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Long Poems | Long Poetry

Long poems. Read long poems, search long poems, and filter long poetry by category. These are the all-time best and most popular long poems by poetic form, category, length, or keyword. See also long poem categories and Famous Long Poems

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Long Poems
Long poem by Rhia Madison Thomer | Details


I've counted the bars of my prison walls. 3 sides of 10 bars; 30. One solid wall,

cold, wet, molded concrete.

I've lost count of how long I have been here,

I hardly remember when I got here, but, its been winter

for a long time.

I've forgotten what it is to move in grass and amongst other bodies.

I am chained in here,

thick steel cuffs chain me to the wall.

I've counted the faces, whose names I can't remember,

and then lost count of them

as they flash and flicker, fast forwarded in my mind.

I've been motionless for a long time,

Im not sure I even remember what movement is.

Im not sure I can even remember to move.

Ive forgotten who I am, my name, how old I am

how tall I am, my features, likes and dislikes;

there are no mirrors.

Ive been nameless for a long time, and there is no one else

here in this vast blank expanse but me and these bars,

and one wall.

Ive realized I dont even know what I am

and that panics me, but I know not what this feeling is?

What Is feeling?

Ive thrown myself at the bars, clawing at the nothing

that lies behind them.

What Is nothing?

Ive discovered there is a name that echoes and echoes In the vastness,

how do I know that name?

Is it mine, yours, theirs, his, ours?

Ive remembered, the memories crush into me,

a weight I had not known for unknown amounts of time.

No go away! Again, please...

Ive tried to forget,

but the white walls are somewhere out there, waiting.

and I? Why, I do not even exist.


Copyright © Rhia Madison Thomer | Year Posted 2009

Long poem by Rick Rucker | Details

The One


The One

by Rick Rucker

When you have found The One,

That person that outshines the Sun,

Then you will understand  the fuss,

Your heart convinced with the first buss!

Your lack of  focus is normal, don't worry,

Love will guide your heart, don't hurry,

True Love is the force that cures,

Your heart of all the past sutures!

True Love has the power to change,

Your mind, to rearrange

Your whole life,

To take a husband, or a wife.

If all your life, you've lived alone,

Talking to suitors on the phone,

It's so nice to sit together,

Without the phone cord acting as a tether.

Something as simple as holding hands,

Takes on new meaning with wedding bands.

A wedding changes everything,

Makes you feel a Queen, or King!

That this person wants to spend

Their life with you, 'til the end.

What might have started out with lust,

Has ended with a promise: 'til dust!

Marriage won't be only Wedded Bliss,

But if each day  starts and ends with a kiss,

Doing this, and other things,

Will mean you don't have to pawn your rings!

If you don't marry, out of fear

Angel's bells you'll never hear.

That gentle tinkling far away,

The one that makes you want to stay.

Imagine your surprise,

When you look into your lover's eyes,

Your Love, your spouse,

The one that shares with you a house.

Being in Love, after decades still,

Each one  feeling marriage is a thrill

How long can True Love last?

I'll tell you when a century's passed!


Copyright © Rick Rucker | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by Beatrice Boyle | Details

If I Were A Stone


If I Were A Stone

If I were a stonewithout a doubt I would be a lovely marbled granite

the center of attention in a newly updated kitchen.

All eyes would be upon methe first choice of decorators and would- be buyers everywhere.   I would be a must have and a deal breaker for purchasers the world over. I would lord it over the mundane and dull kitchen cabinets no matter what the style.  While their doors would be slammed shut a thousand times a day  and scrubbed  till they were sore(ouch!)  I  would be lovingly and carefully wiped down until they could almost see their reflection in me.

My island would be the gathering place and hub of the homechildren would utilize me for their homeworkmy mistress would cheerfully hum a happy tune while rolling out delicious pies or cookies for dessert... my master would lay his briefcase down on me in order to hug the cook!

Unlike the living room rug (who thinks hes king by the way.) I would not be stepped on, stomped on with dirty or muddy sneakers or roller skated on, (boys will be boys)  or taken for granted in any way.

