Submit a Poem
Get Your Premium Membership

Long Loneliness Poems | Long Loneliness Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |


                           It is a terrible thing
                           To be so open: it is as if my heart
                           Put on a face and walked into the world.

                                          Sylvia Plath, Three Women, 1962



Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque,
an incongruity, a clever imbalance               
that spins collections her hounds facilitate.  
Failures and fractures she bravely lanced
with noncompliance. Reader, rebuff collars
labeled as forewords, smug introductions, 
for Plath’s voice is tenfold more a scholar 
than those receiving undue benedictions.    
Lofty beggars seek to bookend her words
and that empty space she instinctively refills
with her universe, a mayhem that girds,
unapologetic. Mirror images spill
over margins, searching for identity,
negating preamble, snubbing apathy.   

Negating preamble, snubbing apathy
with language that flickers, catches, combusts,
her volumes of wicks, her lit soliloquies,   
glint behind the stained-glass of trust.
There are those who are not really here,
they wander fault lines then crisscross chasms,
lost pilgrims who easily commandeer
unwary emotions. Some hearts just spasm,                         
pulled by their own nature, their delicacy,
for poetry is a weakness; poets die
between verses. Odes can become elegies.
The thin-skinned hear a snared rabbit cry,
and pray for the moonflower, always closing,
while cursing that page, unmoved and dozing.

While cursing that page, unmoved and dozing,
she corners rigid guides, keeps fingers poised,
synchronicity goes, the flow of typing
disappears, mislaid, that perfect noise
of a carriage return, a sound exclamation.
Joy is inspiration making its way home,
her Olivetti forages like a raven,
gifting found nouns, verbs that glare like chrome,
but love still flits, turns from hoarse requests,
and she longs for more than any man can give
for what snags worn ribbons will not rest,
it emits a strong beat, throbs as it loves.
Bless the bitter of life, all wisdom owing,
curse the open heart, its shadows showing.

Curse the open heart, its shadows showing,
for worldly delights take full advantage
of the wounded, their brokenness growing.
Everyday beauty wrings arteries, dredges
chambers with barbs, a prompt disobedient.
Fact, there’s no folder large enough to hold 
elation’s girth, no ink conveniently
on hand to black out depression. So, scold
the yew, its roots and branches reaching,
then poke at petals for being complacent, 
when all the while a candle is preaching
of give and take, surrender, luminance,
So, carefully archive apprehension,
revealing blue veins to tender lesions.

Revealing blue veins to tender lesions
requires much more than a room of one's own,
hours do dissolve, days lack cohesion 
when milk sours and tantrums are thrown.
Solitude is in short supply, loneliness,
however, is overstocked; her mind tugs      
at busy hands for attention, such darkness
contrasts to jammy smiles and sleepy hugs.
Elusive titles whimper each morning,
and short stanzas steep, so desperately,
all the while a manuscript is scorning
her swipes at dry crumbs, cold pots of tea.
A life sheds its months, gallows take delight
as sundials atrophy in the arms of night. 

As sundials atrophy in the arms of night. 
the moon blanches tidepools, suckles sand,
even the face of the clock is pulled too tight
and the new calendar can not understand
that writing is sex, is fresh bread, is air,
that time is a brute, quick fisted, rough,
that weeks come and go without a care
that a marriage vow is never enough
to mend adoration, repossess bliss.  
Words make better lovers, rarely stray,
upon her lips, the impression of a kiss
feels as cold as sheets then melts away.
Paper sops afterbirth, accepts her all:
fossil and seed, shackles and free falls.

Fossil and seed, shackles and free falls,
unlocking visions, defying any cage, 
art resists validity, upsets stone walls  
to scale the scarlet heights of a rampage,
to breach the barricades to euphoria.
She excavates id, bares teeth at ego, 
plays the parts of illusion and phobia
then infuses rhyme with soft indigo. 
Colossus begins to shrivel as Ariel
unmans him, riding hard upon metaphors,
and will remain strong, constant, ethereal. 
but curtailed are epics that still implore  
like the cusp of dream long after you wake

Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque.


* For Craig Cornish, whose contest inspired this piece. Thank you, Daddy-O. 

About this poem

This is my first crown of sonnets. It took over 25 hours to write, a full week of me-time! 

