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abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
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angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
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baby bangla
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cry culture
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death death of a friend
december dedication
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earth earth day
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fruit fun
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funny love future
games garden
gender giggle
girl girlfriend
giving god
golf good morning
good night goodbye
gospel gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
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grandparents grandson
grave green
grief growing up
growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
heartbreak heartbroken
heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
hip hop history
hockey holiday
holocaust home
homework hope
horror horse
house how i feel
howl humanity
humor humorous
hurt husband
hyperbole i am
i love you i miss you
identity image
imagery imagination
immigration innocence
insect inspiration
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internet introspection
ireland irony
islamic january
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june kid
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light little sister
london loneliness
lonely longing
loss lost
lost love love
love hurts lust
lyric magic
malayalam marathi
march marriage
math may
me meaningful
memorial day memory
men mentor
metaphor middle school
military miracle
mirror miss you
missing missing you
mom money
moon morning
mother mother daughter
mother son mothers day
motivation mountains
moving on mum
murder muse
music my child
my children mystery
myth mythology
name native american
natural disasters nature
new year new york
nice niece
night nonsense
nostalgia november
nursery rhyme obituary
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old onomatopoeia
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passion patriotic
peace people
pets philosophy
places planet
poems poetess
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political pollution
poverty power
prayer preschool
pride princess
prison psychological
purple quinceanera
race racism
rain rainbow
rainforest rap
raven recovery from
red relationship
religion religious
remember remembrance day
repetition retirement
riddle rights
river romance
romantic rose
roses are red rude
sad sad love
satire scary
school science
science fiction sea
seasons self
senses sensual
september sexy
sick silence
silly silver
simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
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softball soldier
solitude sometimes
son song
sorrow sorry
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space spanish
spiritual spoken word
sports spring
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stress student
success suicide
summer sun
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sweet symbolism
sympathy tamil
teacher teachers day
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thanks thanksgiving
tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute true love
trust truth
uplifting urban
urdu usa
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vanity veterans day
violence visionary
vogon voice
volleyball voyage
war water
weather wedding
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wine winter
wisdom woman
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words work
world world war i
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writing yellow
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Long Color Poems | Long Color Poetry

Long Color Poems. Below are the most popular long Color by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Color poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by dennis jones | Details |

The Explorer


...and then just as suddenly, constellations appeared in a daytime sky, framed by white pines crawling with multicolored caterpillars.  So from this day forward, they would search the sky for more star pictures. They then would draw pictures of what they saw with a mixture of ash and spit on their fingers on pink leaves that fell to the ground. They would all participate in the gathering of pink leaves, which they stitched together forming blankets to cover their humble homes, and their village had a pink glow.  Their homes were as nests, or more similar to large hammocks, consisting of branches and bark lashed together with vines suspended from the heavy limbs of the tree canopy.  Their homes swayed in a light breeze, creaking as they moved, and were festooned with blue, red, yellow and purple feather plumes, floral chains, sea shells and gemstones; along with the pink leaf blankets they resembled some extraordinary species of giant hanging flora, which attracted a variety of butterflies, and many small rodent-like creatures ran about. There was much activity in the trees above as they would hop from limb to limb, and home to home, visiting with neighbors and conversing through animated head, facial, hand and body gestures, with much whooping, or whistling sounds, their whole person seemed engaged in conversation.  It was a wonderful and amazing sight to behold, I found the scene so engrossing that I immediately wanted to leave all that I've known behind and immerse myself in their uniquely intimate culture.  I felt as though I'd discovered a new home.

Throughout my journeys I had completed several small drawings and paintings of the various sites that I'd seen, and reasoned that this might be a fine way to communicate and introduce myself, as I was sure they would recognize what I had put down on paper.  I set down my pack and retrieved my paper and pencils from within. I settled against a tree and began to sketch the scene before me.  Soon the noise and activity from the trees above grew quiet, and as I looked up the entire village had come out to the tree limbs and watched in silence as I worked on the drawing.  Then, as if on command, they all descended from the trees and surrounded me in an instant. The speed at which they moved in unison startled me, but I soon discovered there was no threat.                    