I would be the `piece de resistance` of the household and the most admired feature of the home.

And last but not leastI would be carefully selected and carved, to serve as a towering memorial for loved ones to come and say a silent prayer for our nations fallen and bravest men!

I would be more than proud to be a granite stone!  </center>

For the "Stoned" contest.

Copyright © Beatrice Boyle | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Sahitya Poonacha | Details

The Injured soldier

He fell, fell to the ground
At the gunshot that created such a sound
Nobody took notice of the injured soldier
He was left there lying as the war grew thicker.

He screamed from the pain growing in his shoulder
Nobody realized the pain he would suffer
Trampling feet and screams grew monotonous
The injured soldier tried to ignore the pain that was so venomous.

He made a decision for himself
If he was to survive he'd have to help himself
Nobody was going to come to his aid
Not when each one was looking out for their own head.

He winced in pain as he got to his feet
He wouldn't give up now, not when he still had an army to beat
His shoulder cried out to him in vain
He had already chose to ignore the pain.

He took his rifle up
He adjusted his helmet and refused to give up
He kept fighting till the war was over
Each soldier fighting for their country, their home and their lover.

When the war was done and the battle was won
Every single soldier put down their gun
the injured soldier's shoulder still bleeding
now blinded him with pain and made him lose all feeling.

This time they gave him attention
This time he was treated to friendly affection
He wondered what would have happened if had given up that night
Would they have still won after all that fight?

But he was glad he hadn't for he would have been seen
As a pitiful injured soldier who wasn't keen.

It's the choices we make
And the chances we take
That set us apart
Only when, of course, the decision is made from the heart.

Copyright © Sahitya Poonacha | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by karl marszalowicz | Details


The God that never was, puts one shoe on at a time
And spends four hours in the make-up room 
Putting on mascara and eye liner for the darker look 

Occult man of seemingly rebellious nature 
Is deified by the masses that show up to performances
He, a man of strong portrayal even at a skinny 155 pounds 
Grows stronger with every compact disc sold and the overuse of base 
Blowing out of a sound system which rocks the car next to you
While you wait for the light to turn green
Abandoning social mores of quietness well into the night

The appeal grows everyday for a man really just making a living
Out of his fans age group they have no idea what he is
Whether the media builds him up or tears him down
As a good guy to hate and a bad boy at heart
Any press is good press, though infamy might be better for sales

Topping the charts and making parents sick of his songs
He is a beneficiary of childhood splurging and so inclined to be
The adults wish for a mere fifteen minutes of his fame
So their children would listen to them with the same respect
But who were they when listening to cassette tapes?
And the bands of the eighties put on make-up then
 A man of mixed persuasion people are drawn to his ambiguity 
The role model singing about jail time and Hennessey
A toughness to some is a weakness to others
It makes you wonder if the man knows who he is! 
Whoever that is and for all it's worth
There will be more than enough of him to go around
In his image that is larger than life

Copyright © karl marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by stark hunter | Details

Olive Frazier 1854 - 1895

Olive Frazier

1854  1895

To my many august friends,

Mere survivors under this hungry consuming California sky.

Before you can reach high to the stars, my friends,

Both feet must firmly be set upon the ground first.

This, in essence, is the lesson of a lifetime.

Here in Clark Cemetery, the soil is rich and fertile.

In my prime years I have walked here

Walked on many an afternoon and many an early evening.

Walked and slowly strolled and ambled

Like a solitary tumbleweed in a restless wind.

Like a knock-kneed crab in a dark watery place

Commiserating with the barnacles.

It was on such a stroll

That I encountered the handsome Mr. Frazier.

Milton by name, bricklayer by trade.

We watched the sunset that evening.

Two hawks in flight high in the blue

Swaying effortlessly in the high breeze.

We found love in the dust

And we found heartbreak in the endless shadowed distances

Of Clark Cemetery.

I left this earth giving birth to my baby.

And now together we peacefully reside in this deep hole.

Together with Milton, my love.

Together now and forever in the dirt and the dust.

Milton, I am sorry I left you alone when I died.

So sorry you had to go on without us.