These are modern sonnets and the syllable count is extremely loose, intentionally, as it would seem odd to keep things too tight when writing of Sylvia. If anything, I regret not being even looser, altering syllable counts DRAMATICALLY. Also, I used a great deal of slant rhyme for the same reason.

I really wanted to capture Sylvia Plath with this poem, and it was a real struggle. Her language is so precise, and I wanted to do her justice. I had wanted to feel, upon its completion, that Sylvia would have said, "Well, it isn't quite horrible. Not bad for a novice. And there are parts of me there, but only the smallest bits." I do not feel I did this.  I feel like I didn't even TOUCH her mastery of language. But, it is good enough for now.. one day, who knows? 

Oh, Sylvia's typewriter was a Olivetti Lettera 22. It was portable!

Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

A Moment of Hope The Invisible Man 30

Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.

Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,

As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.

If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.

An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.

The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.

Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.

Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.

These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,

As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.

These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,

Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,

Long poem by Keith Bickerstaffe | Details |


...inspired by 'Portrait Of A Lady' by T.S. Eliot

On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it always was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to silence my equivocating.
Somber is my attitude, the light is dim, curtains at rest,
as dust mites dance, the clock ticks unobtrusively,
marking time, the chamber maids make ready for my guest,
and dust the tables, clean the silver, place the flowers perfectly.
You return from 'La Boheme,' affected by the tragedy, 
emboldened by Puccini's art, transfiguring his sadness
to an everlasting theme of hope eternal, with no misery.
A small group of confederates who seize the meaning clearly,
examine his conceptions with a true and honest face,
only those who can conceptualize his grace.
And we are bereft of conversation.
The curtain falls between our faces,
we are left with little else to say.
Gone are common talk, and airs and graces,
walls have grown, and bars along the way.
Your friends have grown in stature, tried and true,
reflecting what you feel within your soul,
and you must follow them and share their view,
as long as it will bring you to your goal.
Friendship is a bond that can't be broken,
even though you dally with your heart,
you cannot spring the lock, that sacred token,
that keeps your deepest feelings true to art.
Your friends are pure disciples of your creed,
they will legitimize your need
to pave your way to conquer and succeed.

Within the mellow of the violins,
the sweetness of the celli and the horns,
I hear a tattoo beating all alone,
the tympani begin to pound 
a loud crescendo of their own.
I listen, there is something out of tone.
With cigarettes and sherry, unconcerned,
we wander through the garden unaware, 
take in the sights and pass without a care,
as if our similarities don't matter,
we give ourselves to nonsense, idle chatter.

Roses now are brightly blooming,
to your friends now you are calling.
I know not of what you speak,
I cannot fathom your delight.
You say: 'Try to understand my mission,
learn to trust in things unseen,
I must find what nature seeks
and fathom its eternal meaning.
Youth will never gather roses,
never see beyond the garden.'
I will stay for now, trapped in the cold.

Though I'll remember nature's wonders,
sunsets and the breath of spring,
feel the wind blow through my hair
and know the thrill of sunrise cresting.

We see the universe as dancing,
two such different creatures trancing,
we two will never understand
the private notions of the other,
even if we take each other's hand.

Coming close to your destruction
you will see the other side,
who says who has satisfied
requirements for a better life?
Friendship, if we could but find it,
yields the seeds of greater profit,
greater than the seeds of strife.

I now remain just as I ever was.

I shall take my morning walk,
communing with the birds and talking
to myself while reading Kafka,
glancing at the latest headlines.
Dear Stravinsky's 'Rite' is slighted,
(he'll return when ears are righted.)
When I smell a rose I'm prompted 
to recall a certain lady, gifted with
a new perception, I must sadly 
take exception, for the moment anyway.

The chill of morning, people yawning,
I am tired, the blush of dawning has me
feeling ill at ease, my spirit sags,
I barely reach the second floor.
'When will you return? Is Paris so much more
than you have here?' is my unanswered question.
I drag my heels to breakfast, 
listless as a lazy dog, and nibble toast,
my countenance as pallid as a ghost.