As they huddled around me, softly whistling to each other, they held open one hand to reveal a wriggling brightly hued caterpillar. Then they each blew a light breath over the creatures, and it melted into a moving, shifting pool of color in the palm of their hands.  They each dragged a finger through the color, and raising their arms, with a colored finger extended; they held it to the sky.  In the next moment they each bent over me, and wiped the color on the drawing that I had begun. To my astonishment the color moved across the page completely on its own. New worlds opened up, revealed to me, as their spectral markings merged together into watery pools, then formed drips, streams, rivers with rapids, waterfalls, and gorges emptying into estuaries, seeking their own path of least resistance as gravity pulled this way and that, and then churning, and bubbling up in clumps, oozing off the surface in a tremendous mountain slide.  I saw the opened shape of a mouth, or a great hole in the earth, which I looked deep into and could feel and see myself looking back, then puckered, shut tight, blending and separating like ever changing oil on water, flares would rise up from below and burn for a time until they subsided; then cracked into an infinite array of minuscule fissures becoming a frozen ocean, solid and immoveable in a kind of death.  As I watched, it seemed as though hours had drifted by, which I soon realized were mere seconds. 

Copyright © dennis jones | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Where Poets Rule

Everything that is created
disguises a hidden purpose....
A calligrapher writes out his lines
not just for the exquisiteness of the script
but to also convey a meaning.
              Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)

What is the purpose of poetry,
and therefore of the poet?
Refined prose?
Beautifully flowing style and structure?
Artistic elegance
or truth of content?

Is poetic purpose the meaning of its language
or the art of linguistic choices?

Of course it must be both,
symbiotically fertilizing and farming each incubating embryo,
functioning and forming creative language,
an expression of intuited deduction,
refinement toward exegetically known and felt soul-truth
through eisegetical analogy
ecology
economy of linguistic order,
principles of languaged left-brained human nature
dancing prancing functional flow and forms
through right-brained regeneratively intuited
proportional and aesthetic octave polycultured memory,
dream-dancing DNA.

What evolves and seeds
plants and pulls
harvests and winnows language,
thought,
understanding and learning,
comprehension and mentoring orthopraxis,
ecotherapy and healing
rationality and polypathic sanity?

This optimally sustaining
revolutionary bipolar meaning
for graceful living
and breathing
and healing poetry,
enculturates as metaphysically expressed
through universal laws of language
and cooperative economics,
trans-actively mutual mentoring love,
as words teach us what we think
and thoughts inspire our Way (Tao) 
toward optimally inclusive expression.
Meanwhile poetry evolves physically incarnating
through global dancing and singing
in full octave ringing circles
of energy and organic-spiral dynamic mass,
coincident communion.

Poets conduct dancing lyrics of life through death,
decompositioning regeneration.

Poets prehend self-governance structures
in ways of light more enlightened
than competing partisan pedantry;
which may not be saying much for poets.

Transliterating Laotse on "Rulers":
Of the best public administrators
    The people only have faith,
    prehend, that they exist,
    or did way back in the day;
The next best they love and praise:
    the comprehensively wise polypaths 
    with CQI regenerative well-being outcomes.
The abusive  and tyrannical next they fear;
    powerful fools.
And the neglectful next they revile and ridicule;
    weak and humorless fools.

When poets do not command the people's faith,
Some will lose faith in them,
And then they resort to oaths!
But, of the best,
those wisely compassionate cooperative poetic-rulers,
    when their outcomes are optimally accomplished,
    their full-octaved permacultural design word work done,
The folks all remark, 
    "We have written and told and danced, 
    lived and breathed,
    colored and cultured it ourselves."

It is no more or less feasible
to have a mutually subsidiary 
and cooperative design and development
sociopathic CEO,
than it is to find a wise and holy
competitive hoarder of wealth and power.

Everything that is created
disguises a hidden purpose.

Creation disguises,
yet implies,
teleology as ecologic.




Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Frederic Parker | Details |

Describing Change

The black moving night,a covering shawl
Circles the world before the golden dawn
While we underneath are always in awe,
of the changes in light we look upon
Beautiful colors appear from this change
And enter the eye of the artist's mind
As pages are filled, decriptions exchange
Poets write colored pictures to remind
The reds and blues depict from flowing quills
Give color to words across the pages
And though artist words will never fulfill
The colorful skies seen through the ages

Bow to the artist who paints the red sky
And for the poet's words , used to reply


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Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by anne p. murray | Details |

Botticelli Dreams of Sweet Purple Calicoo - And You

Your image appears through a purple-hued haze of silence… 
weaving its whispered dreamy spell, while you re-connect the strings of my sleeping heart
You go about undressing my soul as I watch your image drift in my celibate reality
I hear the melody play it lonely tune ~ but, it is absent of the warmth of touch
For its only your image I see, my heart's held hostage by the cry of the songbird 

My unknown lover, kidnapped by the makers of dreams and fantasies 
experiencing the uncertainty of the child that lies sleeping deep within 
Alone, with the clever artists of dreams and visions encountering the forever of my loneliness 
brushing off the blurred images with softly painted hues of repeated memories 
designed by the masters of dreams and schemes, sleeping to be hugged ~ dreaming to be loved

Oh yes... I've dealt with kings, queens and dragonflies
in the dancing reverie of the fragments of my reality, 
gliding in and out of the dust of Heaven's stars
sprinkling me with their sweet purple dreams gliding over shimmering evening skies 

In lavender scented breezes, I make my way through the night's crimson threshold
in starlit dreams that melt across ancient seasons
shimmering purple shades of shadows painted in serene,  pastoral Botticelli scenes

I sleep in soft billowy clouds, spreading my wings in God's peaceful heavens
my journey - painted in purple pastel colors of love...
peering through misty clouds and diamond stars by His Divine presence from up above 

They make their nightly visits into my fantasies, my thoughts
 painted by the makers and weavers of dreams, coming out of their secret, hidden places...
they silently reveal their amethyst, painted masterpieces 
lightly kissed in dewy, lavender scented bliss
My Botticelli dreams...softly swaddled in dream woven swathes of purple calico...
and you

The sweetness of long remembered thoughts tickles my memories in delicate ambrosial perfume...
redolent of lilac scented blossoms- each flower's fragrant sphere, lingering sweetly in the air
Ancestral shades drift in and out of what was... what might still be
singing their lavender effulgent melodies in lovely violet shades 
through soft, flowing wisps of dreams, lingering in meadows of glowing moonlight...
and you 

Your sweet scent, so succulent in lilac memories urging your return
they delicately float across my dreaming heart waiting so patiently for your sweet scented whispers
to wrap seductive chiffon fingers around my sleeping soul on Morpheus' silky crimson screens
across the evening's deep indigo blue horizon 

Between the cracks of earth and sky I succumb with on soaring wings toward your biding arms
catching falling stars in the mist of twilight whispers, where scarlet lilacs are sprinkled...
dreaming together of the end of our days
until your sweet love finds me neath’ the evening's indigo, starry art
painted in Botticelli dreams of purple calico...the delicate lavender wings of dragonflies ...
and you

Copyright © anne p. murray | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Details |

The Bleeding Roses

Roses in the garden,

Roses in the world,

Barrened roses,

Roses impearled,

But now roses curled...

 

Peach roses show modesty,

Peach roses show gratitude,

However, they are often insincere...

 

Yellow roses seem to care,

Yellow roses show friendship,

However, they are often joyless and jealous...

 

Pink roses communicate sweetness,

Pink roses radiate elegance,

However, they are often unthankful...

 

Orange roses have desire,

Orange roses show their pride,

However, they are often impassive...

 

Purple roses are majestic,

Purple roses express love at first sight,

However, they are often repulsed and unenchanted...

 

Green roses are harmonious,

Green roses carry hope,

However, they are often unpeaceful...