Often when the clouds above give drink to this dead land,

I think of us

Wondrously and miraculously alive,

Strolling to the east under the canopy of the walnut trees.

Your hand in mine

Your heart and mine intermingling magically.

Thank you my husband.

I was indeed privileged to be your wife.

Copyright © stark hunter | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Rhoda Monihan | Details

One Direction

One Direction is the best pop group ever,

In lyrics and harmonies they are strong;

They take me to a place better than words, 

It is to them that I happily belong. 

They are all beautiful to me, 

But Zayn is my favourite right now, 

I am in the clouds when I see him, 

Hes my you and I, to him I bow. 

Louis and Niall are footballers, fireproof, 

And Zayn does graffiti in public spaces, 

Its not fools gold to create known meanings, 

To rock almost anyone in different places. 

But Harry was popular instantly, kiss you, 

Little things he did meant that many he excited; 

So many teens over and over again, 

Such that summer love was ignited. 

Previously, I would like Liam the best, 

Because he had that one thing for me,

He is sporty and lived while he was young, 

A heart attack was just waiting for me to be. 

But now its gotta be you, Zayn, 

Your vocal runs are something great, 

I wish that youd write about your art and creativity, 

When no control is your date. 

Cmon cmon One Direction, 

Reunite once more and wear that little black dress, 

No little white lies about why you cant, 

Don't forget where you belong, just say yes. 


I hesitated to post this one, because I'm somewhat embarrassed about liking One Direction. But it's better to be what you are than to be somebody else. So I'm happy to admit with both my hands up, I like One Direction.

(you may notice that there's the title of one of their songs in every line)

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Gail Foster | Details

They Never Went To War

They never went to war; they stayed at home

The young, the old, the unwell and the dead

The women who were not allowed to roam

The men who tilled the fields and baked the bread

Some sat in darkness waiting for the rap

Of letterbox, and soft white feather fall

The silence broken by a dripping tap

Dark shadows cast by street lamps on the wall

The little lads who ran behind the train

That took their fathers off to certain death

Who waved until their arms ached in the rain

Who ran until their lungs ran out of breath

Old men who yearned for youth; just one more chance

To feel the blood flow, hear the battle cry

To wear the uniform and take a stance

To stand with other men, to fight and die

The crippled and the mad, the deaf, the blind

Escaped the fate of many thousand men

Some angry that they had been left behind

Some thankful that theyd never fight again

Women, who with their sleeves rolled ploughed the land

Lit candles, raised the children, hid their tears

Made ammunitions with a careful hand

Kept watch and saved the night time for their fears

So many stayed at home, and stayed alive

And suffered pain and loss, regret and guilt

That they were left, that they were to survive

Within the house such sacrifice had built

Their many names are not inscribed on stone

Those sorrowed souls, so haunted by wars ghost

Were left to stand and mourn the dead alone

Listening to the trumpet sound the post

by Gail


Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Nicola Byrne | Details

Rainbow Blues

<em>Once upon a brightly shaded bow,


              She sought, wearily, to find an end.

                    When, suddenly, came a wild tornado:

                         To the start, once again, she did descend...

<center>Anger now grossly consumed her -

Little strength, had she, to start again;

She looked for definition through a blur,

No gold, could her weary eyes see then.

Tired and weak, she tenaciously bore

Her heavy heart to reach a futile goal,

And trudged on for many miles and more;

Till the glowing amber warmth caressed her soul.

Now mellow, had become her rainy mood,

As more apparent, came the brilliant light,

Some really bright ideas had accrued

On how to carry on this endless daunting fight.

She began to grow envious of songbirds

That periodically flew across the sky,

She grudgingly sang her lonely words

And hoped that soon, she too would fly.

Conquered by calming rainbows blue,

She smiled as she was almost there;

Long-lost powerful ambitions grew

That would free her from repeating this despair.

Through the airy vend of violet haze,

She witnessed beauty begin to grow;

Intoxicated by lavender's scented maze

She knew it was the end of Hues rainbow.