A letter would be welcomed. 
I shall miss you; there, I've said it. 
I am your friend, are you not mine? 
Tenuous and strained, two casual 
acquaintances who share so little time,
we brush elbows, like strangers passing
on a platform, sharing sidelong glances,
afraid to say hello. I watch you as you go.

Others swore we would be close,
peas in a pod, familiar.
Instead there is no warmth, not yet.
Were you to try we might combine
and nibble toast together, and take
a walk, your hand in mine, and
stammer conversation 'til we knew
there was no reason e'er to rue.
I shall sit with pleasant thoughts of you.

Desperate, I ponder on your death,
scant breath expended twixt the two of us,
and loneliness an ache too harsh to mention,
pen in hand and no one to subscribe.
I'll scarce recall the softness of your skin,
or search your heart to find what lies within.
Should I be bold, or take a gentler path?
encourage you... would I incur your wrath?
If you were to die I'd never know your truth,
and I should lose the vigour of my youth.

Long poem by Jecon B. Nadela | Details |

Enjerciendo Prudencia

Dedicated to: Myself and the kindred spirits

Rise up today so gracefully and comely. Let not the present by the past be spoiled. You are entitled to what is best in the new day; do not let it wasted to loneliness and disgust. Leave the horror of your nightmares as there are good dreams to be fulfilled. You have survived and that is all that matters as you face new challenges and strife.

Life is a race but take things slowly; Pitfalls are the product of being reckless and rush. Set your goal and cast away your worries. Doubts may lead to despair and weariness forestalls a start.

Be realistic! Fantasies may provide refuge to the soul but practical decisions are conceived of tenacity and profound consciousness. Think twice as much and be subtle in accepting things. The art of acceptance is nourishment to the heart and, overtime, a calm spirit has been proven sound and wise.

Undertake your actions with a thorough passion. Perform your job without seeking attention nor trying to establish impression as you can only do so much, but strive to serve justice to the wage that you received by bringing each task well into completion. Be concerned for others but not over-acting; your honest intention may be perceived distasteful and annoying.

Putting aside your weakness, in some ways you can be a role-model. Let it be that others may learn something productive, however forbearing. You cannot always expect everyone to follow as each has its own sense of individuality and pride. Ridicule not the simple and the belittled for they too shall reap the fruits of their endeavors. Nobody can monopolize knowledge and brilliant ideas; as you see, marvelous inventions and breakthroughs are often the work of the obscure and the underrated.

Very patiently, exercise prudence and be firm in whatever you believe is reasonable. Do whatever is fitting in spite of the opposition. Many are the detractors but greater is the value of the kindred spirits.

Persevere and stay focused. Nevertheless, balance your time as not to suffer the matters of the heart. Seize the moment for life has never been without stress. Rigors and adversities have no match to a willful spirit but time and again the body must recess to rejuvenate. Nourish yourself with positive insights. It is essential in coping up with life’s concerns, albeit you may opt for aide betimes. Speak of your circumstance without articulation for he who is eager to help can simply read between the lines.

Somewhere in life’s journey there may be down phase to go through. Chums may turn backbiters or deserters and that old pals may come only to brag about their achievements rather than consoling. Of such, you may either become envious or disdained. But lo and behold! You are not a failure just because others have succeeded, and surely they have not succeeded just because you failed. Realize that everyone has his defining moment and yours is yet to come.

Therefore, be passive of the prejudice and scorning. You already have enough disappointments to get over with that it is unwise to allow such nonsense to further ruin your disposition. Nonetheless, congratulate yourself that you are not like them had it been the other way around.

Yeah! It is worthwhile to live above sufficient as long as it is through legitimate means, otherwise, the opulence will only fuel the destruction of the soul. Do not be so enticed with the material possessions in this world. What is the essence of containing everything in hand while the heart is so void? If you should spend for frivolities, take heed first the beseeching of the least of your brothers. Fortune holders are but temporary stewards and greediness is a waste of luck.

Give accordingly without expecting reciprocation. Compassion is not any act of giving but something that the heavenly angels can so relate thereby translating a prettier meaning to your existence. Indeed, the eternity that lies beyond the visible is a lot more to be hoped for than that of the fleeting life that we’re in.