 

Blue roses like dreaming,

Blue roses are imaginative,

Blue roses desire to know the unknown,

Blue roses are mysterious,

However, they are often elusive and unattainable...

 

Red roses are emotional,

Red roses are devotional,

Red roses are respectful,

However, they are often remorseful, sorrowful and mistaken...

 

Gold roses are occassional,

Gold roses like memories,

Gold roses are preserved,

However, they are often misinterpreted and confused...

 

White roses are pure,

White roses have innocence,

White roses are spiritual,

White roses carry secrecy,

However, they are often arrogant...

 

Silver roses are rare,

Silver roses like to grow,

Silver roses convert fantasy into reality,

However, they are often lost and uneasy,

But they seem unpredictable and mystical...

 

Black roses are mysterious,

Black roses are rebirth,

However, they often remain elusive,

They often symbolize death and loss,

But they are unpredictable and silent,

Though, they are often harmed...

 

Roses in  the garden,

Roses in the world,

Barrened roses,

But now roses swirled and twirled...

 

Although, now peach roses are lying,

Yellow roses turning jealous and browned,

Pink roses being unsweet and unthankful,

Orange roses being impulsive and compulsive,

Purple roses being repulsed and revulsed,

Green roses losing hope and harmony,

Blue roses being undiscovered and lost,

Red roses being regretful and voided,

Gold roses bewildered and confused,

White roses losing purity and innocence,

Silver roses turning black and unused,

And black roses silenced and unborn...

 

All there is to see are roses vanishing,

Roses burning,

Roses trembling,

Roses surviving,

Roses aching,

Roses battling,

Roses crying,

Roses suffering,

Roses drowning,

Roses drying,

Roses fading,

Roses trying,

Roses wiltering...

 

All there is to feel are roses withering,

In a bed of bleeding roses...

Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by Walter T. Ashe | Details |

The Art Of The Divine



                                   "The Art Of The Divine"


                               On the wings of butterflies, 
                               God placed the most beautiful 
                               of designs.
                               The intricate patterns 
                               are so uniquely different.
                               It is a testament to 
                             "The Art Of The Divine!"

                               Take a look at Nature's flowers.
                               With the colors for them 
                               that HE chose,
                               it's no wonder that the beauty 
                               of one so stood out,
                               it's the avatar of Poetess 
                              "Mystic Rose!"

                               Toucans, macaws, parakeets 
                               and flamingos,
                               these are some truly colorful birds!
                               The whiteness of doves 
                               and even jet black crows
                               can put an artist at a loss for words!

                               Mesmerized by watching tropical fish?
                              "Now where did HE get those colorful hues?"
                               They're the example 
                               of the dazzle in the ocean,
                               with bright magentas, sun yellows
                               and cobalt blues!

                               Turning to glimpses of the animal world,
                               with striped zebras, spotted leopards 
                               and panda bears, 
                               shows HIS eye for colors 
                               knows no bounds whatsoever,
                               all of life shows HIS artistic flair!
                            
                               The ultimate of HIS 
                               creative colorful works
                               is timed and knows exactly 
                               when to show!
                               It is testament to 
                              "The Art Of The Divine",
                               after a rain storm 
                               HE paints us a rainbow!



                                  WTA-IV 4/27/2016

Copyright © Walter T. Ashe | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Chris Boskovski | Details |

Goodbye my Summer Love

Though the midnight summer rains
as we sit together under the geraniums,
hanging low and at full bloom,
we hold hands and talk of old times;
times that were kind to us and our youth.
As summer storms light up the night skies
We kiss the storm away, as it rolls through the grey skies
and the lighting cracks the clouds in half,
riping a hole in the universe, as we kiss the night away.

We sit throughtout nightlong summer dreams
and talk, and we hear the storms roll into the golden hills
of summer meadows filled with roses and a field full of daisies.
Love rests in time to see us grow old together,
and love strengthens its walls and pulls us closer together.
We shall go now, as day turns to night,
into our chamber of love and sleep the night away, together.
Hold us close to each other, as I rest my head on you sweet bossom,
and you nurture me to life of talks of love and beauty.

