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Long Sympathy Poems

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

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Long Poems
Long poem by HINA NASIR | Details |

MOON n me

As darkness absorbed in my reveries, my usual lapse accommodated itself in height of melancholy but not in this conscience. Then I found myself in my room and my window opened. Everything in upheaval, a white structure, huge, marvelously at apex of my window. I in white robe swayed to it, it was moon at my window side. 
It said: my and your air is full of cry and clamor, I have advanced in blackest abysses but I found your inflictions darker then so, why? I sharply spitted all skulked pains, hypnotically. I being the slave of my doctrines, told every stealthily guarded impulse, not fearing of any undignified disclosure anymore. I stretched my dreary monotony and passionately exaggerated some sentimental wailings of past.  It reposed in meticulous care and said: only contentment and engaged happiness would have been an impracticable theory in this world, every being is balanced, by faults and sanity of soul, there are boundaries defined for every sense, every pleasure and grief, why do you preoccupy yourself in such petty calculations of your life?
 I said: moon, you are just like me.
It asked how, I said, we both take our real selves in the darkness.
Agreed moon said: But we both shine.
I said: yes, you the white light and then my words strangled.
Moon seized the auspicious moment and corresponded: and you in your eyes shedding, 
Agreed me said, there is one more thing, we both embody our abandonments, you got pierced holes in your body, while my dejection gave me an amper self. But my friend, I said to my new attested loyalty; every night you are there, out, visible, ready to receive anticipated attentions, I don’t. I just cannot make it.
Moon said in angular features; don’t appeal your agony by this agile mind.
My voice thwarted, no! It’s a righteous opinion of myself. I confine myself from the very dearest minds, as an adulated stranger, unoriginal, my friend, I execute my every desire by myself, you don’t. My acquired timidity fails me to claim my accessible pleasures. 
While it accused a glance at me I said further, Moon! You do run and disappear and I don’t, I shove my existence in this perilous structure. If you’d be me and I be you, then before this presumed suicide , if you and I beeline, I in space from up there , you in my body , we both shall share some suavity of our jeopardies then. 
It smiled, swiftly swelled: look, every night a star dies nears by me, every night a being twinkles at my foot , I appreciate the beauty and spin, then it dies , I grieve and hollows appears in me by these buried brutalities of my life. These are the significant truths of our lives my friend. Our lives suffer friction but don’t forget that they are prevailed by wiser counsels, and one day I and you, every being would diffuse in nothing but dust. Then there your soul would be your originality, thought it must be unexceptional but welcomed , if you passed every fraction of your life weighing your life in demerits and merits. If the indecent world violates your decency then don’t forget, your fiends would not dissolve you, but the prejudices that you hold against yourself would destroy you. There is one life, to show to act. This is the texture of man’s soul and life. Don’t try to be the victim but the ultimate verdict of tranquility, like a saint, grow on the thorn, be a flower, this is where peace and happiness would spring.
My voice stuttered, swayed my head down, as in a way accepting the just summarized by its loyal visit. A heavy and sullen silence resided, it was sufficient to soliloquy. We both felt cold and found our answers, that there are going to be no answers for our intellectual mazes, in this life, in this existence they are beheld by Him, our accumulated burdens are only to be lifted by valor, from Him. I wanted to raise my face and look at my alien splendor when just then a ray illuminated us, moon had gone and I dropped on the ground after this anomalous experience. Thrust back in the darkness of my room, closed in satiation. Like from every dream I returned in an awkward dilemma. My audible intimations with moon produced an attested loyalty in my heart. As I woke, I descended to my window, same barren view, but my heart had an appreciable relief, my sight blind to beauty was now seeing, dear ones around me, though it was late to claim the ones lost but I was wise now, enough to survive with some left love in my heart. The assembled arguments with moon had arrested my malign thoughts and my head along with the path was light now.

