Last Liked Free Verse Poems (29,539)

A chain around his hand and a carefully placed collar tight around my neck
would suffice to pass inspection during the times that they would check
I would say more Behind the closed door of what Officials did to me
Had I the Knowing of being protected as if life could be a guarantee
I was not grown and not sure of what I could possibly do
I was knocked to the ground, the governor told me to kiss his shoe
anymore to say would sicken the many for words of these grow dim
As the light would fade from any who underwent the touch of them
and now I'm grown and looking back too many things I'd want to forget
I was told I was special, and didnt matter, whether I was below or above
For during the moments, to the end after their touches, they told me I was loved

Swan Song

It's a very old story.
Seems to happen
when someone confuses
wanting to be loved
with being in love.

You wanted me to love you.
I obliged.
Then, joyously
you set about
building for me
a lovely cage,
polishing the image
you would to see
of me,
encouraging always
my approach
of your ideals.

But you never loved me as I am.
nor saw me as I was.
You kept your vision focused
instead
on how you wanted me
to be.

I have slept
a very long while,
but my dreams
will not lay down,
and I've wakened,
strangely wearied.
I long to be seen and loved
as I am
and I want you
to be well and happy--
because I still love you
just the way you are
even
as
I leave you.

Copyright Cailin J Callaghan 1996 Revised, 2023
All rights reserved

I cant post what I want, It's Too many words for this semantic play
Having to cut it all short and not speak what I desired to say
Not a place on this site anywhere counting spaces and each word
To summize all I'd have to say: It's more than 4,000: This is absurd!
So with brittle barriers torn assunder I scoff at semantically being held back
And I leave this poem, while lingering on, what this site doth truly lack

Yes the times are changing - yet that's a given - The centuries hath always told
People age with the Seasons that change - Yet luck doth favor the bold
So will you be the hero to save another's life - or will you do more & more & more
Or will you stay the good puppet - bound to attachments, possessions, and greed
Like a hedonist searching for pleasure - or the addict - from the vice to plead
Or actionless, will you remain of the unwanted strain - bound to the system - its whore

Doesn't really matter does it - after all, there's internet and cable t.v
Not to mention Wifi, Apps, Consoles, and games - and maybe, a needed check that's due
Or the lawn needs mowing, or the dishes washed, or tend to pets in your care
Not to mention the clothes you've got - colognes and perfume - let's not forget your hair
Ohh yes! We must look good - our part the act - a pretty puppet playing our part
And now and then we might help One - when from our minds we fall to our heart

Yet that would take courage and strength unknown - to rise beyond the masses around
And help more than ourselves - a better seed sown - to save more than one from the ground
In fact - we'd have to band together and do it as a whole - as IF - it could be done
Yet that would mean giving up what we have to give unto those who don't
Yet this is just a poem - from a writer used for the play - love I've never won
Yet banning together to tear down those political curtains - You and I know you won't
I will forever be - somewhere between - the dark of night and the shadow of the light
And from there - so that your comforts remain - I shall...

Ohh look your show is about to start.

Wherefrom the political curtains hang - plans are made to do more harm
Youth of all ages and adults took away - from humanity - the darkened hand's farm
Some will be cut up and eaten, whilst others for their blood are bled
Some will be raised or reprogrammed with sound - those who can't are left for dead
Whilst others serve as sex-slaves, to the p*dophile queens and kings
Whom govern the openings and closings of when that political curtain swings
"Yet we cannot be held responsible for what we do not know!" - you'd say
Scoff at me I scoff at you - Others say they did something - they prayed

If only that were actually, really, truly enough: Yet, it is in the minds of the prey
No action more no more action needed - let's all bury our heads p-prayerfully in the sand
Let's find a game or watch a movie - Let's pretend we did the best we can
So while you travel the roads of Liberty in any Country's town
Tell me who plays the part better - You, or the Circus Clown?

"Then what" - You'd say - "What can we even do if what you say is the truth!?"
Just a fool in a Sea of fools - if you look to me - For I was one of those Youth
Mine fate be sealed upon these lines - for the predators must surely die
The path myself I plan to take - You would detest to the ends it leads
For I am awakened to a better sleep - I'll ignore their pleads, why Lie?
I've nothing to gain for telling you this - the mark upon me not placed
I wield no influence of graven haste or sounds of some unrung bell
To you and many others, I'm nothing here - just a rhymer of a poetic hell

Yet in the soon end when the poem's done - back to the gauntlet you'll go
And the footprints I left will soon be gone - just as they do in the snow
My song is sung and twas sung the many - in times before - other lines and page
You'd dare to scoff, snitch, or speak of ill reason - for their death you'd surely rage
Tis not I entranced, a blind sheep for some shephard, a puppet for liberty: to sing
Twas once the Lion with the Lamb and not the Wolf: when doves were a sign of purity
Now the symbol of the milk of youth taken - against their will - yet you canst see
For you hath been sheltered greatly - neath the guise of the media's flare
Claiming to know not what to do - whilst you remain trained: addicted to sitting there
Whilst doing nothing to stop the suffering - the truth's unwanted - the ring of a sting
And you call yourself the fighter - or a warrior for what is right - yeah right!