Finally, refrain from judging at someone else’s yearning, but do your utmost to defy your own wayward longings. Remember, there is none more appropriate than being subservient to the will of God. In the end, the wealthy and the needy; the Master and his servant; the sinner and the saints; the wild and the tame shall face judgment just the same.

With a grateful countenance, stay humble. You are destined to be a happy soul.

Long poem by Demetrios Trifiatis | Details |




I saw the bitter tears of unhappiness,
Running down your ravaged with pain
                                               Dear face
And I became a sponge of compassion
                                       To absorb them,


I heard the howling of your starving
Echoing throughout your rebellious 
                                         Drained veins,
And I became a sweet loaf of bread
                                            To feed you,


I tasted the agonizing thirst of
                                     Your dry lips,
Burning fire! Consuming your
                                     Every single tissue,
And I became vivifying fresh water
                                      To quench it,


I smelled the presence of sickness in your
                                          Tormented body,
Devouring your vibrant wellbeing, 
And I became salutary medicine to nurse you
                                                  Back to health,

I felt the terror in your trembling gracious
Scaring away your lofty humane
And I became fortifying courage to obliterate
                                            Your distressful fears,


I found you lost in the darkness of joyless
Walking towards the abominable cliffs of
                                               Self- distraction,
And I became a bright ray of hope to guide you
                                               To self-realization,


I discovered you shivering in the middle
                                             Of savage winter,
Wandering around without a roof over
                                            Your frozen head,
And I became a shelter of warmth to protect you
                                           From merciless cold, 


I watched you suffering from excruciating
Feeling the ever depressing loneliness in
                                             Your tormented soul,
And I became your constant caring


I noted the torture of merciless
Destroying your wonderful, tender
And I became your faithful
                                         Loved one,


I observed you struggling in the rough sea
                                                           Of life,
Fighting your way over the ominous waves
                                         Of human malice,
And I became a solid boat of charity to bring you
                                              On the serene shore,


I witnessed your efforts to climb the mountains
                                              Of desirable success,
Struggling, hopelessly, up the steep path
                                                       Of attainment, 
And I became a firm ladder of mercy to help you
                                                   Reach the very top,


I remarked you fighting against your brutal
Trying to overcome their beastly power with your
                                                             Bare hands,
And I became a heavy sword of justice to make you


I perceived the sharp arrow of relentless
Heading towards your loving, caring
And I became a shield of concern to save
                                    Your precious life,


You ask me why I do all these things
                                                   For you,
The answer is very simple my
It is because…
                              I LOVE YOU!

                                                    ©  Demetrios Trifiatis

Long poem by Teenage Frustrations | Details |

I Hate

I hate the birth mark under my right eye
I hate my extremely static hair
I hate my big bottom lip
I hate my spotty nose

I hate that I have really *****y times
I hate that people only remember me for my really *****y times
I hate that the real *****es hate me
I hate being cautious so they don’t ***** about me

I hate that I cry over everything
I hate that people know I cry over everything
I hate that I hide from them anyway
I hate that they actually don’t care 

I hate the fact that my brother is leaving home next year
I hate the fact that I cried when he told me that
I hate the fact that I hid my tears from him
I hate the fact that he’s all I really have left

I hate my father for making me feel like he doesn’t care about me
I hate my mother for making me feel like she picked him over me
I hate that my brother had to look after me when they couldn’t be bothered
I hate that, in my eyes, they don’t deserve to be called mum and dad

I hate that when I was younger I had to run away from my father
I hate that my mother and brother left me by myself that day
I hate that they left me closer to my father
I hate that they went somewhere I would have felt safer

I hate that I feel like my friends are slowly fading away from me
I hate that I feel like I’m a third wheel
I hate that I feel like my friend’s don’t trust me
I hate that I feel like I can’t trust my friends

I hate the feeling of loneliness
I hate that I read books to escape to a world better than mine
I hate that I write to create a better life than my own
I hate that people want to invade that one heaven I invented

I hate that people ask me why I made Katy Clover Taylor
I hate that I had to make a role model for myself
I hate that she is the person I desperately want to be
I hate that she is the one thing I will never live up to

I hate that I feel like my grades would grasp my families attention
I hate that feeling of disappointment when I get a bad grade
I hate feeling like I have to live up to an expectation to hold their attention
I hate that I am relied on because of my grades

I hate that I am an older mind trapped in a younger body
I hate that I am limited in what I can do because of my age
I hate not being trusted upon
I hate people treating me as a kid

I hate not telling people how I feel
I hate hiding behind an invisible barrier
I hate not being able to share how I feel with people
I hate being scared that they won’t care.

