Long Agony Poems
Long Agony Poems. Below are the most popular long Agony by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Agony poems by poem length and keyword.
and then death came upon him
under the cloak of the night
three more breaths and silence
an ending of suffering as a blessing
to comfort the pain and demise
the dashing man startling in his youth
had been reduced to cachexia
every last sip of water near torture
a few crumbs of food an unwanted event
the mouth of many a wisdom now quiet
eyes closed in peace and tranquility
when I have to go myself
I wish for a quicker journey
less prolonged agony
fewer moments of ‘I am almost there’
his last words to me were
there is Kai sitting in a corner
and spreading peace
and he now doubt overstated my presence
life is precious and so is death
a passing relief in a way
an event with no before and no after
so large is the trauma of being let go
His all seeing eye
In moments of joy
when all stand by you,
On cloud nine you fly
heights touch the blue,
But in harder times
when no one cares,
Down pours the sorrow
as tears of rain,
Hope is lost and life
seems going in vain,
Believed in Him
and His all seeing eye,
I found Him beside
while in pain,
Vigoured my heart
with intense red,
Vanished the agony
of parting a dear,
An Angel rescued
worst of my fear,
His eyes on ones
Can turn rags to riches,
Sick to healthy,
Cruel to kind,
Sorrow to joy,
Death to birth,
Zero to infinite,
In every tender soul
He does reside,
But trust you must
His all seeing eye !
Written June 17th, 2015
For contest by Mystic Rose
He was the only one from the house of the dead at the cemetery
and he scared the living daylight out of other guests at the funeral
shuffled in rigor mortis and reaped a few condescending remarks
How dare he wield the scythe in his sick hand as if he was real
All the other mourners were dressed in white clothes and offered
eulogies so distorted that none recognized the deceased woman
who hence appeared to be an apparition hallucination and phantom
but he stood tall a few yards away from the expensive marble tomb
Wreathed and writhing she convulsed in her gold-plated coffin
tore the silk and satin lining in post mortal agony and disapproval
Those greedy bigots are shameful to pretend sorrowful everlasting love
they never took me seriously when I rejected their anger and wrath
I cannot breathe with such onslaught of hellfire and false tears
thought I had got rid of their dishonesty and dispassionate lies
Finally I could rest in peace and savour kindness and solitude
and then they spoil this moment and desecrate my final transition
Fortunately the ghost was for real and dispersed the demonstration
of counterfeit sadness cast a spell on the congregation had arranged
for water cannons tear gas and slurry and wielded jolly good canisters
of pepper spray to give them comeuppance and something to cry about
They did not know yet what she had decreed in her last testimony
made them wait for after the burial to prolong avarice and suspense
and delayed the opening of her will until one of them killed off the rest
Call it assisted and advanced suicide in the name of seeking the truth
18th February 2021
Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder Poetry Contest //Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
Contest Judged: 8/14/2025 5:19:00 AM
( 1st Place )
Written: August 07, 2025
They say stillness is absence, an empty space between worth noting,
but I have heard its melodies in the pre-dawn chapel where stillness reigned
and still the walls exhaled calm.
I have found stillness and not loneliness---
but in two hands clutching without speaking,
the heart knowing inside out
language would only raze.
Silence is like sunlight before it shines,
the tranquility after I sleep and
the reluctance before "I forgive you",
It grips what chaos cannot express--admiration, agony, dread.
Even when grieving and when at a loss for words,
calmness is at hand and says it all.
So let the world fill with echoes.
With clamor and vivid proclamations.
I will still turn up beauty.
In the lull between storms,
In the hush between instinct and doubt
In the sacred calmness, that hark,
Not to respond, but to understand.
life itself is an ocean
full of whales and sharks
sometimes swimming, sometimes sailing
sometimes surviving in an ark
don't be scared John Henry
just avoid the guns and knives
stay away from jealous men
and don't look at their wives
don't be afraid Hattie May
of the word woman and what it means
dignity and shame are both
worldly things that we give a name
plots and lies pollute the mind
and may cause death and doom
but they can only harm you
if you give them enough room
be cautious Terrence Avery
but not with fright and fear
success and failure are both measures
but they do not define your years
fear not Fenita Diane
for not all of life is loss and regret
and though there be tears and agony
joy and gladness awaits us yet
just wait Felisha Louisa
for we do not know the distance
between gut's and glory
having to risk, needing to save, wanting to win
are tools to fight our fears
bravery, faith and failure
inspire us, each in it's own way
but trying is the only way
to conquer our day and days
our oceans aren't uncrossable
if we make our fears behave
Form:
What feeling gives you a belt of happiness?
As if you had obtained the key to Paradise
But it settles in the heart of darkness,
And your soul is on the verge of silence
Memories of your heart getting hurt are resurrected,
How life is full of treachery and pain?
