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Love Epic Poems | Epic Poems About Love

These Love Epic poems are examples of Epic poems about Love. These are the best examples of Love Epic poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Ballad |

Death of the Poet Destroyer

~The Untold Fatal Attraction Poem~

Mid-morning she sees the sun ahead
Her death flowed in a messaged bottle
Gazing into her brown eyes upon all open sores,
Her conscience dark and gray a never-ending war!
A giant cyclone of a thousand thoughts swirled around this little girl.
Inflicting away the pain, through the comfort of others pen
The way she twisted and twisted life’s perception was out of her control
Inside she knew the glass slipper was never hers to show off
 
She is baring nothing but a tainted pen, walking throughout eternity’s sand
A prosecutor of misdeeds, accomplishing what, without knowing the way
Departing from her fractured self, she begins to slip into a righteous form,
Twirling her twilight's pen like a baton, spinning it to one final stand
 
She awakens in a dream, where her sadness does not allow the light to reform
Her body is weak and pale against the birth of her undying sun
Staring down into the deepness of every-bodies abyss
Inside all souls is where she felt lighter, than the retarded sun gives
A crimson sky follows her just to reveal her diminished soul,
A life of shunning out the city glow will always dwell deep inside her
Sleeping under society as one, insulting the taste of innocent blood
Forgetting the vengeance, in a dimension where the pen is mightier than the sword
 
How did she let it come to this?
In one feeling she fell in love with the spirit of the living rhyme 
Watching from a cave, with a diabolical look
Refusing to grasp the self - nature and kill off the destroyer's will
A price beyond this enigmatic world, craving to be just like them
Condemning her meaning to a blasphemy of white butterflies
Destroying her poetic meaning that was destined to dance a tangle of endless rage
In love with the essence of her deceased will
She clings on to the dimness and brilliance at the same time
All corpses lost beyond the girl in question,
Sympathetic in a bizarre language, she mutters out sweetness
Her heart mended, recognizing all the adoration and poetic addiction
Exchanging the real terror, fixated by the life force of her poetic destruction
Giving birth to a new revelation
Now she will never deceive her love for the making of true art,
Not wanting to belong in this wretched world with her destroying criteria,
Her soul sails looking for a new era where love will no longer generate
As she loathes the love and decides not to destroy this generation with hate

At last, longing this one day with the angel of death
With a closing teardrop, one last thought
My death will not be the end; only the ascension~

by;pd


Details | Iambic Pentameter |

Three Hundred

Three Hundred

The wraiths were ringing dead wrought bells
while closely passed the shady shapes
of woods in dusk, where red indwells
communion made from ghostly grapes.

He ran amidst the winds and passed
across the side where grapevines grew,
it was her presence that amassed
small leaves and droplets of fog's dew.

Inside the winds' lone strings accord,
his Bell full-face, was dropped along
the streamlets and horizon's board,
untamed his scopes, they don't belong.

The Astral Chords! He knew this debt;
the skies demand and kill and draw,
the darkened paths his thought beget,
rose thorny droplets on his brow.

Persephone shall be his wed,
subsiding dew the mist regales,
the stringing roar that reaches red,
his greatest bride resigns his trails.

Shall be the threading of winds' howls,
her plea arises from the shades,
homecoming queen from astral halls,
he harks the northern swashing blades.

Ablution's her enjoining black
"Enfold me in the rising dawn
enfold your sadness in the dark
with magistral the curtains drawn".

Acute of wounds she heals and mends
the asphalt of the mists awaits
pristine her bridal thorns amends
while passing through the Hades gates.

Three hundred reasons drew the drapes,
three hundred strings of diligence;
The winds regaled the bride's agape,
his celebration to commence.

© 10-14-2013, George Venetopoulos
(Iambic Tetrameter - Epic)

Three Hundred = 300 Kilometers per hour. The final speed a super-bike of 1,000cc engine is able to outreach.


Details | Free verse |

SLY FOX

~SLY FOX~

There you go again little Sly fox P.D.
Another game of tag and jeopardy.
Clever, clever, little fox so bloodthirsty.
Chaos roams through your veins of liberty.
You walk the ground, prancing around your hostility.
Marching down with the dignity of mis-guided anarchy.

I'm gonna hunt you smell end it well.
Hang you up from your trophy tail. 
Kiss your night one last farewell.
By morning dawn your foxy tail,
Won't live another tale to tell.

I'm gonna find ya' ~ pull your hideout from where you hide.
Smack you around in your everyday rebellious ways.
Thinking you can defeat my crowd with your lawlessness..
I don't need no hounds to track your unlivable Holy-mess.
You created a selfish character of kindness for the blindness.
You prey on the sheep's and linger on their wall of hopelessness. 
Your sinfulness grew from the boldness, and bitterness, 
Of growing up parent-less.
My dear Sly Fox are you on alert with your ears of nobleness.
Did you not hear me creeping while you were sleeping.

