Long Arguments Poems
Long Arguments Poems. Below are the most popular long Arguments by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arguments poems by poem length and keyword.
In the beginning
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
This is probably the most widely read, yet misunderstood sentence in
literature today. These are the opening words found in the Bible, in Genesis 1:1
So what does it mean? Exactly what it says, the heavens (that is the universe) and the earth were created, in the beginning, by God
There is an ongoing struggle between scientists and creationists, they are both locked into intractable arguments, that don't seem to be able to co-exist, and for good reason.
Creationists propose that the earth and heaven were created in six literal days.
Science disputes that for obvious reasons. However, have all of the options been heard and discussed?
Science has empirical evidence that the universe is 13.72 billion years old.
So then...that was the beginning of creation. So Genesis 1:1 is in agreement with establish scientific proof of the age of the universe.
So the next logical question is...was it a big bang from a random non-directed source or was it the beginning of creation from a intelligent designer?
I will discuss that topic in a future piece!
Leave your thoughts on this subject, if you wish!
April 1,2018
John Derek Hamilton
He stared out into space with disbelief
Her tear stained note lay crumpled on the floor
She said she never meant to cause him grief
Ten years had packed and walked right out the door
Between his fingers, burned the cigarette
While down his cheeks flowed streams of yesterdays
His hurt and anger swirled in pirouettes
Like lovers in a mindless sad ballet
Yet through the smoke he saw her in his arms
He heard her say, "I'll love you 'til I die".
His cigarette rang rationale's alarm
He dried his yesterdays, vowed to survive
Though cheaters never win the games they play
There are no winners when love is betrayed
------------------------------------------
In loneliness he pined for "used to be"
That bitter taste had sweetened over time
Recalling only happy memories
He heard faint echoes of old wedding chimes
Forgiveness somehow soothed his aching heart
He realized that he was part to blame
Old arguments that tore their love apart
Unwillingness to compromise, his shame
And if fate should allow another chance
Together they could mend a broken trust
Then sparks may once again ignite romance
The bond of love be polished of it's rust
A rose of love will grow in shifting sand
When Father Time lays on his healing hands
October 16 2016
In the quiet corners of my heart,
I need to cry, to let the shadows part.
You want to argue, dissect my pain,
As if my tears are just a game.
I reach for solace, a gentle embrace,
But you counter with questions, a relentless chase.
“Why do you feel?” you demand with a frown,
As if my emotions are a weight to be drowned.
I long for laughter, for joy to ignite,
Yet you question the reasons, dimming the light.
I want to share tales of my children’s bright days,
But you point out their flaws, in a critical haze.
I weave a story, a tapestry spun,
But you interrupt, eager to run.
You twist the ending, reshape the plot,
And I stand there, feeling all that I’m not.
I let you take over, I let you decide,
But inside I’m crumbling, I’m breaking, I hide.
I’m tired of arguing, of fighting for air,
Your words are a burden, too heavy to bear.
Don’t touch me, don’t reach for the pieces you see,
You don’t know my heart, you don’t know me.
I’m weary of battles that lead nowhere fast,
I need to reclaim the joy that I’ve lost in the past.
So let me cry, let me feel, let me be,
In the silence, I’ll find the strength to be free.
No more arguments, no more disdain,
Just the quiet acceptance of joy and of pain.
Reaper and Binder
Our thumbs do the talking nowadays,
The cyberspace filled with thoughts, expressions of different elements of the 21st century 's creativity.
I am talking inventions, engagements, arguments, rhythmic pigmentations and Lots of of infectious reflections.
From Blackberrys to Huaweis, to Samsungs, Sonys and many more digital diaries, Libralies, mirrors, alarms, calculators.... basically reliable android buddies,
What happened to the Easter Bunny?
Yes the Abyss excites thee but this rebinding is blinding the chapters of touch, culture, tradition, religion and simply the old skool human connection... so Lost in our pocket pals letting thumbs doing the talking forgetting how important eye contact is, we need it to avoid the rebuffing of a new reality....
Resisting The Repression
Competition between a brother and sister
Rendition of an eighties song all about how much he miss her
War of attrition between two countries facing off without a resister
Ambition of an Olympian to only on race day end up with a blister
Loneliness creeping in before twightlight starts to break and linger
Ghostliness of a past love coming back like a harbinger
Cosiness of a warmth so engrained it lasts throughout the winter
Holiness of a man ordained with the essence of God in his little finger
Warning all who sit in comfort to stretch out beyond their horizons
Forming all the combinations but still required to sleep with the lights on
Storming through the degradation of more arguments to be right on
Mourning the loss of innocence as I’m forced to find a corner with which to fight from
Objectification of a woman by a powerful CEO
Rectification of a statement that would never have passed “go”
Unification of a people who they never wanted to know
Stupefaction of a system that is only there for show
Culmination of a problem as we sit behind screens in isolation
Rumination of a mind inclined to introspective observations
Declaration of a manifesto by a twisted mass shooter caught before the devastation
Aberration of the justice system as the innocent go without advocation
Sociopolitical violence everywhere you hate to look
Hypercritical eyes inside my silence as they analyse a new controversial book
Parasitical environmental activists looking for the next media stunt to hook
Neurotypical minds that are inclined to complain and then to sook
Elimination of the pain that resides in each passing new moment
Annotation of the grammar as I consider the next component
Liberation of a race that has lived under the rule of a tyrant
Consideration of all the elements predicting the next inquirement
Lamentation of the time that’s passed while reluctantly convalescing
Fragmentation of a life that’s lost while psychologically regressing
Cancellation of a genius comedian speaking the truth just like confessing
Aberration at this cultural shift as I I’ll be resisting all this repressing
The End Elizabeth Moroz copyright
I have crossed enough borders
to know that countries are only arguments
between one horizon and another,
and passports are maps of suspicion.