She gazed back at the manufactured prism

Realizing it was all a big disguise;

For she had been trapped within a prison

Colour-blinded by a love, built on lies....</em>

22nd January 2016</center>

Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by colin mitchell williams | Details

Senseless ( part one )


What is it inside the heart of man

That cannot appreciate anothers suffering

Were we born with this senseless implacability

Is it from life itself we grow these calluses of the soul

Are we created not to care

Is the face of nature so coldly ruthless

That we must come to be so

For what belief in anything in which to believe

Should we maim and destroy and kill

What is it that we know so well

That the idea of difference can cause such conceited violence

How do we become so voluntarily indoctrinated

Is it some desperate need to have sense amidst the senseless

To have at least the illusion of a purpose

When then do we celebrate the diversity of our sense to make sense of the senseless

Should every woman and man dream and aspire

And have every man and woman dream and aspire to the same

Or say this love is stronger or this way is better

This truth more truthful than anything anyone else can know

Whos despicable spirit can live with out some measure of guilt in overfed luxury

While others starve and die in poverty

Are we not as one with this the global identity we call humanity

Are we not basically and essentially all the same

If right there is to pass on righteous judgment

For cultural and social and political and religious difference

Such conviction and contempt is that all we see in our own reflection

When then do we celebrate our diversity of sense to make sense of the senseless


Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009

Long poem by Robin Lane | Details

With You

I sat on the edge of your mattress, unsure what to expect; I kicked off my shoes and took in 

your bedroom for the first time: the bookshelves, the plastic stickers wreathing the windows, 	

your little brothers action figures mid-battle on the carpet, the clothing stretched out into 	

long piles beneath your feet.

I remember thinking you so strong and confident, wondering how we ended up beneath the 

covers together. You reassured me as you crawled out to take down your blue jeans. I looked 

away for fear of seeming too eager. (I wanted to look.)

Your hand trailed over my back, tracing my stomach. I had never been touched before; 

every inch your fingers followed burned a path into my memory. I was sure there were 

scorch marks on the sheets.

We kissed and kissed and I gasped and we kissed and I fumbled, I heard my pulse throbbing 

in my ears and we kissed and I couldnt believe I had gone my whole life without knowing the 

feeling of skin on skin.

Then, you were forcing my lips to part with yours, and your tongue surprising the inside of my 

mouth, a slippery, rubbery thing. I let it wander.

You curled a loose hair behind my ear. I imagine you framing my face in your hands and 

bringing my chin for another kiss, but I find my memory inventing moments between us that 

never passed.

But, I am sure of the sleepy look on your face every time we pulled away, the half-pouted 

lips, and the pressure of your hands on my back, urging me to never stop.

Copyright © Robin Lane | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by Mark Vander Poppen | Details

Path we Persue

Life as understood by many resembles a journey traveled in a daze.
yet you feel lost, we can't help but carry on.
As we travel up the hill not knowing whats on the other side, 
where the next curve begins,  when to speed up,
or when to slow our pace.
Even as it seems at times we are blindfolded at very least,
human nature tells us to keep pushing through.
our best interest at that time is to put the path of life on hold,  
and asses our situation. Even if common sense makes you believe it would be difficult
or even impossible to resume the path started so long ago.
When it all seems impossible or hopelessness stares you in the eye.
Now is the time to grasp our greatest tool in life, just as God said let their be light.
let our light be the knowledge and support of your friends & family.
Use this and not even the devil himself can use his power and influence to corrupt us.
When we have 100% faith in ourselves combined with love for all that is good and pure.
And the hope that our destiny is not being pursued in vain.
Only positive results are to be found.
If u reach hard towards your soul and gather the will to strike down all that is negative.
Then and only then do the clouds disperse the sun becomes radiant
and all becomes clear. And the realization that our goal is in our grasp once again.
so before i put this pen down and carry on with my quest of surprises
and not knowing whats to come.
a prayer has been said guidance has been asked,
and a sense of relief is then achieved.

Copyright © Mark Vander Poppen | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by JW Earnings | Details

Don't Worry

Once upon a time,

The Orange & Pink Dragon

Popped out of nowhere, 

Blowing pink flames in all directions. 