Copyright © HINA NASIR | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details |

Light on the Devil's Chord - Day 3

They say the one you think of last before sleep,
Is the one you care for the most— the one you wish to hold, admire, love…

The two of us…beings of bravery,
Had labored all the night, 
In harmonies livid, longing and bright…
In music so construed in golden blues…
A masterful melancholy in strange, light-stricken hues
He boldly slept, in heavy breath
As I dozed into the deafness of the demons’ wrath

I awoke, unaware of the time at hand, 
As he lay there close beside me, cradled in a beat…
I sensed morning’s marvel, thought the darkness crept
Leaving me in a sinking feeling as our Prince vainly slept

And there, with the drumming of his pulse, 
I began my morning song of Time,

“Oh, how alive she dares to smile,
In the crisp cradles of first thought
Time, with surging love for the dancing dial,
Melts our sleeper from the wars he fought

I tame her humbly in darkness doomed,
For I know the Lord shuns worry of loss
Unlimited life, craftily bloomed,
I dare paths to narrow, and I dare him to cross

Oh, how in sleep he refuses these dreams,
Of Time’s immense mercy and strength
How his eyes rest, in nightmarish filth it seems,
Tossing in pride, and I in faith

He lifts Time’s feathered mess
In an embrace he calls his own consolation
In his deranged, dreadful wilderness,
She waits in ardent resurrection…”

He began to groan in his sleep, 
Tossing and turning… 
His lids lifted, though his eyes were trapped
In a dream so unnerving and unwavering 
I could do nothing but sing again…

“Wake up in the comfort of company
As she gathers the feathers you lift,
I will see too that she is smiling
In the morning mist of bliss
Let the veils of night terror arise
So I may see the life in your eyes 
As the lizard on the rock bathes in warmth,
I suffer with you, saturating cold
Time offers space between, 
As the trees in winter soon return to green…”

He was awake, though grimacing 
Angered by my gentle push
Pissed that I sat there before him
No longer trapped in his soot…

“Time, time, time… 
You’ve bored me in your rhyme, rhyme, rhyme-
Witness wretched reality, sweetheart divine-
Then we can talk about the slut you call Time!

Bitching and raving how she has bludgeoned all these men, 
With the sweep of her arms, she crushes all condemned
She mocks me now, after screwing me naughty
Her feathers scattered across my body
I curse every morning I see her face
I love how she beats me, and then demands embrace
I hate her, woman, as I hate you
I lift her to throw her down,
As the cockcrows coo…

I am in Time, over Time, beyond Time
Cross in her spirit—frail in her rhyme
If your Lord has taken anxiety from your heart,
Have him take your innocence—now that is her art!”

He laughed, cackling loudly,
And the demons chiseled,
The soot on the ground grew hot and sizzled

My lips moistened with tears…
“I thought about how strangely you slept,
Even in your bitterness for dwindling Time…
In our last notes before drifting, 
I thought of you,
And all the days we have left
I want you to know my light is kind,
And we can all learn in the rhythm of Time
She is very sensitive, 
She weeps at every loss, 
Though secretly, though in day she boldly stands
At night she lets down her hair and grieves demands
For not everyone can she save,
Truth it be, she has saved no one
But has inspired men to the end…
No one knows Time better than God
And yes, you too must know her well, 
She labors as we sleep
Though she would be hesitant to tell…
She destroys…though inward she heals
She sees potential, though leaves the action
To the one who truly feels…”

“Stop singing in riddles and nonsense…” He sputtered
“If sleep is so important to you, 
Why do you force me awake?”

He sat up, quaking, his anger loud
I shuttered in his presence, looking down

“Just… sing with me…..”

And we sang…

“She is cruel, 
She is patient,
Living in darkness and in light, 
I rest her in my trust,
And I in my ceaseless bite
I lull her,
I seduce her,
She calls me, 
I answer:
Time, do not forsake me now…
Let our thoughts nestle in each other’s company
With the clocks that capture us…”

At the tipping of Death’s dark chimes,
The Devil’s mouth salivated in restful rage

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

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
Anyone...

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 ?