Nature whispers and sings us songs,
as we kiss and go for walks through the countryside
looking at the golden hills soaked in the rolling storms
that summer offers every year, upon a silver platter.
Sooth me, my love as I tell you of the sorrow I have witnessed.
Embrace me with your curiousity and tell me of the beauty in
the secrets of life and its hidden messangers
that hold secret letters from Devils that send temptations
to destroy something that we share, that is so beautiful and true.
Tell me that life will be okay, and my love is still true and with you.
Tell me my sweet and beautiful love, tell me if everything will be alright.

Love has seen us come and go, through the narrowed and sprinkled streets,
as we move through life fused at hands and eyes blind, not noticing the possiblities of death at any moment stalking us with knives jabbing at our backsides.
We are blind, for we see each other and only each other.
As we live life eyes a blazed looking at the sun, we do not notice the obvious between us.
Caring from me, at my time of need I never noticed the betrayal of our love.
My heart sees, but I deny the obvious and see what I hear.

As I see the knife drive deep in my heart,
you with a suitcase in hand,
I stand on my front steps and I watch the summer storms
come back over the golden hills to say, "hello"
Love is the same everytime, like a summer storm;
beautiful to watch, but when it leaves, it is depressing to say, "goodbye"
Now I sit, as the geraniums dry up and die
and the wrinkles at my eyes make me blind,
I see love walk past my house and mock me with lone kisses.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by Benjamin Alexander | Details |

4 Knights

4 corners, 4 knights
4 different ways to fight
As they geared up for battle 1 of the metal men shouted,
3 on 1 
thats no fun 
It hardly seems fair, so they argued and they debated until a plan of action came about 
Ok instead of 3 or 3 we go 2 on 2
You all got that, everyone plans to fallow through 
The knights all shook their heads, 
As they brought out their swords 
All 4 stood facing the knight that they thought should go toward
Now it's 1 to 1 to 1 to 1 
Each one of us will be done, done, done, done
And we won't be able to have, a true knight, to have won!
"Fine" said the smartest of the 4
Black to white, and green vs blue,
Now we each have 2 groups of 2
They all agreed each took their battle poses, and then attacked 
Each fighting valiantly for their color 
White nearly missed blacks throat, green knocked blues helmet off, blue injured greens leg, 
And black 
Kept knocking white back
After a while of fighting it had seemed that they all were equally matched 
Each one out of breath but full on determination to be the winner
However blue, the smartest of the 3 
Was board as could be
He wanted the match to be done 
He was tired that it was a 2 on 2 fight
Nor did he wish to battle the winner of black vs white 
He wanted to win now
So he devised a plan
Was it cheating, yes.
Was it cunning, even more so.
Was it wrong, no.
Because dead men don't talk
As his 1 on 1 match with green steadily progressed 
He carefully watched black and white's fight at their best
He knew opportunity would come when least expected 
He kept defending against green until opportunity would strike 
Then out of the blue white let his guard down 
As the blue knight kicked dirt into the helmet of the white 
Blacks blade fell down as it was still in full flight
Black killed white, while green stood still in shock
Blue seized opportunity where it was abundant, and killed the motionless knights of black and green
He stood on all three and said, 
3 vs 1, you should have picked, and I might have been dead. 

A certain joy came ringing about 
From being the cleaver knight with out a doubt 
But Minutes passed and so did the hype 
Silence fell upon him, no one to talk to not one to gripe.
If the match had lasted a little longer 
Maybe his pride for winning might have been a little stronger

4 corners, 4 knights, 
4 different ways to fight,
3 graves, 3 fools,
3 vengeful ghouls,
2 horses, 2 knights 
2 unfair fights
1 winner, 1 cheater,
1 cleaver creature 

Copyright © Benjamin Alexander | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by Walter T. Ashe | Details |

This World Of Colored People



                              "This World Of Colored People"


This planet Earth of ours is inhabited and overrun with so many "Colored People!"
They are everywhere one turns and try as one may, no one can escape them! 
NO ONE!
Alphabetically, "Black, Brown, Red, White and Yellow" are colors most everyone knows! Everyone who can see knows these colors!
So who are these "Colored People?"