I hate people judging me
I hate judging people
I hate that feeling of giving up
I hate the feeling of losing when I didn’t give up

I hate the choices I have made
I hate that nobody thinks I can live up to my dream
I hate people thinking they are so much better than me
I hate the fact that they are right

I hate that I will never make a good girlfriend
I hate the fact I know nobody would fall for me
I hate knowing that no one would help me pick up my life
I hate that it has fallen apart

I hate hurting the people I love
I hate them not loving me anymore
I hate knowing that what I would do would hurt people
I hate the fact I do it anyway

I hate knowing that I do all of this
I hate knowing I hate all of this
I hate trying to change it
I hate that I am not able to change it

I hate that I try not to give up hope
I hate knowing all hope is lost
I hate that I still try and cling to it anyway
I hate knowing I failed at that too

But most of all

I hate not being able to express this until now
I hate that this still won’t change a thing
I hate thinking that it still might
I hate knowing that no one cares

Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

I Will Survive

                                 ~I Will Survive~

She was born premature, thats what her mum told her
growing up, she noticed that she was slow in reading,
concentrating, and was bullied by many students,
too much pain during growing up, made her commit 
to herself, that she will overcome her retardation, will 
gradually graduate, by studying more than anyone else, 
it took place always in her garden with a full moon to 
enlighten her thoughts.

To remember her daily health problems, she started
writing poetry on a log sheet witch she will share one day 
reading it with everyone, as she was determined to 
become a writer. 

One day she woke up feeling the stillness in her brain,
she got worried, her mind stopped functioning, she felt dead 
when she felt the stillness in her heart beat, she got worried
her veins were blocked due to her anxiety, when she felt the blur 
through her sight, she got worried her eyelids could not blink. 

She felt the quietude while standing up she cried 
her strength gave up and fear took over she felt like 
yelling out loud, yelled and heard no echo. 

The Joy of living abandoned her nothing left in her to 
nourish it when she felt under judgmental power 
those causes brought her straight running towards 
her home opened her window to breath and watch 
what she had planted when she was not alone.

But today the moonlight was shining the outside view 
exists but she sees nothing loneliness gets to her so 
often lately she does nothing about it she just sits numb 
on her bed listening to the sound of the clock chiming 
with the hope when she awakes from her loneliness 
at the end of this day her darkness will light up as
a start.

Days passed she just read a book of living in the Now 
she will adapt knowing its a challenge in each individuals 
within as not to change is much easier to feed our brain 
than to feed it with a beautiful happy surrounding 
wherever we are and with whom we are even alone 
we can choose either to be happy or sad. 

She asked herself yesterday did she really know what is positive 
from negative if she thinks well positive is loving to live 
negative is disliking to live both taught her to let go of false self 
imagines and superficial ego she took steps to dictate her own
goals and desires it made it more real it gave her the push 
she needed to feed her energy with such depth of sharing her 
knowledge with all of you readers that is how writing poetry 
became a whole part of her life reading poems made her think 
positive reading and writing opened up her thoughts to reach 
out for words to place them in her poetry she is in love again 
she made a huge step to liberate her anger against humanity.

Her hidden qualities never shined before always she felt gloomy 
writing gave her back the self assurance writing raised all her 
senses to a higher scale yes she did that all by herself as she 
gained freedom of speech in writing poetry.

She already brought back a smile into her hidden heart
she will walk through a road where beauty surrounds 
her entity feel a change a sudden change of watching 
the birth of another tomorrow to look outside her window 
and watch the white shadow of the moon that light which 
helped her become who she is now.
She will feel safe and alive she will survive because poetry
lived in her it became her utmost shadow.

Long poem by Valentine Mbagu | Details |

Power Of Love

I never taught true love really existed,
until the first day l set my eyes on you.
My heart stopped beating for a moment,
my attention suddenly turned towards your direction;
though l didn't speak to you but knew within me that,
that missing part of me that makes me complete has been found.