Copyright © Darian Rehder | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Scribbler Of Verses | Details |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details |

When a Woman is Just a Woman

Mother’s dirty offender seeded life that demanded nurture, demanded attention….
Demanded unforeseen fate
Twins, thrust upon her…. strained to love, and yet…. 
This happening urged her to live

Her head lifted, agitated,
Soaked from head to toe in the sweat of her labors…
The sight of blood reached her tear-blurred eyes heightening the pain 
As she cried…

“May I toil till love reaches the mouth of hurt he inflicted!!!” 

And, as her thrashing heart ceased beating,
The dear children, were born, one screaming, one gazing…
The other’s neck protruding from a little chest…
Big eyes observing, squinting, shuddering….
Mouth sputtering… and breath ceasing….

This little girl was born, a woman Mother once was—
Her death a source and justification to hate all men 
A dreamy-eyed artist with yearnings driving her under,
Lips pure as newfound blossom, kissed once, though never plucked
Reaching for skies that welcomed her wishes, 
Her seldom smiles brought tears to the sun
Her hair in curls of silk did bounce upon her back,
As every roving eye could not hold back, 
The moist little build-up of awe…
Mouth ajar, for there lived upon this growing girl, surely…. no flaw

Save to her, tormenting imperfection…. 
For there… heavier and heavier everyday….the secret upon her chest—
Her poor dead brother,
Loved religiously by her martyr mother
Whom she hid under layers of clothes with much shame, 
Never to reveal to the men who yearned to see her

Brother was always there, staring into the void,
A tumor child, shriveled, though gazing
A wretched burden to the girl now woman,
Her heart pounding with unanswered questions…

“Father...” She whispered, alone.
“Salt upon the wound, worthless is one consumed,
By death dangling upon my very chest…
I cannot live life like the rest, 
The pretty girls of age, with plump and polished breast,
With skin revealed so freely,
Smiles countless, and genuinely……….

See, when a woman is just a woman,
Her opportunities are as easy as her grin,
And her future is clear as her flawless skin…

She bears no little boy attached to her heated body, 
She enjoys little frivolous walks in arms she trusts…
Chance seemingly on their side…
Chance with me, dying, where Brother has died…
My heart could not bear to remove Brother, 
Though even death I do not fear….
Father, I ask…now why, 
Why am I here…? 
And why are they gone? 
All of them….Mother….Brother…..and…. him….”

Standing up, her face hardened
She put on her clothes and makeup, as was her routine,
And with a multicolored scarf she wrapped around her neck and chest
Covering the outline of her ever-gazing Brother
She could not think away from the scarf…
From what was gazing under…
And upon meeting another,
Anxiety raided her every being…
So afraid….and so unsure….


We are born, 
Either man, or woman…
Acceptance of one another’s differences and flaws
Reduces fear of self, replenishes the soul
And love, above all,
Must meander through complications, defects, and serendipity
With a grace only leading one to fulfillment and happiness