1) Black is a color! It is also a color used to describe a race of people on this planet!
Therefore the "Black" race is comprised of and full of "Colored People!"

2) Brown is a color! It is also used to describe a race of people on this planet!
Therefore the "Brown" race is comprised of and full of "Colored People!"

3) Red is a color! It is also a color used to describe a race of people on this planet!
Therefore the "Red" race is comprised of and full of "Colored People!"

4) White is a color! It is also used to describe a race of people on this planet!
Therefore the "White" race is comprised of and full of "Colored People!"

5) Yellow is a color! It is also used to describe a race of people on this planet!
Therefore the 'Yellow" race is comprised of and full of "Colored People!"

"Colored People" are everywhere!
The common thread amongst all Human Beings is that Human Beings are "Colored People!"

Now a word of warning to the "Colored People" of this planet Earth!
Beware of "those" who do not fit in amongst we "Colored People" or look like us!
They will be very easy to spot!!! 
HOW SO???

1) They will be Blue people!  (Beware! They may call themselves "Smurfs!")
2) They will be Purple people !  (Beware! They may be "Eaters!") 
3) They may be Green people!  (Beware! They WILL be full of "Envy!")
4) They may be Orange people!  (Beware! They may be on the "Juice!")

So if any of these types  of "Color people" are spotted, report them right away for they are NOT the real "Colored People" of the planet Earth!
In conclusion, the "Colored People" of the planet Earth are "Beautiful People" because they are "People of Color!" The Human Race! 
Observe "Colorful" Nature!

Thank YOU GOD for not making the Human Race transparent and see through!
What a mess that would be if the "Colored People" of the planet Earth were 
completely "colorless!"
Hmmm! For better or for worse?!?!?

Copyright © Walter T. Ashe | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Anisha Dutta | Details |

Every Cloud


                    Every Cloud shows a silver lining

         Day dawned displaying dew droplets.
        Shiny Sun added sparkling charms
        I was counting anxious moments
        to greet my sweet heart in my arms.
           She must be coming
           I am eagerly waiting.

       Merry morning was about to mourn.
      My eyes were thirsty. She was not shown.
     Morning rolled to nagging noon.
     She must be rushing soon.

       Hands of clock going round and round
        On our special day she is bound 
       to come without showing lame ground.
       Noon passed to next phase.
       Afternoon showed its face.
       She must come sharp.
       But she did not turn up!

      My heart was about to burn.
      Drizzling showers under the Sun
      dispersed sunbeam into spectrum
      pasting rainbow on sky-album.

      Even in dismay and despair
      I knew somewhere over
      Rainbow would appear
      to portray my life in color.
      Evening twilight brought me hope
     till Sun went down on quick gallop.

     Night darkened, evening merged.
     My tingling passion only urged,
     ‘Come My Dear, Come My Darling!
      Why? Why are you not coming?’

     I sat in darkness of dolor not putting on light 
     Just watching hands of clock to touch midnight.
     ‘if, ‘Perhaps’, ‘But’, several possibilities fight.
          Mobile showed ‘No answer’
           She sent no message either.

     I am neither weeping nor crying,
          but whispering
    ‘Every cloud has silver lining.’
       
        
I will hold her at night while dreaming. 
         I will visit her prompt on next morning.
           
         I will snatch your heart
         I will catch you fast
         Perfect match at last.
         
        Let the hands of clock go round and round
        I am pretty proud to voice my love loud
         Silver linings are shown in every cloud
         Some when somewhere rainbow is bound
         to bend in semi- circle touching ground.
         My love is gold to glitter, bold to sound.
     
         

     04/24/16

     Lyrics cliche image contest  
                                         image 4

    Sponsor Silent One

Copyright © Anisha Dutta | Year Posted 2016


Long Poems