Yet you know the plight of those who suffer - You know the hell that they go through
Not enough, you could do more - yet you dare not lose your comforts - who would? Not you!
For as the masses blinded, you'd rather pretend - everyone else to blame - not you!
Do you know of someone who hungers for acceptance and love or someone without a home
To not ease but completely end their suffering - living in this Terrarium the Dome
And what have you done to go beyond the blind-normal - ending it once and for all
Depriving no one of what you'd have for yourself - Suffering no more from lack
And you will soon see the enemy's not me - as to your heart once again you'd fall
Too late for you - if unto others - If you've made the habit of turning your back
With heads in the sand - pretending in prayer - to answer to some unheard call

So when the swords unsheathed and the heads removed, and bullets fly in the night
And the caretakers of this stage for the play are found dead come morning light
Do not say one complaining word for you know you had your chance
You didn't do enough for the something of those - due to your selfish stance
Yet if it hits too close to home and the ones found dead is a loved one you held dear
Will you blame the One you pray to - will you have perfect love - or fear

Men more than women kill themselves better: when they want to die
Yet through the mental fetter, few there truly be, who wants the suicide
Everyone has the liberty to lay-down, crawl, sit, walk, stand, or run
Yet no true freedom to explore wherefrom: comes the alleged: Moon, Stars, and Sun
Even a statue to drive Liberty home - Deep within the subconscious mind
Making you think you see - the land of the free - a carefully orchestrated lie
It is no Surprise - all the mournful cries - felt and heard across the land
The explorer inside - bound and tied - entrapped by the darkened hand

Not the darkened hand of an upset mortal or some leeching the heart: Egregore
These the works to bind your senses - for Liberty's sake - you'd forget her
Whilst freedom for some is just some personification of hope, desire, or will
One of many: the plethora of implanted thoughts, to born in you the Shill

It was the Emporer who bade - the order made - to divide the minds of the people
That they fight and war from attachments: to idols, graven images, and the Steeple
From the lowliest-of-thoughts to the highest ideals - woman and man would fail
To stop the fight - that for Liberty - they'd dance, salute, and hail

Whilst giving you the middle finger if you question their broken Sail
And claim it all to be the rule of law - or legal Statute from the State
To scoff, belittle, slander, and discredit you - even throw you in jail
Tis no wonder within the woman and man - grows this incessant hate

Whilst they steadily-strive and angrily-push - to work for some they go
To feed their families, nurture their kids - can't blame them - tis all they know
Indentured Servants - The Maritime Law - slaves to the darkened hand - they serve
A more sinister plot - they'll never be caught - behind the curtains that grow
To mooch off their government's free hand-outs lower-slaves scramble to sow
The seeds - unbeknownst to their minds the sequels - the daily plot of the show

It's all a lie to entrap the people - giving up Freedom for Liberty - just a guise
A system in place that's worked for years - Fooling the Smartest of the Wise
Yet make no mistake about it - no matter what part you play - the worst has yet to come
For you like all the others - care not wherefrom - the alleged: Moon, Stars, and Sun
So you eat, you sleep, you work or play to drown the emotions and thoughts inside
And after finally having enough - like all the sheeple - you contemplate suicide
A reason-for-treason unto the Soul though on this earth - its work - not done
Then you gravely dare - and upon me stare - and judge me for wanting to kill
If you'd remember - twas in you that were born - that blistering hateful Shill

Then unto your vices, you turn - addictions galore - you search them all
To find relief from your mind - your bitter hell - again to your heart you fall
Yet killing yourself is fine - as long as its no one else - you'd say
Despite that murder-is-murder - even when done slowly - unto the self each day
Yet that will be accepted - for that is the way of the darkened strings
That hold you aright in submission - a puppet to hear - when it's told: it Sings
And you are no exception to-the-rules-of-the-game: your will is held at bay

And what have you done to lift the veil from other Sheeple's eyes
Or are you still stuck in the rut- of telling tales - to further your own demise
Or perhaps you are truly innocent - a victim of what others have done
If that be true - to an adult from youth - Surely you've questioned the lies
Lest you like many hath sworn to serve a system over you to rule
Making yourself to think - you've already won - A fantasy for which you'd drool
Yet I will say not one of you exists who bears not a responsibility in this
Never free -that for Liberty - the invisible ring on the darkened hand you kiss