  
-Inspired by Justin Bordner’s ‘When a Woman is Just a Woman’ contest

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Cmack Estevez | Details |

Who is Christopher Carson Burton

Who is Christopher Carson Burton? 
Who am I? 
Do I know? 
Do anybody know who I am? 
I'm just a regular guy a nobody.
A regular  guy   who grew   from   poverty. 
Someone      who was abandoned.
Someone who thought wouldn't make it.
I never ask to live in the suburb of Round Rock with my mom trying to have a better life.
I didn't I shouldn't even be here.
I shouldn't be alive.
I should be in Houston in Trinity Gardens dead or in the penitentiary.
I should be having a dream of fame like that's going to freaking happen.
See my life I can't have a happy life.
I can't  have a happy ending.
Just tragic endings.
I let go of my girlfriends.
I regret it a little.
They don't care
And sometimes I don't care 
People pretend to care about me.
People pretend to help me.
People are not helping me.
I'm on my own.
All they see is a scared non educated ghetto brown person.
It's my fault that Uncle Clarence died
It's my fault that I wasn't there for him to save him.
Life is not fair and nice.
Life is so damn treacherous.
It breaks my heart that I came from nothing that I kind of knew that I wasn't going to amount to nothing.
People used to say that I was worthless.
I was weak.
I was a retard in Special Education.
I wasn't good enough.
Even the teacher's in Houston said it and laughed it in my face.
They were wrong.
I graduated.
I stayed at my first job when I was 16 for 2 years.
I got a new job at Sam's Club.
I am on top of the world.
But nobody don't give a damn on how I'm holding it down so screw them.
People used to be so envious of me, because in the ghetto I had a Uncle that was my father to me and he use to give me a lot and they were envious of my creativity. I don't deserve to be alive, I don't deserve to be born out the bloody non virgin womb. I don't deserve an Uncle Clarence. I don't deserve Sam's .
 I don't deserve a happy ending. Sometimes in my mind I feel that I rather be dead or in prison than having a flawless opportunity life. People wish in their soft feelings that they can be bless like me able to have my talent of creativity be able to have my style my flawless ability to read and spell. Certain people in the hood especially the kids and teenagers can't live up to my expectations my learning experience why I say that? ,  because nobody never taught them how to learn to things so instead they abandoned them knowing they would have potential if they teach them. But no you cost it you ruined your kids life in these burden streets but it ain' t about people in the hood flaws. It's about how I feel remorse and down about waking up every morning and sleeping every night wondering why in the hell I'm still here living and having a better life. My Uncle Clarence made a way he made a way for me to have this better life without him I struggle in the hood. 
But who am I? 
I'm just a regular guy a nobody
A regular guy who  grew from poverty.
Someone who was   abandoned.
Someone who was  abused.
Someone who thought wouldn't make it. 
And someone who should be let  go.

Copyright © Cmack Estevez | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Andrew Crisci | Details |

Undeserved Generosity

In his wealthy days, he looked down
on homeless people and disgusted by their
stench, he cried out, " Take a warm bath! " 
He kept on walking fixing his black hat
tossed upward by a capricious, wild wind.

He dressed well and passerby admired him,
he turned many ladies heads with his stylish
Armani dark suit and Gucci dark sunglasses.
but older guys stared at him with much envy:
he was in his early sixties, but looked younger. 

A hungry man sensing his greed shouted,
" Sir, do you have a dollar to buy me coffee? "
" Filthy bum, you are too lazy to get a job! "
He replied with much indignation in his voice.
" I was like you wearing the best suits money
could buy, then I lost my job on Wall Street! 
I am forced to beg...where is human kindness? "
He spoke those words with great bitterness. 

He wasn't moved by what he had heard
and muttered, " They are all the same,
freeloaders fooling idiots who give them
dollars and they in turn buy cigarettes
and alcohol; who is the clever one?

Months passed and the homeless guy
still begged, some gave him quarters
and dollars, others kept on walking;
he didn't see that stylish gentleman
who despised his condition and insulted
him with nasty looks and unkind words,  
where had he gone? He had to ask somebody.
" I think I saw him today on Lexington Avenue."
A passerby shouted running to the subway.

The teen told him he lost all he had 
when the Stock Market dropped to its 
lowest in August, another Black Tuesday,*
then he pointed where he was laying,
" He's on next block in a cardboard box! "
The homeless man deeply wondered.

He got up, went to take a shower
and put on a suit somebody gave
to him along with black shades;
He looked very rich, everyone was
impressed by his attire, and best
of all, he smelled good: he was alive.

" Good morning, Sir, can I offer you 
anything, coffee and a hot hero *? " 
He asked him by hiding his identity.
" Yes, please...I haven't eaten in days! "
Nobody is showing mercy, they look
away if I were a sewer rat looking for
food on this sidewalk of cuisine smell."

" Wait, I will right back with your food! 
He ran across the busy avenue and
returned with a bag full of sweet cakes
and a pastrami hero; the coffee steamed 
in the chilly afternoon, it seemed a
Manhattan' street giving off puffs of stream
from under the sewers during Fall and winter.

