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absence abuse
addiction adventure
africa age
allah allegory
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anger angst
animal anniversary
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class clothes
color community
computer conflict
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cousin cowboy
crazy creation
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day death
death of a friend december
dedication deep
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dog dream
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education emo
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freedom friend
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funny funny love
future games
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girlfriend giving
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good morning good night
goodbye gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
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grave green
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growth guitar
hair halloween
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happy birthday hate
health heart
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heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
hip hop history
hockey holiday
holocaust home
homework hope
horror horse
house how i feel
howl humor
humorous hurt
husband hyperbole
i love you i miss you
identity image
imagery imagination
immigration innocence
insect inspiration
inspirational international
internet introspection
ireland irony
islamic january
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light little sister
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lonely longing
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love hurts lust
lyric magic
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me memorial day
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mentor metaphor
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miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
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mother daughter mothers day
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music my child
my children mystery
myth mythology
name native american
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nice niece
night nonsense
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repetition retirement
rights river
romance romantic
rose rude
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satire scary
school science
science fiction sea
seasons self
senses sensual
september sexy
sick silence
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simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
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softball soldier
solitude sometimes
son song
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soulmate sound
space spanish
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storm strength
stress student
success suicide
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sweet symbolism
sympathy tamil
teacher technology
teen teenage
thank you thanks
thanksgiving tiger
time today
together travel
tree tribute
trust truth
uplifting urban
urdu usa
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vanity veterans day
violence visionary
vogon voice
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war water
weather wedding
wife wind
wine winter
wisdom woman
women word play
words work
world write
writing yellow

Long Loneliness Poems | Long Loneliness Poetry

Long Loneliness Poems. Below 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 Debbie Guzzi | Details |