There - mine self - it stands alone
Let it be - it sulks - let it Weep
Again - that force - some brewery of hate
Churns and Burns - where Nerves were cool
Then silence breaks - from Voice - a drone
As resentment lurks for Nausea to Creep
Wherein its place - the Wars of Fate
Making me to be - this thing - a Fool

O Look away - how dare I stare
Upon that face of mine own reflection
As if I were impressed by its aging look
comparing that image to a Self unknown
Vanity's dream compels me there
Unmeasured time from my life it took
Lifetimes seen from seeds I've sown

Rubbish it is - it is - a knot of mystery carefully tied
An enigma veiled neath the Yoke of strife
a Labyrinth of the dying and living
Bodies to shed like old Costumes Worn
Knowing each one had laughed and Cried
Bound to the Wheel of death and life
While herein this shell - this Soul doth Mourn

O Stop it - you - You ego who Sulks
As if this illusion you never knew
Stop your whining and shape up your stance
Be Free - with me - staying strong and bold
And if the tide-of-pride against Us bulks
Walk with me - our Course is true
We are the Moments of the Cosmic dance
We are the telling of the stories told

The Burning brethren's Words of Hate
Stirring around the embers of ruined books
Left ashes of burnt pages upon the ground
Dispelled for lack of some purpose sent
Everywhere the corpses skewered upon each stake
Dodging where we could the looks and sound
as the wind blew through the town we went

Our nose hairs drenched with the women's stench
unkempt unclean and mixed with rot
Spreading all they had upon each bench
Oooze running from them mixed with a bleeding clot
The whores of evil each priest they had
seduced each one to bid them their fall
It's a horrid place of minds gone mad
a dance of sickness that shreaks its call

Bearing the weak to come and see
The reapers rewards for deeds of past
Where board and nail would etch the streets
Of corpses hung on branch-stripped trees
Each corpse the testament of a curse cast
And in windows for curtains were bloody sheets

Mayhem is beautiful compared to what you'd see there
As the creepers and crawlers with half-attached limbs
would make their way for your soul to burn
The Light fully quenched only the darkness dims
Death abounding at every turn
Hell doth come haunting their eyes through each hungered stare

Knowing not whence the life, my life the bet
As if the Gods against me some bet twas set
Their presence absent, and their silence met

And all I knew each moment would quake
As each rattling bone's motion to move to ache
With Feeble mind and a cognitive delay
That I could be or not be the example that day

Whether to children, friends, family, or foe
I'd seek to inspire that we'd all learn and grow
Yet each movement a bribed stance to the call
I'd make with the movement from the bedroom to the hall

And with wobbly motions I'd make my way
Eyes set on the prize, a few more feet I'd say
A Crowning glory in all its repose
I see the chair for which my longing grows

And one-then-one then one-more-push of fate
A movement daily I'd grow to hate
As children, friends, family, and foe
Might rush in to greet me cause they know

How happy it makes me, that sparkle in their eye
As they scurry with laughter and their languaged sigh
Then poof tis gone, someone elses memory at best
I sit here alone as usual, my breath caught to rest

as I pray my escape for sleep or death quick: with sigh,
A troubling daily routine living here, with this TBI

The Expressivity of the bloom is captured within the strain of the Blossoming Rose. A Melancholic hue fills the foyer of my mind as I tease my transfixed stare with the temptations of pressing upon the thorns a bit harder with each passing stroke as I caress the stem of the Rose. Each leaf dangling there slowly losing its life as it gives all that it has left for the life of what’s more than just a flower. And in my baneful selfishness I contemplate the idea of being in control as I press harder upon the thorns as I contemplate the girl, I am about to give this Rose to. Like the wick of an old lantern that holds what oil is left within it My hope for satisfying her every desire steadily burns within me yet to an end that will come at a time unknown. Yet like the wrecking ball that tears through structures to make way for new foundations courage beckons me to think not of the thorns or the temptations to earn the right of giving, by bleeding there upon them, I am swayed into a luring motion of handing the rose out to her awaiting her quick yet soft embrace of its profound beauty. In my mind the Rose crumbles to dust and ash. Yet in my hand it remains intact ever so vibrant in its warming majestic glow, of Natures endless words, of a love unspoken. And I with trembling knees extend my arm and hand, the Rose leaning towards her as if it was thirsting for the light of the sun. Yet I am poor and can't afford to buy a rose, so I go and pick a Dandelion instead. What Love I have I'd long to give, if I could but afford that which would by grace express it. And then with a saddened repose I swallow my saliva as if it were a melancholic wine to savor, for I hath no one to give the Dandelion to for the girl I'd long to love I had only imagined. Was I a fool for the imagery or a romanticist for the motions? I felt grieved with resentment for it was pointless to pick the Dandelion. Yet for some reason I began to smile as I realized the Dandelion carried within it many many seeds to spread forth its life anew: or maybe, I could just kiss her hand.