" Thank you for your kindness, kind man! "
The once-rich-man said to the stranger,
he seemed sorry as if his greedy heart had
had found underserved generosity which 
he himself had denied...remembering how
desperate that man was when he asked
for money to get coffee and stay warm.

 
* A Hero is a New York or New Jersey
Hero Sandwich
* Black Tuesday happened on October 29, 1929
  
 

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

Glisten in the Moonlight

Your glorious emerald eyes 
Glisten in the moonlight 
Glisten in the moonlight 
Delight dances in the water
I watch it joyfully
You are set free from the cage...
You're like a dove soaring in the sky
You are the rain...
drizzling down in ecstasy 
A hint of ecstasy is shown in your reflection...
When you caress me... I'm relieved... 
From the stress that forced me in chains
I knew we'd be on the brighter side of tomorrow 
We're glistening in the moonlight 
I knew we'd become candles in the heavens above us
We're glistening in the moonlight
For a moment, I felt your presence...your radiant with sympathy 
I saw at first glance the dark side of you
Tonight, we'll be together and fly through the horizon 
We'll watch the sunset say its last goodbye...
We'll wave a greeting at the moon! 
We glisten in the moonlight...
What if I was as handsome as the lion...
Roaring with pride and pure courage
What if we were glistening in the moonlight?
Would it bring health to our bones tonight?
Would it make our heart rejoice and overflow with delight?
Would we be able to survive this horrifying plight?
Would we be shimmering like a candlelight?
We're glistening in the moonlight... (6)
Ohh...yeah...ooh yeah...ooh yeahh...
We reach to the stars and hope we can trace a shooting star
I feel the coolness run down my fingers...
We're glistening in the moonlight
You're the dandelions in the fields
You're the gorgeous view that I marvel at everyday
When you kiss me, I live my dreams
We glisten in the moonlight
In a quick moment, I sense a feeling of endless renewal 
I roam inside of your illuminating maze 
Glow on... sunshine... 
Glow on...sunshine...
Glisten in the moonlight...
Listen to the truth and rub it in
You are ravishing like the sunset
But you're ascending while I'm descending
I feel extremely guilty
I wish I could glisten with you in the moonlight
You're glistening in the moonlight (6) 
Ohhh yeahh... oohhh yeahh... ohh yeahh
You're glistening in the moonlight (4)
We go our own way
I wish we can glisten like the moon
Glisten like the sun 
There's a dream concealed inside of me...
Reveal your light and pour it upon me
You glisten in the appealing moonlight
While I'm subsiding... you're fulfilling your dreams
Of gliding across the horizon 
You're independence... keeps on scorching with satisfaction
While I'm below you... 
Your emerald green eyes
Stared me down like a hawk...
Your emerald eyes
Gaze down at me genuinely...
I wish we could flee together in reality...
That could be a possibility
To glisten in the moonlight in glee
We were glistening in the moonlight (3)
But that was only a dream...
I'll pray that it turns into a reality
We were glistening in the moonlight 
Now, I've misplaced my delight...
Will I ever experience such a brilliant night?