Sly fox the destroyer!

You are right, you are a mischievous game of hunt!
My trap is set and waiting for you by the river front.
Go ahead, take a drink, pull one last obnoxious stunt.
Run and run, as fast as you can!
You can't out run this one game of Skitty Skat fox hunt.....


~SKAT~
 
 


Details | Free verse |

AWAKE

AWAKE  ~ IN and OUT ~

Spring arising, before morning light,
I walk under the new epic sun
The aroma of yesterday, gone
Today's the day that will follow tomorrow
I quickly walk a certain walk
Unique is all I can display
Watery eyes staying in the past
While vehicles pass this new generation
Crosses lacking new faith
I stay awake and mend with my fate
Foggy toys, I want to play
I can't keep up with all your kicks
I look, I stare, at the walls
Bright and early, I step on my own dolls
I stay and feel, the way you taught me
Lifeless, and still so full of energy
Mad words, unconscious forces
My sweet needs, now reside inside of you
Mad, sad, and outside the box
You close every door, and keep me away from the root

You only allow me to feel your morning light
Why can't you let me see what's behind the shadows?
Why do you turn on all the lights? 

I'm here the way you want me to be
Happy, and merry, for the world to see
This blindness will continue to spot
Unless you wake up first and remove the dot
You gave me the thirst, you once knew
So filthy, so full of ****,
Under these closed freaking door
I'm exposed like the midday sun
You bang my head on the wall,
You killed me in a way that made me feel!
I only answer to your call
In and out a hoop~ like a ball
In me you can not find any real dreams!
Inside me you filled me with a raging scream

Sssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! 
I'm in wonder around your air castle
Strange and hung on your mantle
Stepping on a one footed slave

Alert, alert are we!!!
I shake, we kiss, I wake,
You sleep...........................
I zip, all things into one zipper.
Pounding my hands up against my ears
Crazy, taking a jab upon all jabs
Crazy, you say~ that's me everyday
I'm up and I caress the photo we once had
I lay only staring at you once more
I awake before I sleep
Your promises I keep
In me~ you are also in the deep
My stars change everyday
Waiting for you, to pull the trigger
Still wishing me to be a sun digger

You can't touch or loosen the knots
Together we will day dream our way to the top
I make your nerve system come alive, wide awake
We run into the wind and listen
Quietly in our chamber of thoughts
Near and far, we both nod off
In this daily race, with no face
No space, 
I caught myself awake, 
The day I fell asleep for you.

by;PD


Details | Epic |

the worm poem

A Certain Kind Of Death 

She was in love 
Their expression of it 
Was the perfection of it 
The way they shared  
Was beyond compare
Today is the culmination 
Of their dedication 
Today she is pregnant 
Overwhelmed overjoyed
Her heart sings 
Then the phone rings 

At the hospital 
Next to her dead husband 
How is the possible 
Why did this happen 
Grief stricken
But not heartbroken 
She still had a piece of him 
She had to be strong 
For their child
Even though he was gone 
She had to march on 

Pain and spot bleeding
Getting ready for birthing 
No rhyme or reason 
For complication 
She took care of her body
Took care of her baby 
Its two months too soon
For the child to leave the womb 
Lacking strength and power 
It only lived an hour 
She could only scream  

No strength to go through the motions
She hasn’t seen family or friends
Trying to find something within
nothing left to give 
No reason to live 
she is dead inside
Her memories fading away
She’s doesn’t want to lose them
Tries to hold on to them 
She racks her brain all day 
Trying to find a way 
To keep them fresh and vibrant 

It came to her at a convenience store
A fisherman was buying some worms
She saw them wiggling 
Saw them moving 
So she bought all they had  
She knew she had gone mad
But she didn’t want to be alone
Lying in her bed 
Longing for the dead 
She put the worms in her womb 
And pretended her baby was alive

Her days where filled with joy 
They where going to have a boy
Her husband would stay home
He could finally feel it kick and move 
His happiness was there only wish
They would love and cherish 
Every moment of everyday 
A happy family 
For everyone to envy 
She wasn’t alone anymore  
She was no longer ripped and torn 

Her evenings were horrifying 
She wasn’t just taking worms out
She was reliving her baby dying 
She never once heard it crying 
Never got to hold it in her arms 
Failed to keep it from harm 
She was useless 
She was helpless
She should have died too 
She should have kept inside her
Even if it had killed her 

She decided one day 
To keep her baby 
Decided not let the doctors take it away
She started to feel some pain 
She decided on a name 
She can barely move now 
She would keep David safe somehow
She’s constantly bleeding and convulsing 
She can feel his life pulsating 
She gave birth before she died 
And David was the only one that cried


Details | Quintain (English) |

"In the heat of Pasion" (to Angela wih love)