Corpus delicti

Close your ears, close your eyes and pray to me for, as close as this, you may never get to God. What immortals have you hoped to see? What espirit de corp have you longed for? Who will guide your earthly plod? Kiss me for I have kissed the lips of Lestat, nipped and pricked, punctured and sucked to husks, occasionally with regret, but more often lust's ascot what once was I, reveling in your taste, your musk. As Louis, I beguile with tawdry tales surreal visages of plantation nights, horror of the color green, Letiche roaming creatures who our trails conceal, the true demons whose glamour goes unseen. Yes, I prayed for death, wrapped in the pain of lost kin but, by God I never wished, I never wished for Him. 2 But, by God, I never wished, I never wished for Him. Eternity alone is such a hollow thing, unripe, never, ever, feeling full, a marrow-less bone, scrim- shaw's sorry surface, a sperm-less whale to pipe. Such as this was He, when him came to me that mid- night, pleading, bleeding, ever feeding morbid life. A cameo on cowry shell, with skin which bid the touch of cheek on cheek to assuage my grief to fill the brother-less gap the lack of wife. This is how he lured me to the kill, the blood spilled how fire and innocence flamed when he arrived. Do not hate me for the fate his kiss instilled Surely, a family is the normal thing to long for alive or dead to long for an espirit de corp. 3 Alive or dead to long for an espirit de corp crestfallen at the lack of hearth and home, pride we hidden monsters kill what we adore, and more ... leaving us in marble crypts with no warmth inside. Then He saw her, the child beside the corpse of mother half dead, the pox upon her face, amidst the tears certainly to save her was His goal, what other? But now I think her savior - a most foul affair. Claudia, the child eternal, bidding, unformed blight, monster among monsters, her wee wicked formed unbudded curdled, curling ever inward, a trickster charming night stalker, dragging porcelain dollies by her side. Daughter mine? Temptress, maker-killer, unformed bride have you killed your father, dumped him in a swampy hide? 4 Have you killed your father, dumped Him in a swampy hide? Years you've planned and plotted, Lestat to defy and I absorbed in misspent fantasy with you; my fate allied. Damned one, poisoner, death angel, do you deny the desecration of the His unmoving vessel, fed to the fishes, the bottom feeders, oh but He made do ... absorbed recaste, laid in wait each hungry cell. We fled the patricide, you and I sought others of our kind. What gruesome, ill bred misfits the world held and so hardening the unbeating heart ... beloved to mankind we returned as if compelled. To the core of life and lore to Paree, to the bloody stage the Theatre des Vampires is home. Mockery's the rage. 5 The Theatre des Vampires is home. Mockery's the rage. Do you see them now? Four hundred years and Armand has not changed. See them lure the human meat upstage with laughter. Reality's the rage and oh the blood coined. "How gauche!" our petite Claudia sighs, the excess in gore and waste. But, the coven has my Armand's grace. For Claudia, Madeleine the doll maker dies, reborn to mother the horrific woman 'neath this childish face. A family formed again when Lestat steps in alive and the coven lets the sun take Claudia and Madeleine. I entombed, walled in, buried alive, if not for my Armand. Their ashes, oh my dears, in death entwined. I burned the lot of them within their caskets, burnt alive; the curtain fell yet there was still Armand and I. 6 The curtain fell yet there was still Armand and I. I could nor forget, would not forget, the fate of Claudia of which he was no small part, it was a small lust easily untied. Home was all I wanted, the damp, the swamp, the bougainvillea sickened of my Old World haunts, all I wanted was home. Never, never would I make another, a comfort I decline. Let the modern age wonder where it is I roam; penance unearned and ungiven in the shadows I hide. I can not live, I can not breathe, death's my only company my wife, my child, my brother, so many others. The living dead is what we're called, Vampire, do you pity me? Lestat "Do you see me? Your sight I dread!" West coast, golden gates Baghdad by the bay in the bars I linger where men are men, aren't they? 7 In the bars, I linger, where men are men, aren't they? I find you here, or you find me? I bare my soul to you of lessons learned, of men, of plays, ah cabarets. "What do you do, what do you say, you writer you ... two footed harridan of clay? You long for the eternal kiss as if the bliss of life was so very little to pay. Fool that you are ... not in life or death would you be grist a waste you are, a mortal led so far astray. No passion's left, no fond memories ... but her golden hair. Perhaps, I'll take a taste of you, foolish fop, and sigh; no immortal will I make. On the floor, I will leave you there refuse beside the pages, the sordid tales as my reply. As my lips close on your throat, heaven's absentee, close your ears, close your eyes and pray to me.

Long poem by Bob Quigley | Details |


He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel.  All so familiar, so ordinary.  Just like every other day he mused.  Nothing new.  Nothing special.

Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him.  But in reality, he was bored.  It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation.  Too many days.   Too much disappointment.  He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of  their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first.  It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.

Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade.  In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with.  You know the type.  Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog.  Kids poking their fingers  through the kennel screen or banging on it.  Some even making barking sounds.  He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.

Walter was very picky.  Set in his ways after so many years.  He had had it good for  a long time.  An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself.  No tricks. No stunts.  Just long naps and daily walks.  A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner.  He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom.  Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together.  And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.

But those days were gone now.  First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back.  The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly.  The walks became less frequent.  Walter did what he could.   He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their loss. He would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too.  At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.

He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye.  I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.”  Walter could see the tears in his eyes.  He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist.  It was obvious there were no alternatives.  And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner.  But he was going to miss him.  It was not going to be easy to adjust.

But adjust he did.   He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs  trot past his cage with light hearts and  new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations.  But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound.  Everyone wanted the young ones.  So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.

He heard them before the saw them.  ”Honey” the voice said.  ”That looks like Walter, old Mr. Whitney’s dog.”  Walters ears perked up a little.  ”Do I know them” he thought.  ”They seem to know me”.  I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.

“It is him” the man said.  ”Walter, how you doing boy?  Do you remember me?”

And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him.  He used to live right across the street.  He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket.  With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing.  It was good to see an old friend.

“What do you say hon” the man said.  ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”

Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement.  ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”

The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter?  Would you like to go home with us?”

Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more.  A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew.  What was there not to like.

Soon the woman returned and the gate opened.  A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention.  Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off.  ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought.  ”Good luck and goodbye”.

As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter.  There is someone I am going to take you to see.  I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”

Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about.  And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.

Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

SO Far Away

I Stumble Upon My
Words – I’m
We were so far away
from each
other…I-I-I’m one
I thought our love
was as worthless as
the debris…
You smoked me out
like a cigarette…and
y-you left me on the
filthy, messed-up
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains, placed in

I’ll find a way to
get you back for
another few years
But, I’d be
lying…don’t bottle
up the tears…
Talk with me, for we
are by each other’s
side…the words
escape my chapped
We were so far
apart; now, we’re
both trying to get
our grips…
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains, not even
close to vitality 

We were so far away
from each
other…I-I-I’m one
I thought our love
was as worthless as
the debris…
You smoked me out
like a cigarette…and
y-you left me on the
filthy, messed-up
Do you realize how
much pain you’ve
caused me?
We all wanted love,
but for the wrong
Our relationship
changed like seasons
to seasons
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains that puts our
crazed hearts on a in

We exchange
passionate, graceful
looks...I don’t know
what I’m fighting
Lonely & insecure
like the wolf, jaded
by his pack
Blindly walking the
road of recovery…I
need something to
live for…and more…
We all want you back
– we were all in
agreement, seeking
freedom eagerly
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains, beildered to
shall e flee? 

We were so far away
from each
other…I-I-I’m one
I thought our love
was as worthless as
the debris…
You smoked me out
like a cigarette…and
y-you left me on the
filthy, messed-up
Do you realize how
much pain you’ve
caused me?
We all wanted love,
but for the wrong
Our relationship
changed like seasons
to seasons
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains - I'm rotting
like a starved tree 

I’ll find a way to
get you back for
another few
years…I’d do
anything to have you
cuddle with me in
the blankets of
benevolent adoration
But, I’d be lying to
myself…don’t bottle
up the tears…don’t
cower away, getting
picked on by
countless fears and
nightmares…I’ll try
not to collapse into
the ditch of
Blindly walking the
road of recovery…I
need something to
live for…and more…
We all want you back
– we were all in
agreement…we yearned
for liberty…but
change is a
challenging chore!
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains...or e'll be
spellbound for

We were so far away
from each
other…I-I-I’m one
I thought our love
was as worthless as
the debris…
You smoked me out
like a cigarette…and
y-you left me on the
filthy, messed-up
Do you realize how
much pain you’ve
caused me?
We all wanted love,
but for the wrong
Our relationship
changed like seasons
to seasons
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains - don't
mention our
unfortunate reality
that bos don to
tragedy like slaves
to their
master...hat a
Whisper in my ears,
for I trust every
word that you utter
as long as you
remain faithful to
me and be loyal and
honest, friend…the
words escape my
chapped lips
We were so far apart
long ago; now, we’re
both trying to get
our grips…
We exchange
heartfelt, friendly
bear, I
know what I’m
stronger than I
I was once lonely &
insecure like a
weeping wolf, jaded
by his pack suddenly
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains...I feel
guilty for loving
you ith plastic love
rapped around my
heart...ith ruby
delight and golden
revenge ith a
sprinkle of sugar
and, I'm
figuring out ho to
get out of my on
maze, so graze in
your on maze, my
fallen angel of
Lamentation & the
aftershocks of's not that

Our pride and
confidence will
passed away at some
Do you realize how
much pain you’ve
caused me?
We all wanted love,
but for the wrong
I’m trying to get
over you…I must
forgive you
B-but, our
relationship changed
like seasons to
I Can’t Fathom The
Thought of you in
You promised
perpetual “freedom”
that ould bring us
the Promise Land
I'm laying don in
ashes of
feeling of remorse
is not that
grand...don't you
understand my side
of the story? Do you
kno here I stand? I

Long poem by Carol Eastman | Details |

That Spark of Hope

A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came 
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way… 
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.