The Shapeless Robot walked down the street 

With a blank expression on its robotic face.

He made a Snake Bird friend,

Since he didn't have a friend of his own;

Loneliness crept in on him & he wept despondently.

"I want a friend to sweep away these feelings of loneliness!" 

Cried the Shapeless Robot hopelessly.

The Snake Bird felt empathy towards him & wiped his tears away by his serpent tongue.

The Non-stop Growing Vines twirled around them in all directions suddenly...

Vibes of discomfort crawled up and down the robot's back,

Electricity, originated from energy, zipping through him constantly...

Lizorse and the gangster red-head girl ghost named Gingah were playing chest with each other,

Exchanging love expressions flirtaciously...

They blew kisses at each other time and time again.

Bubbleman got bubbled up with benevolence when he felt an Angel Hand touch his shoulder;

At last, he witnessed miracles in disguise.

All of the characters hung out and listened to old school rap,

Partying and dancing like crazy monkeys at the jungle-like zoo during their leisure time. 

The Incomplete Ship flew towards them, 

Silence slipping though the merry atmosphere...

The palm tree, excluded from the rowdy group,

Acknowledges the Stripeful Fish happily.

"Don't worry..." said the palm tree sheepishly with content, "You can be my friend always and forever"

The End

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Robert Lindley | Details

Withheld And Released, Love's Greatest Treasures

Withheld And Released, Love's Greatest Treasures

I-                                    (The Start)


Resplendent vigor,

Dancing upon rainbows

Drinking sweet red wine

Hold her in sweet embrace,

whisper, darling you look so fine

Await that moment you know will come

That softest kiss, sent to find just you

A memory gifted as a very great treasure

Painting etched into clear mind's eagle eye

Remind yourself she is treasured gift

Promise never to say goodbye

Hold that blessed moment

Snapshot in time

Resplendent  vigor,


II                                          (The Answer)


Love's power,

Bliss so profound

Like cool Spring shower

True love's heart and journey,

Promising an eternity in your arms

No treasure can this blessing ever compare

Fantastic depths of love, two lovers may share.

Life rewarded true love's, heart and faithful soul

With hope, joy and deep romantic splendor

Paradise found within each heart's embrace

Jubilant kisses, so softly planted

Mornings, face to face

In love's embrace

United two


Robert J. Lindley, 08-14 -2015  (Part I)

Robert J. Lindley, 1-26-2017    (Part II)

Note: Part I

Verses word count,  Ascending order 1,2,3,4,5 6,7,8

Descending order- 8,7,6,5,4,3, 2,1

Note: Part II

Verses word count,  Ascending order 1,2,3,4,5 6,7,8

Descending order- 8,7,6,5,4,3, 2,1


Not sure of the form (maybe new?), a poet showed me this with her fine poem.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Clementine Hope | Details

Show me your land, my Irishman

Show me your land, my sweet man.

Show me the green, the fertile landscapes, 

the emerald dreams.

Hold my hand, walk by my side,

kiss me deeply until it is dark.

Hug me and protect me from the cold.

Paint in blue the grey of your skies.

Be the sun I will need,

and become my treasure 

at the end of the rainbow.

Show me the cliffs,

where the blue sea is deep down.

Make me feel safe,

hug me by my waist.

Make me trust you 

and never let me down.

I don't need any four leaf clover,

if mine is your heart.

I'll be the luckiest woman,

even if for me 

this is a foreign grey land.

Show me your land, my sweet man,

show me the castles,

tell me their stories.

When it is cold,

let's entangle our bodies.

Let's create our very own fairy tale,

slashing dragons,

you may become brave.

Not all are battles, not all are fights,

my sweet man, there are also golden days.

I want to see the green of your land,

in your healthy, tasty plates.

I want to see the blue sea,

every time when I wake up 

and I stare into your eyes.

Caress my hair while we watch the sunset,

whisper in my ear sweet secret words in Irish.

Kiss my nose and tell me what those words mean,

I dare you to make me blush.

I will count your beautiful freckles,

while I kiss one by one.