I tried to concentrate but failed to get my eyes off you,
then l was convinced that my missing rib has been found;
knowing fully well that we have a great destination together.
I walked away hoping that destiny will bring us together again,
though passionately admired your personality and beauty from afar;
believing that nature has it's own way of fulfilling destinies.

The moment you appeared before me again,
there arose a special feeling of love and happiness never experienced before.
When I followed the stars of heaven,
they brought me to you knowing we are created for each other to be together.
Then l knew we had a special bond, 
for my heart acknowledged you as the chosen one.

I was convinced to speak to you despite inner resistance.
You prompted a love word out of my mouth, 
even when l knew that l couldn't your smiles drew me closer and made me speak.
Your character and charisma drawned me into loving you,
then l knew the moment of love had finally come.

As l talked with you,
l discovered a divine personality with character and charisma.
As l thought of you,
l discovered my friend.
As l came closer,
l discovered my missing rib.
As l walked with you,
l discovered my wife.

Besides my weakness your smiles gave me strength,
knowing my heart was strong with you.
I knew my heart has found a place with you,
a place of solace and love unexplained;
l now give you my heart for my spirit agrees with you.

I was taken by your smiles which soon became my light in darkness.
You came into my life and quenched my fears with your character.
Your voice is all l hear when thinking about you.
I watch your memories like movies in my dream.
Your glorious face beaming with smiles runs through my mind all day.

The memories of your character and charisma gave me hope for our future.
The thought of your personality sealed my admiration for you from the moment we talked;
for my feelings of loneliness were erased by your smiles.

When you are close to me, 
my worries are forgotten for your voice provides me with scrumptious meal.
Your voice alone captivates the inner spirit of my heart,
transforming it into the realm of love.
Your voice is the highest form of magic,
it's spell captivates every attention.
You are a full moon shinning through the cloudy night sky,
which glitters like the stars of heaven.
You are a priceless treasure worth contesting for.

I have never experienced such intense feelings l have for you before.
I searched for love and discovered you as the best among the rest.
At the gaze of your beauty nations pause to behold your glory;
even the hands of time stop in honour of your beauty.

In the dark cloudy night,
your love brightens my day.
With you there is nothing to resist knowing your love drawns me to your heart.
My thoughts of you are like rain drops on flower,
which waters the roses and the flowers of heaven.
My thoughts of you are like a rainbow in a splashing waterfall,
which runs down the centre of the ocean.

Grant me the honour of being my wife,
so we can live together forever as lovers created for each other.

Long poem by Odin Roark | Details |

Vets Know

Vets Know
                  by Odin Roark

(Via Refrigerator Magnets)

Should have told you

I’m sorry
I’ve buttered
the last piece
the heel
you never eat

Can you forgive me?

I toasted it
like you used to do
like you used to make
for me

I can’t be back for a while

I’m Here
(Via Email)

Nobody Told Me

They say ‘cause I’m alive and healthy
I’m supposed to grieve in stages
A bit presumptuous, eh?
Just how is this insight acquired?

Just maybe
If they’d outlined the steps
Both of my bereaved deployments
Might not have ripped heart and spirit
Into so many scattered pieces

I could have asked friends
Weep with me?

I wouldn’t have excluded them
These many months of loneliness
But then
Maybe I wouldn’t have accepted
This fragile courage
To double check my mags
Make sure the chamber’s loaded
Step cautiously and nudge the child’s severed arm
Closer to her body
Wipe my eyes clear
Take another step forward

Can’t help wandering
When and how was I supposed to get it
This euphoria of numbness some call it
This make-as-you-go survival kit

Nobody told me


I’m There
(Via restrictive mail prohibiting my saying where)


Reality in search of…


With smartphones
Computer smart cars
Driverless transit
Gigabyte this
Gigabyte that


Crippled minds and limbs
Knowing sure
From where they came
Knowing not
Where they shall go


Caring in their way
Address the circles
Like gentle creatures awaiting validation
Veterans attentively turn ears
Leaning forward
Still breathing

Compassionate directives
Come forth

Some square shoulders
Others straighten legs
A few retain stoic resolve
While the heartiest
Blink their acknowledgment
Some with the left eye
Others with the right
Whichever has survived