The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways… 
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…

Long poem by Darian Rehder | Details |

Love, Death, and Rebirth

The signs started in December
When she started waking up in tears each night
She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes
She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing
Her father. 

Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds
Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes
Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on
But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain
She wouldn't let them.

She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart
In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left
Because what else was there to live for now?
The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left 
She wouldn't let them drown in pain too. 

She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms
Their hearts started to lighten up once more
But hers was just as dark as it was before 
And growing darker day by day 
But she wouldn't let that stop her. 

Suddenly a year had passed... and then two 
It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on
Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care
But she needed someone to hold on to

With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries 
It found a way into her soul
Until all she could see was dark and no light 
But her mother and sister were healed now
They didn't understand

The tears came back and engulfed her soul
Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive
The grief took over like knives 
Piercing her skin over and over and over
It hurt so much.

She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead
She could see him again if she was
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain?
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again?
It would.

So she started to hate herself
All that negative energy was starting to take toll
Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second
She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain
If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself

She couldn't see any light anymore
So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die
Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it 
And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper
She was done living.

That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed
They started to see how deeply depressed she had become
They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late 
So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better
It was a start.

She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly
Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again
Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore
They cared,  and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand
They really were trying

Six months longer she would be treated and cared for
Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face
She had a new perspective
Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember
She had been reborn

Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it
To come back shining brighter than before
And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it
Or known that it would get better
and it did!

And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart
It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be
But at least she knows she's lived through the worst
And it can only get better from here

So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again
She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem
And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression
And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives
Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?

Long poem by bahram sediqi | Details |

tell my blond dream

i dont know who is she i dont know where is she from i dont know what is she doing i dont know where is she leaving but if you saw her please tell her:
youre hair remind me of sunshine*you are perfect but its just fine                                      you are the shimmer of coldest night*date palms feel jealous of your height
the ocean of your eyes is so deep*the color of red roses is a lone from your lips
if being with you is not fair*hang me with a peace of your hair                                             hoping to reach you make me smile*the best wishes for you and your regrets are mine
hoping to reach you make me over come my fears* tell her that her holy voice is like music to my ears
just imagining that you are here*makes my eyes the river of tears                                  tell her that her love is like flood*without her love i prefer to get sink in my blood
tell her that her love had filled my vessels*without her i prefer to cut this vessels                          tell her that i dream about her every night*tell her that her love makes me fly on night
the heat of her breath is burning my soul*her love wont let me sleep like a night owl                 
what if getting sink the ocean of her eyes is crime?i will burn in fire till the end of time                if reaching her is so cruel*i will dream about her like a fool
her eyes are like ocean not like a pool*i will try to reach her till my lifes glass become full           if one day i reach her oasis*i will over come my crisis
this world has always made me screw*theres lots of problems i cant pass through                i dont want to know that is my dream is false or true*just tell me will my tall blond dream come true
the reason i dont speak is not shiness*if i approach her i will break my silence           if she reach my heart walls*the walls of my castle falls
tell her that her love had destroyed my resistance* tell her that without her i dont want this existance           
how can i make my self satisfied with some drink*when her love made my heart to shrink             without her i cant sing i cant dance i cant think*if you know her please tell me some thing
shes the only flower of the spring*tell her that my tears are like a spring                   im asking her from fortune to bring*these rose gardens are her foot print
i can hear her name from canary that sings*im asking fortune to bring her to my ring                my only dream has blue eyes*with my dream even hell is nice
oceans feel jealous of her eyes*if sun see her hair it wont rise               words are not enough to explain her so they lies*shes price less but treasures have price
shes greater than black holes and hawkings explanation*she had destroyed the borders of my imagination
tell her that my heart is empty of temptation*its filled with best dreams and sensation             
 you are not lovely you are the meaning of love the perfection*if this whole world is ugly you are the only exception
you are the perfectness you are the heat of the fire*the ocean of your eyes had filled my heart with desire
my heart is burnt with your fire*so the ocean of your eyes should be admired           if i said your the highest it can be im a lier*cause you are a million time higher
tell her that me and the night are both lonely*cause shes the best shes the one shes the only    tell her that the beauty of her eye brow*is a million time more than rainbow  
the wind in her hair has perfect smell*the smell that is alot more than i can tell

Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

My Broken Heart

             ~Conversation With My Broken Heart~

Since I woke up today my heart has been complaining why 
lately I am tormenting it, why cant I leave it alone, why am 
I pushing it to the limit of being constantly in pain, why don't 
I have a nice conversation to reach a solution for the 
coming future and try to treat our days respectfully.

I have been adding a lot of pressure on it out of this dark 
room, its agonizing, it cant take it anymore, I felt it whispering 
to me please just be more tolerant & pray as this era is a 
lasting one.
Forgetting your passion to survive will wear me off and 
destroy us due to your broken heart.

Life gets harder by the day, I know your crying as your 
partner left you after all those treasured years, be ready
to fight the hatred that devastated your soul and integrated 
revenge against him, instead of trying to find tranquility.

Together we will beg your thoughts to accept the 
unacceptable and do your best to never get 

Aging is a process we cannot stop it from happening, 
knowing that you have to be reasonable to ease our
everyday, how can we find some peace during this 
episode of instability, you have to regroup to remove 
that heavy burden you are adding daily on me, you are
destroying my strength, you are torturing me, you are 
chocking me, I cant breath anymore, have mercy on me, 
you have few years to live, together we will find some 
peace to ease our pain.
Talk to me, I am here to help you, survive with some 
common sense remember tomorrow`s life is too late; 
live today, we can live remembering some of your past 
happy moments, and you should hold up to your 
children that warming mother, do not trespass on your 
solitude, choose your priorities, let it be them.

Open your door and take me with you, but first remember 
you were a pretty woman, you went to the hairdresser,you 
put make up, you get dressed, you phone them up your 
friends and arrange an outing, they also rely on you, help 
them survive, realizing you have a lot of friends who miss 
you and depend on you, they became unsteady because 
of your refusal to see them to go anywhere with them.

You were a strong person, now you weakened me, you were 
a good fighter, now you are taking all the blows and not fighting, 
I am tired I need to rest, to laugh, to drink a glass of wine, 
I need to feel and look alive, suffocating me will reach your 
children and they will become helpless because they love you 
so much and they do not want you to remain in that stage of 
helplessness, a no return to survival.

You know the more you add tension on me, the more by the 
minute I wont be able to support you we will perish, 
is this what you want? what about your children who adore you? 
They have blurry eyes lately as you intentionally stopped sharing 
your unsteadiness of your broken heart since your man of 43 years 
took the door a month ago, you pushed him away as he does not 
deserve your love, he betrayed you with another woman, and you 
are sure of that. 
Please retaliate against the man who left you with a broken heart
by wanting to love life, it is still beautiful without him. 
                                      Therese Bacha

Long poem by T Wignesan | Details | . You can read it on' st_url=',_translation_of_pierre_emmanuels_achab_by_t_wignesan_611018' st_title='Achab, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel's Achab by T Wignesan'>

Achab, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel's Achab by T Wignesan

Achab*, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Achab by T. Wignesan

One man alone stands erect before the king, and speaks
A man

The king is not accustomed to being confronted face to 
He reigns over heads bent.
He prohibits their looking at him
The eyes of men.
He has nothing but idols
In front of him.*
His looks and those of the others
Stare into the void
The majesty.

The king is not accustomed to being addressed.
Words only serve as air to fan him.
The empty mask does not listen
In the same way as his eyes stare into the void.
This muteness represents the idol
That each supplicates.
He pretends not to exist
Faced by the void
His majesty.