My love, is this paradise?

Let's skip the yellow lands.

Those look arid, and my heart,

for a long time has been dry.

Show me your land, my sweet Irishman,

but remember that my home is your heart.

Copyright © Clementine Hope | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by A. Kathy Moss | Details

Among Elk

Up before dawn, a feeling has drawn 

You into the mountain and trees.

Till the silence within, upon the whispering wind

A chime of bugles tease the breeze.

That majestic call, that is heard each fall

Since before our forefathers birth

And for those who take time, through rim rocks and pine

Listen and value their worth.

Each note high and low as each bugle ballad goes,

No two ever the same

They are all unique and if a chance to critique

Upon our hearts they claim.

We are put into state and can hardly wait

For the dawn of the upcoming morn

To glimpse hoof print in stride or a patch of hide

Or a tip of antler horn.

Just out of reach, lessons hell teach to those who play the game,

The tension and pull of a phantom bull, a soul never to tame.

While waiting and yearning, eyes straining, ears burning, 

Ringing till you cant hear a thing,

To early to late, cant hardly wait,

Patience like a bee sting.

Like a ghost in the night they filter through site

They tease and bugle and  brag,

As tell tale sign, weave and wind

Through timber, rocks and crags

Where a sapling tree, used to be

Now a twig broke scarred and torn

Velvet left there and shed of hair 

To tell the rut has been born.

Strong elk scent, down wind is sent

 From their bedded layer    

They are up once again and start to transcend 

 Letting us know they were there.

A little to late can change a state

Hopes almost fell,

But all rise again when a bugle begins

For among elk, we dwell.

Copyright © A. Kathy Moss | Year Posted 2005

Long poem by Tatyana Carney | Details

Soul Stones

We swallow boulders:

(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)

Mouths open wide and heads tipped back

like Hawaiian fire eaters.

Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,

sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect

and acid.

The stones settle,




Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight

'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.

We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that

we've had rocks for breakfast,

lunch, dinner,  for years,

in the hopes that someone will recognize

the broken concrete footprints behind us

and touch us gently on the forearm:

"Honey, are you alright?"

(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble

the already cracking facade?)

There's no stopping the torrent then,

tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing

to the point of cathartic vomit-

boulders of every shape and size

tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;

broken teeth and granite eyes 

until we no longer see the floor, the walls...

And then serenity.

The hand has moved to the shoulder,

forming a universal hug.

"I'm here now... and you're ok."

We stand up, together, and leave that room,

a soundless void of yesterday,

to absorb the impermeability of stones,

carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.

No weight at all now, and barely a second glance,

but to turn out the light - and lock the door behind us...

Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006

Long poem by Ronald Bingham | Details

When The Bottle Lets You Down


Can I ask a question of you my friend?

   Have you started drinking from the bottle again?

You look so down its clear to see.

   What you really need is to be set free.

The answer to your problems they wont be found.

   Coming from that bottle you just put down.

You dont bend your elbow you bend your knees

   Trust me just once Hell hear your pleas.

Youre hurting so, I can feel your pain.

   Theres a way out, and its so very plain.

I was where youre at not long ago.

   But I had someone who wouldnt let go. 

Now I want to be that someone that you can turn to.

   Help to guide your path and the things you do.

Are you really proud of your life thus far?

   Drowning your sorrows in some dim lit bar.

How many times were you too drunk to care?

   Well I can relate, yeah Ive been there.

You thought you lost it all, thats just not true.

   If you trust in Jesus I guarantee you, Hell lead you through.

We all make excuses for the things we do.

   Hes heard every excuse there is a million times or two.

Quit trying to blame Him, He didnt put you there.

   You know Im right, But you just dont care.

Listen little bud, youre like a son to me.

   I care for you very much, I just want you to see.

I know I led you wrong for many, many years.

   Now youre carrying all my demons and most of my fears.

I know you care for me a lot, thats very plain to see.

   Now turn it over to Our Savior, let Him be the one to set you free.


Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2007

Long poem by Ronald Bingham | Details

The Taste of Freedom


My old daddy use to tell me about the war he had to fight,

   He said dont believe those movies, cause killing aint no pretty sight.

