that I loved you,
I gave you my heart so pure and true.
You loved me too, that I could see.
But I say now, you should have hated me.
The days we spent with so much fun,
The love we had was second to none.
Why didn't you just let me be,
I wish you would have hated me.
For when you came into my life,
You might as well have raised a knife.
For when that day you walked away,
You plunged it deep, to my dismay.
Now here I sit all alone,
Wishing that I would have known.
I still love you and I will wait,
Even though my heart breaks.
If you would have pushed me away,
And never met me on that day.
I wouldn't have pain to this degree,
If only you would have hated me.
poem by Adam McKim
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Thee, Thee, Only Thee
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking,
The night's long hours still find me thinking
Of thee, thee, only thee.
When friends are met, and goblets crown'd,
And smiles are near, that once enchanted,
Unreach'd by all that sunshine round,
My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted
By thee, thee, only thee.
Whatever in fame's high path could waken
My spirit once, is now forsaken
For thee, thee, only thee.
Like shores, by which some headlong bark
To the ocean hurries, resting never,
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark,
I know not, heed not, hastening ever
To thee, thee, only thee.
I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only thee.
Like spells, that nought on earth can break,
Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Sonnet XLIII: How Do I Love Thee?
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sonnet XLIII
How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Xliii
How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Do I Love Thee?
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To hell with everything
To hell with the crap
And shit of everything.
To hell with my struggles.
To hell with my life.
To hell with the strife.
Sick of everything
It all goes wrong nothing ever goes right.
Been through enough in this life.
Cant stay anylonger.
To hell with staying.
I dont want to live another day.
I wish to be free.
Dont want to live another day
Being scared
Or hiding away.
My time has come
Now I shall jack it all in
To hell with the world
To hell with life.
Amy Kerswell
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Do I Love Thee
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1850)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To Nannette Falk-Auerbach
Oft as I hear thee, wrapt in heavenly art,
The massive message of Beethoven tell
With thy ten fingers to the people's heart
As if ten tongues told news of heaven and hell, --
Gazing on thee, I mark that not alone,
Ah, not alone, thou sittest: there, by thee,
Beethoven's self, dear living lord of tone,
Doth stand and smile upon thy mastery.
Full fain and fatherly his great eyes glow:
He says, "From Heaven, my child, I heard thee call
(For, where an artist plays, the sky is low):
Yea, since my lonesome life did lack love's all,
In death, God gives me thee: thus, quit of pain,
Daughter, Nannette! in thee I live again."
poem by Sidney Lanier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 43 - How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
XLIII
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Broken children
I've come across many neglected children
They carry a pain
Thats left a mark
An uncured wound
A broken heart
A broken home
Due to parents disappearing
Or out there searching
Always there children they are hurting
Why! ....
Because of greed
Because of need
Because of temptation
Or because of drugs!
These children never did ask to be born
And find there status torn
Ripped apart and shredded!
How selfish can those parents be
All for want and for themselves to repair
The only place they have come to tear
Are the roots of those children
Who live there lives searching for there souls
Life becomes a riddle
When only themselves they muddle
Walking down those empty streets
Meeting up with others who swollowed the same
Now they've decided to create a new game
Let it be violence!
And push those parents into shame
Yet it is always
Those poor children who live with blame!
If this is freedom of choice!
Then let those poor children
Make a voice!
poem by Suzan Gumush
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Sonnet: Dear Child
Sweet girl, firstborn in an alien country!
’Tis sad your parents now cannot rear thee;
Grandparents tend to thee- aren’t you lucky?
Your mom and dad miss thee so miserably.
You breathed first air of a foreign country!
Be happy breathe you now your Moth’rland’s air;
Maybe, you miss your parents’ luxury;
Tho’ life to you has been unfair, ’tis fair!
The water you now drink isn’t very clean;
The food you take, less sterile than you should;
But bless’d are you, amidst a loveful scene!
Whatever happens now is for your good.
Pity your parents, who are unlucky,
And miss your screams and smiles and lullaby!
9-8 -2001 by Dr John Celes
To dear Annika
poem by John Celes
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It's Hell I Know
My family it's Hell I know
I tried to tell them so
Because truthfully I know
I know, I know
Life hasn't been easy
I can testify to that
Been around and around
Been to Hell and Back
I've been told by them many times
Sometimes almost every day
To Go to Hell
And get out of their way
But like an insomniac
Or perhaps it was the heat
Or the bleak dead of night
Or my restless heart
Aching to find flight
I've felt the depths of pain envelope me
I've struggled to break free
I've felt that burning pain, with heart mind and soul
I've begged God. I've clawed desperately.
Time less years I've spent alone
Trying to comprehend
Confussed alone lost perplexed
Not one friend
But at least now The truth I know
I know
That truth came at my weakest hours
Burned my soul
With such amazing pain filled power
The sad truth about my family
Why couldn't they see?
The greatest of all the miseries
It's because they couldn't see
They loved abuse more than even me
So now you know why
We can't be a family
And now do you understand?
The words and the years
That I told you so
That without love
It's Hell-I know
poem by Clyde Bryson
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Reality
Here on earth we see destruction
It has gone to far
We must change for new directions
Use your mind or fall
See through the past what we have done
Disaster soon will come
Hell after life or hell on this earth
Will we be rebirthed
Reality !
Time is short years are counted
Generations lost
See the truth ! We are hunted
We must pay the cost
See through the past what we have done
Disaster soon will come
Hell after life or hell on this earth
Will we be rebirthed
Nature bleeds for our disposal
We must point our view
You cant use your nuclear weapons
You must hear the calls
See through the past what we have done
Disaster soon will come
Hell after life or hell on this earth
Will we be rebirthed
We must gather now for a future instead of hell
We must gather now for a future instead of hell
song performed by by Zonata
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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