The king is not accustomed to being human.
Being appears to him a promiscuous entity.
This livestock’s the leather
Produced by thunders.
He remains the imperturbed idol
A nimbus of lightnings.
His glory resides in his power to kill :
Void the earth,
His majesty.

The king is not accustomed to being drawn into discussion
Think what one may, his power enables him to shed blood.
Whether one dies or survives
He should defer to the monarch
And make believe the king’s the idol
Whether dew drops or rain pours.
Everything should find its place
In his vacant looks
In majesty.

One man alone stands erect before the king
And speaks.

Between the king and him there’s no level ground. Neither
For the moment, between this man and the mass. Such a 
Is not to be led some day by the flock.
The king limits the grazing grounds of the masses
Whose far to high foreheads he’ll mark and relegate them 
          to the slaughter-house
It’s our species which is uneasy at being erect
Our fear of being able to think for ourselves being 
sanctioned by law
Commonplace couch grass being nibbled at on this flat 
That’s in no way the man. Who is the man ? Question
Void like the Void up above which answers him.
The irruption of evidence in a man
Who’s absolutely certain that he can do anything he says 
he can
Absolutely certain of the Speech in him.

A man alone, who deliberately blows through
This painted idol in the void. This blasphemy
Which imitates here below the empty Glory in the 
heavenly sphères.
One act of courage detaches itself from the crowd
And speaks for the army of ages and says : I
As if all the kings were so many skulls
Weightless sleigh bells in the glorious void
Only one says I because he’s certain of existing
Having dedicated his life to serving the only Living Being.
He’s the man : his entire being is made up of the word
Received, given. He knows what power resides in him
The Void has emptied him of everything but his Reign
And his own name serves as a gage.

« As true as the Living Being is the Living Being
And I in his service
There’ll not be during these years
Neither dew drops nor downpours
Only my word »
Says Elie.

*Achab, son of Amri and King of Israel (either 918-897
BCE or 875-854 BCE). Married Jezebel. Allied with
Josaphat, King of Juda, against Syria. Killed by arrow
during war to conquer Ramoth Galaad.
* Queen Jezebel, Princess of Sidonia, led Achab into
idolatry, according to Catholic Encyclopaedia

(Tu, O.C. t. II, p. 592)

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014

Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

All Alone, All Along

I was on a swing
Bring us peace in mind
In the end, I had to get off of it
I was dancing for hours
I found my place above the city
My eyes begin to water…
Life’s a bother – 
A real, big bother

Brother…oh brother…
Stabilize me please
Tranquilize the compassionless skies,
As bitter as telling lies
Energize me with your breeze
For the sake of my safety
Brother…oh brother…
Put my mind at ease…
Make me as tall as the majestic trees
For I am brought low…and left to be
(All alone…all along)x3

I was listening to my sister’s piano playing
Bring me peace in mind…before I grow blind
In the end, I follow you like that picture of geese on the wall
I fell on the floor…the light cowers
Away from the nighttime…I found that
I belong in the mountains – as the night pushes away the day,
Life’s a sad song, a real sad tune of a song

Mother…oh mother…
Reflect on me please
Embrace the mournful skies,
Purifying the poverty, driving away all doubts and whys 
Will you pray on your knees?
For the sake of our safety
Father…oh father…
Give her time and nurture her…
I feel her…I know she’s unsure
Cheer her up like the dazzling stars
For I’m friends with Gravity …heal her scars
Look after her and forget about me, for I am
(All alone…all along)x3

Alone, I roam
I’m seeking shelter…
A placid place called Home
I can’t hold on any longer
Might as well let go for the time being
So, I decide to…let go…
Dread spanks me to death

Alone, I groan
My mind has been blown
As if a bomb was planted in my brain
Am I turning insane by this unbearable pain?