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by James Clark | Details |

The Babaji Wheelbarrow

It was a dry, dusty day when I saw the wheelbarrow, with long handles made of dark wood. 
The wheel is struggling as it carries its burden, but it manages the job that it should. The man pushing appears to be crying, his eyes all puffy and red. It’s time to move on, but I wait,  I wait for him to reach me instead. The wheelbarrow has a dark green cover, such a sickly, metallic sweet smell underneath,  such a heavy lump in my throat,  “don’t lift the cover!” but regardless, I pull back it back to see.
The first thing to strike me, such a tiny hand, tiny fingers all bent into a fist, and an inch below there in my big gloved hand, the smallest most delicate wrist. Her face is held together by bright orange thread, her eyes are searching the stars. Her crown should still be there, on that beautiful head, where she lays, crumpled up inside her Dads cart. I put back the cover, swallow hard and just stand there, my head, Jesus Christ I can’t think,  my pounding heart tearing itself apart inside my trained body, at this beautiful little angel in pink. 
Her father, his eyes screaming toward me sobs gently, silent rage and yet deafening shock. Why can’t I bring myself to look into this man’s eyes, oh Lord, grant me some breath that I may talk. To say sorry, to ask why, to just speak in his tongue, to show him that I really care. I realise that I could never find words, I’ve no such tragedy to compare.
I walked away from the blue wheelbarrow, thinking that I could leave it behind. But every night as my daughter hugged me, that wheelbarrow crashed into my mind. Whenever she cried my stomach went tight, when she laughed those dark clouds disappeared, whenever she told me she loved me, I knew that I had nothing to fear, but yet so much. The wheelbarrow changed me forever, drank me to illness, and brought my whole life to the edge. I couldn’t switch off from that sweet smell, and I couldn’t explain that to friends. 
 I will never forget, such a small wrist in my hand, such beautiful soft lips kissing the sky. Such a pretty pink little dress, though stained red with blood, those clear and lifeless brown eyes. I wish that I had asked for her name, what to call that three year old victim of war, so small and so beautiful with those innocent eyes, my body aches that I can’t wish so any more.
If I could explain to people, about my demons, in one image to make them understand. I’d draw that blue wheelbarrow with the green cover on top, and that sweet delicate wrist in my hand. Two days after the wheelbarrow I became a Father and to my comfort, for the rest of my life I will know. No matter how often the wheelbarrow returns, I have my daughter, here for me to hold.

Copyright © James Clark | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Denise Hopkins | Details |

JESUS WITH MY FAITH I SEND THIS PLEA

written 14th July 2013


My sorrow, is overwhelming my 'entire' soul
 for in my jaded life, my dear "Nath" would be the last breath taken away
Why does God, continue taking those that play the most 'critical' roll
 my life is 'never' going to endure, any hint of ease.. no way

Heart heavy, loss and pain all consuming me 'again'
 God, I plea with you leave me those that I 'love' these day's
It's become 'that' part of the year, my Nathan was taken due to 'my' curse
 tears flood my entire being, why do you always insist I live entirely 'alone'

Sorrow just in this year now at 'half point' has finally taken the 'full' toll
 I no longer see, any thing as my destiny that I shall 'exude'
When, will it 'ever' be my turn, I wait..to become the next called to heaven
 "am" I not worthy, of your abundant grace?

You, seem to take 'everyone' I 'entrust' to a faraway land
 Nathan Reide' these are my tears containing, the 'most sorrow' I've ever let fall
But, every memory of you and me, stop all of the pain
 just, another pain and despair to add to my life's endurance 'till'

I long, for peace, joy and 'any' kind of life would do me,
 at this point of my life, I can not take anymore, seriously, lighten up on me!
I fear in new friends, how long..before you conclude they too will end
 You bless me with a loving husband, mother, father, niece
 
When.. do you think you might, 'let' me see them... this  is my plea
 returning me back into church, I am in need off being blessed
How 'come' you did take that away from me? 
 faith, in me stayed 'strong' you alone know the extent

I need to move 'now' I have stayed still, and achieved what I think I was to 
 poet, I assume that was 'my reason' why you kept here
With that now in full swing
 can you now spread my wings

You are 'overpowering' my soul, and I now do as I am told
  patience, never was my best strength, have I 'not' proved to you
I'm completely at your mercy, you are the entity that drives the heart of me
 with all that, I need a break between all these sorrowful times, 'may I now move'

This is the deepest of despair, I have ever endured, please see me through
 I am more than 'positive' I WILL NOT make it through, another emotional trial
Not to be left here, still bleeding the way I still am...
 darkness has taking more of my light I'm loosing all sight, of who is me...

My heart full of anguish and grief, depression takes her advantage, of the ease
 I have nothing worth finding joy or enlightenment anyway, she will have me...
I don't have any strength to even consider the thought of even trying this time
 in defending myself against her this time
She only win's by default...

Denise Hopkins

Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013

Long Poems