     The first time I saw you, there was a glow about you
      that baffle me.  I-I just could not find the right word,
     "you had that certain glow about you".  Not the way you walk
       nor the way you move, "but I believe in miracle's", yes
      I do - yes I do.  So finally I step to you and ask, would you,
       could you smile ? just for the camara in my mind so that the
      image of an Angel would be on my mind just in case the world
      ended (today) much to soon, much before time.  The first time
     I saw you naked Angela, my mouth got lost for words-but the one
      that slip through my lip's were (mmmunn) "what a gorcious women,
      breast like lucious melons", and a voice (sweet) like that of the ocean
     and wave's of heat and my idea of nerviousness brings trembeling to
     my feet's.
    "I do believe in miracle's", "I do not believe in love".  Miracle's that it
       take to sustain a relationship that the odd's of longivity are against us.
      And we do become desponded, most of our day is spent fussing and cussing.
     Never to see true love at its best.  The first time our lip's did touch, I remem-
     ber this Angel who I call Angela, she had my name tattoe across her chest.
      Love, became the missing attraction, and you comfort me in my desire to ex
    press myself, for I thought I was so macho, never in a thousand years, "will I
      meet such a someone (?) that's such a women".  A women (aaaah) such a
    women, "from her head to her shoe".  
       Now Angela just in case the world ends tomorrow.  Don't denie that there's an
       "attraction".  O'Angela.....kiss me quickly, "In the heat of Passion".


Details | Epic |

Zodiac Zombie

She cries comets of burning ice
rocketing through a wilderness of bleeding rubies
her constellation, Anaconda, the 13th Sign, drinker of soul wine,

Her cheeks permafrosted with white agony
the accumulation of eons without the lips of her Man's love mercy,

When the word WHY becomes an acronym
for What Have You,
When knowledge of loss is your only gain,
When questions and answers no longer serve a frantic heart
rebellion is the necessary blessing of love becoming beast,
When everything sacred seems destin to be violated
and reborn as a beautiful monster
she became, the Zodiac Zombie,
her heart a super nova explosion,
a demoness on the breath of Death's delay
hunting hearts born through her Star House,
asphyxiating the affection of all who incarnate through her system,
feeding on the veins of fresh obsession, of virgin devotion,

Legend has it that she births the great Poets and Rebels
for their passion is unparalleled in pride and sweet sacrafice,
she is the Zodiac Zombie, Queen of the Black Sea, Goddess of love bleeding -

J.A.B.


Details | Narrative |

How a Blue Rose Came to be

Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely -  red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.

She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be  Queen; 
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.

Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon  her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping,  like a willow tree.


Then the sky begin  to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As  tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that  Irish rose, 
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below 
                                          
                            	 ~~~~~
		
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply  - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.

                                  ~~~~~

The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he kneeled and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.  


		~~~~

The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone   
That still stands alone   upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.

 
 Written:  June 18, 2010

Note:  To late for the contest,
but I thought I would post it anyway. 










Details | Ballad |

Once Willows Wept Not

'Tis now known why the Willow weeps, 
a tragedy of love, its memory keeps.
For once a young man and young maid, 
on tender grass, beneath branches lay.
Though pledged by birth to another, 
from clans they hid, to be together.
Thus, the gentle Willow was their choice, 
meeting beneath, till love they could voice.
The Willow held these secret lovers dear, 
so would lower its boughs, when they drew near.
Thus tucked away in the Willow's womb, 
could lay as one, yet this love was doomed.
For jealousy lurked within the pines, 
spying young lovers thus entwined,
behind Willow's curtain of slender limbs, 
He swore the maiden, would yet be his.
Thus, it came to pass one day, 
as young maid softly made her way,
to their Willow, deep within the glen, 
espied the branches did already bend.
Timidly, as she did draw near, 
soft sound of sorrow fell upon her ears.
Parting Willow's branches to look within, 
a dampness did touch upon her skin.
The Willow was shedding sap laden tears, 
for the young man, in death, was near.
'Twas an arrow that had been used, 
a potent poison, the tip infused.
The maiden, now blind with grieving mist, 
pulled out the arrow, held it, in clenched fist.
Whilst cradled in love's arms, did he draw last breath. 
Then, young maid, plunged the arrow, into her breast.
And so it is, that this story is told,
as the Willow's grief would not be consoled.
For unable to stop what had befell,
the young lovers, it had hid so well.
With will broken, as lovers lay dead,
the Willow, its branches, never again spread.
And because it is the memory it keeps,
it is to this day, that the Willow weeps.




Details | Epic |

My father is a Soldier

My father is a hero.
He stands so tall and proud.
His hands are firm, But gentle.
He stands out in a crowd.
People stop to Thank him.
For Freedom he does fight.
My father is a Soldier.
But he's my Dad at night!


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