Stare blankly
Neither here in group
Nor there with the blasts
Merely as existence in limbo

Why try?
Asks one

‘Cause there’s still a mission to complete
Comes the answer

To retain life in that arm you still have
To keep atrophy away from the spinal chord smashed
But not severed by shrapnel
To know
There is help
There are choices
There is life of another kind
Needing to be shared
To prepare those of the next war


In the circle
will learn to adjust
Some with eyes of glass
Skulls of titanium
Feet of shapely plastic
All with hearts still beating


Destined to become…

Jaded TV spectators
Will tweet our friends
Cell-photo our spouses
Even unconsciously text ourselves
Ya gotta tune this in


As few

Like a circle of timid buds
Having weathered tempests unimagined
Await blossoms that may never come
Awakening each dawn
A little at a time
Nurturing desired full bloom
Knowing very well
Storms so often happen
Are part of it all

But always

Even as their numbers remain scarred
They continue unblemished
A different reality


I’m Back
(Via special air flight)

A Zip Bag Memorial

What were once men and women
now but ragged and putrid bundles

Without thinking they were idealists


This marvelous
inspiring mix
rendered still
decaying camo-rags
shrouded not with angel’s wings
but swathed in black
a savage mantle of flies
carrying off sacred parcels
war’s memory
immortality in ruin

Quick for God’s sake
Zip the ****ing bag


I’m on my way
They’re bringing me home

Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

Echoes Of The Heart

                      ~Echoes Of The Heart.~
Yesterday she was carrying a void felt deep in her heart its echo 
was begging someone to fill her needs to be free to love & venture 
through society accept to socialize allow her heart to search for a 
different attitude towards life to fill her emptiness. Its so hard 
to keep up with those changes of feelings without finding solutions. 
She prayed her consciousness to stop listening to voices 
of loneliness.

Fear obliged her soul to escape from being locked in an arena 
with lions to mutilate her spirit due to feebleness. 
She wept why she could not fly like a bird to the sky and land 
on the sand stand and wave to thee unknown ask to be rescued .

She wished anyone could send a feather with the wind towards 
her hearts echo, as a whisper of connecting. 
The more time passed the more her heart felt deserted, she couldn't 
walk as her feet were stuck in the cement. 

The void was getting stronger she doesn't know why, maybe if she 
rings a bell someone will come looking for her, she doesn't want to 
know anymore why she feels confused in her own battle of survival.

Nobody knows why the echo inside her heart was far from listening, 
refusing to respond to the same philosophy she had a few years ago, 
she was strong, accepting, walking, breathing normal, but what is normal, 
she seems to be very far away from changing to normal, she wants to 
give up fighting and drown with all her feelings only to surface when
she understands and becomes normal.

Maybe the winter cold and snow are all over her body she must be 
frozen as her breathing is waiting for a sign to pump some air into 
her lungs, she tried but when she looked outside it was so somber,
her emotions begged to stop thinking, only exist for the moment. 

When the night will surround her darkness she will be born again to 
fill her own aloneness, she writes poetry and reads books, she  
shares her thoughts with her own thoughts, and wonder how sad 
just to survive because one has to, today her wish is to let go and
trigger her feelings to take an ugly turn by vanishing without even 
leaving a note why? She needed desperately to listen to the echos 
emerging from her heart telling her what to do, she will wait.

Because her wishes could not find someone to love and breath the 
same air at that advanced age, that was the reason why existing was 
not worth it anymore, she was ready to let go of her spirit and soul, 
suddenly her hearts echo grew louder forbidding her not to run 
towards her night table where she had all her medications, but reach 
out to God befriend Him and sleep with the thought of waking up for 
another tomorrow to remain alive and stay in love.

Tonight her echo was urging her to chatter with her thoughts 
and listen to her echo echoing that her lover of 43 years will 
come back, do not panic, he left to explore his own path and 
listen to his own echo while flying away for an intermission 
to feel what his heart wants him to do. 
You must desire the same energy that your hearts echoes fly 
together towards your doorsteps and place that outstanding 
red rose a sign of love for your tomorrows. 

Knowing your love is & was an everlasting love
time Is your witness, wait for him, he will be back.

Therese Bacha

Long Poems