He said no one is born a hero you just fight to stay alive,

   Cause when those bullets start to flying your only thought is to survive.

No matter what people may say, freedom it dont come free,

   And I pray you never see the things that I had to see.

And he said son the taste of freedom is a taste worth dieing for,

   And that should be the only reason to ever fight in those damned old wars.

He talked about his comrades, so many now are gone, 

    He said I am a lucky one to see my son full grown.

So many young men back then were buried where they fell,

   You see son war is not a game its a living, breathing hell.

Youre fighting for what you know is right and they are fighting for what they believe,

   While mothers on both sides just pray and weep and grieve.

And when they get that letter that says their son will not return,

    They say one last prayer for others, Lord will they ever learn.

To say you really hate someone is a truly ruthless thought,

   But there are those that feel that way and why these wars are fought.

Son he said I dont think there will ever be peace as long as men exists,

   Freedom is our gift and we must protect no matter how much they persist.





Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2008

Long poem by Sierra Biersack | Details

If I Had The Guts

I know i have kept a lot from you.

I know its not fair. 

I know i should tell you.

I know i have to tell you.

Maybe i can tell you some, but not all.

Maybe i can keep it secret just a little longer.

Maybe i can hide it from you more.

Maybe i can get the guts to tell you everything.

Everyday, i wanna tell you.

Everyday, i hope i get the guts to tell you.

Everyday, i feel bad for not telling you.

Everyday i think about you.

Sometimes, i dont want to tell you.

Sometimes, i just want you to know it all.

Sometimes, i wish i never knew you.

Sometimes, i wish you were all mine.

If i had the guts, i would tell you everything.

If i had the guts, i would tell you how much you mean to me.

If i had the guts, i would tell you your the only reason im alive.

If i had the guts, i would tell you my biggest secret.

Just knowing that i love you.

Just knowing that you may or may not love me back.

Just knowing that i care.

Just knowing that you probably dont.

Breaks my heart.

Breaks my soul.

Breaks my dreams.

Breaks my life.

If i had you, my life would be complete.

If i had you, my life would be perfect.

If i had you, i would be happy.

If i had you, i wouldnt have to search anymore.

I know i should tell you.

I know its not fair.

I know i have kept a lot from you.

I know i should tell you.

But, i dont have the guts, 

The guts to tell you i love you,

The guts to tell you your the reason im alive,

The guts to tell you,

I need you in my life.

Copyright © Sierra Biersack | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Details

The Powerfool and The Powerful

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

And I saw the duo on the road,
Together on a journey in a tussle,
Behold! The powerfool and the powerful.
The powerfool: a powered fool, the power-fooled:
Tooth and nail he fought,
Burgled the mandate, picked a race,
Unwary was he that
Power-fool-ness is not powerfulness.

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

I was fated to behold it all:
How the powerfool took the hold by force,
The power bought he, with the blood of the innocent and the guiltless,
Who in allegiance went, their duty to do.
How the powerful came calm with query;
And chased after the powerfool 
In a slow steady struggle sealed 
In patience, persistence, perseverance

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.

I was fated to know it all:
How at the first three junction of the road
Which was destined for four,
The auctioneers label was hung on the truth;
Our trust betrayed for a trifle;
And our lynchpins victimized with riffle.

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.

But the fool cannot but fool a fool.
At the fourth junction I saw it:
As the powerfool in a derisive confidence
Met his dreaded waterloo in a corner,
Where stubbornness is stupidity,
And where all help is no help;
Caught unawares; the end of the road in sight.
And the powerful in a gallant gesture,
Given the power that to him belonged,

He that laughs last laughs longer;
He that laments last laments longer. 

Copyright © OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Details

The Powerfool and The Powerful

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

And I saw the duo on the road,
Together on a journey in a tussle,
Behold! The powerfool and the powerful.
The powerfool: a powered fool, the power-fooled:
Tooth and nail he fought,
Burgled the mandate, picked a race,
Unwary was he that
Power-fool-ness is not powerfulness.

They </