A harsh wakeup call can be toxically echoed
With the shiv decorated red is much absurdly covered in plain.
Your mind is tuned in to the shell shock
The demonic screams turns your heart cold,
And your hellish anger is bestowed from the trauma battlefield
As your whole world is turned into black
The higher you get, the lower you'll sink,
With your cowardly face, it pushes you into the brink.
Battling, To My Fight For A Victory
Mornings of my storms are coming forth to emerge,
consisting of a sleepy tempest that's sitting lying within.
The storm in its quake I do not trust,
justifying its fury's of these strong emotions, they will burst.
I ask my Lord, is this what I need to face,
why my Father, is this not easy for me to be set free?
Is rage of historic anger I have again met isn't fair,
for I lived my life in a senselessness of this agony.
Why then can I not just let this go, is it, the pride of a man,
with morals of justice that's standing in the way of his defeating?
What's the lesson here I must learn, with this constant plague that I face,
following me in desperation to be set free, and I too live again?
This blame of rage, and all of it that follows along,
how do I forgive me, coming at such a cost that I to relive?
This battling with these demons I'm facing to write it down,
clouding my way for they've opened doors of these rivers of my pain.
There's a pouring of the furies that sit at its peak,
hurricanes of insanity to the waking of my world, I do seek.
Allows the lightning to strike, sometimes twice even with thrice,
keeps me focussed, balanced, by the eye of a shining star victory battled.
Riding at its thunder over the horizon of my day with a cause armored,
brings cleansing tropical winds that calm the rage that its within.
I weep for days, weeks, or longer.
Tears flow quickly anyway, and the sob clinger.
Crying proceeds when tears cease.
I have been feeling my squat angel for weeks.
I clutch sacred trust to hope against my will.
I'm keen on detecting her tone and feeling her quill.
People's memories are starting to wane.
However, I abide on battling with fierce pain.
Consistently, you actually tell me to "rest tight."
You could actually toss a kiss once at night.
So every time I wake up in the morning,
Once again, it is my heart that is mourning.
Now by gone will I be a complete person.
Just proceed and hide. The agony will worsen.
Written: August 12, 2022
The Epiphany That Changed Your Life Forever Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
The languishing life with future tentative in tormenting time,
writhes in its crushing clutch of stifling suffering,
the bearing of the being breaks and bleeds in pining pain,
finds the stretch of no solacing arms to dedicatedly grasp.
As the boat wrecks in the tempest of toiling agony,
the marooned mariner seeks shelter in the shore not in sight,
someone from within tells him to be detached and see
palliative hope rise like the sun after the miserable night.
When the dark dungeon of the inflicted mortal suffering
gets filled with melancholic miasma of desolate despair,
it needs to be lighted with the candle of unfaultering faith,
illumined incessantly by the generous grace of God.
As in the encompassing inner emptiness of ethereal solitude,
the essence of awareness unfurls the petals of the lotus soul,
the template of tranquility begins to liquefy and pour
in the morphed mind as the soothing shower of bliss.
Under the new acuity sky emerging from the gloom of grey,
in the garden of piety blooms the essence of consciousness,
where within divine air in the perceptive devotion flight,
the servile spirit set free from the ailing body soars high.
Every day, my poems grow shorter:
Little fires for the one who was lost in a strange land.
And I awaken from dreams drowned in twilight's light,
Seeking hidden roots in the fractured soil of memory,
Continuously dissolving in silence, in caress and burning agony,
Waiting for the light through the window to blend me.
On the edge of infinity, where stars murmur with shadows,
A river flows towards a valley without name, without end,
Each drop glittering with lost and recovered memories,
In it, I saw my childhood, my adolescence, the heartbeats.
Like a world raised from the mists of loss,
The rills of time steeped in the gold of the sunset,
I disintegrate into autumn leaves, always longing
For the embrace of the dusty north that held my dreams.
And in those moments of latent slumber,
Between night and healthy dawn,
An old longing grasps me, calls me
Like the silent herbarium, filled with vestigial loves.
The spaces within deepen full of moans,
When my eyes run over the bed stripped of soul,
Pieces of words and voices tumble through me,
Fragmented like the past autumn, like showers of sand.
Where are you, ancient honey, with wings of light?
Where are you, unsettled traveler of my soul?
In the sharp nails of night's thresholds,
I seek my ghost in a land of oblivion.
I consume myself in thoughts, in tireless waves,
The counsel of ancestors is mute, feverish,
And in every flame kindled by verses,
I seek that gaze, full of hunger, of shivers.
Oh, dried-up memory, deep well,
Sharks of illusions whirl through the cold veins,
And my perpetual thirst, unrelenting hunger,
Continue to stir the silence of unending time.
In the sounds of the old clock, in cracked mirrors,
I remain the poor poet, returned to the beginning,
The reason for my entry, my words shortened,
And the blinding puzzle on simple earth.