I’m just waiting for the sun to bloom in the sky
Sometimes, I ask God why…
Why has tragedy ensnared me?
Why am I in this chamber of insanity?
I let my doleful spirits go…the wind will blow it away…
I lay my weary head down to bed…
The sun will rise in no time…wait your turn
I yearn for this burn 
Of rejection and loneliness to unleash me
Voices haunt me…
Voices taunt me…
There’s no room for rejoicing
I object! I refuse to be trapped in desolation
I’ll say this without hesitation
You will witness my frustration… 

Reach out to me
Flee from me…misery
Something’s missing…in my life
Something’s wrong…I can sense it in your eyes
I can read your mind…
Don’t let the clouds smother me…
Tears cloud my eyes and I can’t help but cower away

Are you praying for a merciful day?
Are you grazing in fields of flowers?
How long will this last? For hours?

I’m listening to these lies
I’m starting to believe it
Don’t wave your heartless goodbyes
This journey is more like a Poverty Pit

Search for Him like hidden treasure
For the sake of our heart’s desire
Has sin and spitefulness devoured us like hell’s fire?
Bring us to the gates of sacred bliss
For we are distraught…and we’re left here
All alone…all along…

We will earn our freedom
Why are we overflowing with alarm and grief?	
We will enter the Kingdom
God has promised it will bring us true relief
So, have faith in Him and we’ll be
Together as one…right from the start…

Long poem by Odin Roark | Details |

Faux Companion

Faux Companion
                    by Odin Roark

Tossing and turning. Turning and tossing.

A friend once told me how willing imagination appears
when aloneness asks for companionship.  Been workin’ for me.

Hi there, again. Can’t sleep.  And they say being manqué isn’t special.  Oh, that.  Heavy word, eh?
Yeah, well, words have been known to keep a frustrated poet company, you know?
The weightier, the better.

So, here I am, staring at the ceiling, hoping my other manqué friends will pay me a visit.

Sure I have friends.
There’s the worm out back.  I’ve learned to think there’s just one, you know.
Keeps the sadness of their martyrdom in check.  Of course my brain’s weird.  Why you think I’m talkin’ to you?
Oh, c’mon.  How do you know?  Worms all look alike, don’t they?  You’re Imagination.  Just be nice.  You know how this alone thing works.

Have I told you about the pigeon?  Loves to just bob and spin on my air conditioner.  You’d think he’d
go somewhere else for vittles, but no… he just does his prancin’ over and over, usually just at dawn.
Window’s caulked shut, so can’t throw him crumbs.
Crazy fucker, he is.  But, yeah.  He’s a bud.

Looney Tunes!  Me?  You of all people know better.  Just a case of defending quiescence,
when there’s no one else around.

Made you grin, did I?
Knew that quiescence word would open you up.

Hey, ever wonder how all ants survive being lost?
They don’t get lost.  I mean, ever notice?  They might look like they’re stumbling around like drunkards,
but they got somethin’ going for themselves.  Maybe they let words keep’em on track, like me.  Could be, you know.  We know zip about their language, ‘cept that vibratory stuff.


Well, I’ll be… There he is.  That roach comes out every night.  Hangs from the ceiling like a frickin’ short order cook in an empty hash house café.  And yours truly knows it well.  God, those were miserable days.  Standin’ around.  Just waitin’ and waitin’, minimum wage, now less. 

So, look.  I’m headin’ down to the basement.  Check on that mouse.  Yeah, just one, I think.  Been drivin’ me crazy for years.  Likes to just hang around, climb around and then end up in the wall behind my pillow.  One noisy varmint, you know?  Been tryin’ to figure out what the hell he does right behind my pillow, every night.

A girlfriend?  Him.  Naw.  Never seen but one mouse.

Yeah…you got a point.  Suppose they all look alike too.

Move the bed?  Why?  It’s company, fool.

So, like I said, goin’ down and check things out; see if he was stupid enough to get into the pesticides I keep down there.  Did I tell ya, the worm loves that shit.

So, look, you hear him scratchin’ behind my bed, give a holler, or how ever way you make yourself known, you know?  This mute business gotta stop one day.  Three years imaginin’ two sided conversations is gettin’ kinda old.

No offense.  Okay?


Long Poems