I have slept beneath unfamiliar ceilings,
learned the manners of borrowed cities,
drunk coffee whose names I could pronounce
but never quite understood.
Everywhere, civilisation offered me a chair—
provided I knew which fork to use,
when to applaud, when to remain silent,
and how convincingly to pretend I belonged.
But somewhere between the opera houses
and the roadside stalls, between philosophy
and the cheap wisdom of tired men,
I began to suspect the traveller was the destination.
So I returned carrying no souvenirs,
only the uncomfortable knowledge
that home had been following me all along—
and I had mistaken its footsteps for mine.
My life is the subject I live.
Every story I make,
Every breath I take,
Every line I write.
They tell well-spun tales, sure.
But underneath, lies the unraveling of a harsh past.
Between elves gilded in gold,
hides the bleeding heart of an artist.
Every experience in my life shapes me.
From the times I remember gripping a knife, holding my sister behind my back as I defended us from my parents' arguments.
When I heard glass shatter after my dad threw it at mom.
When I sat on my once friends bedside, crying softly due to what he made me do with him.
When I was pulled aside at a party and beaten.
In Between all of Ellomin’s regal towns, all the golden fields that stretch miles out.
Lies the story of how I aimed a pistol at the back of my once friend’s head, tempted to fire.
But I didn't, because at that moment, I remembered the most evil trick he pulled.
He made me fall in love with him.
I spent years despising people for being so vile.
I became a narcissist, turned into the monster that abused me.
Taught the devil what it looks like to make a man into his servant.
I learned to make peace, but it took years of hardship.
I remember my mother crying because she didn't have money for her insurance.
I remember when my friend’s dad died.
I remember pain I shouldn't feel.
I remember my friend’s sister running away from home, trying to cheer him up then was all I could do.
I later asked that friend what he sees when he looks at me,
He said I was the soldier who got to come home.
“What war did I fight?”
I asked myself this so many times;
I think the only answer I could come up with is the ones honey-coated in my words.
“Plenty.”
In the dance of love, man and woman unite,
Harmony sought, yet shadows invite.
The devil despises when two hearts align,
For wonders emerge when love intertwines.
Fierce battles waged, arguments endure,
Yet within the struggle, a love so pure.
Listen, and the ship sails smoother,
Faster towards dreams, goals to uncover.
Divorce rates soar, a disheartening trend,
Lost in the maze, souls fail to mend.
Reflection abandoned, a crucial quest,
To find oneself, love's ultimate test.
Love, meant to be gentle, an effortless flow,
Boundaries, labels, complicating the show.
In the simplicity, where love should reside,
Embrace the truth, let the heart be your guide.
Most people walk through life
with ears that only catch the loud:
the engines, the arguments,
the applause that demands attention.
But a compassionate heart
learns a different kind of listening.
It slows the rush inside the chest
until the quiet things step forward—
the almost-silent “I’m tired”
hidden behind a practiced smile,
the soft “I miss you”
folded into an ordinary goodbye,
the unspoken “please notice me”
that lives in a child’s downcast eyes,
the gentle ache of someone
who has forgotten how to ask for help.
These voices do not shout.
They do not compete.
They wait in the spaces between words,
in the pause before someone says “I’m fine,”
in the way a hand hesitates
before it reaches out.
A hard heart walks right past them.
A hurried heart never slows enough to hear.
But a heart that has chosen kindness
becomes a finer instrument.
It picks up frequencies most miss—
the small tremors of loneliness,
the faint music of someone still hoping,
the delicate truth that every person
carries a story too soft for ordinary ears.
And once you hear those voices,
you cannot un-hear them.
You begin to answer,
not always with grand speeches,
but with presence,
with patience,
with the simple miracle
of letting another soul know
it has been truly heard.
That is the quiet power
of a compassionate heart:
it turns the world into a place
where even the softest voices
finally find their way home.
Over the course of a minute,
Nonetheless a single hour.
We say a lot of things.
Some we mean, some we don’t.
Although sometimes meaningful,
It’s the things we don’t that are most
Pivotal.
Not everything we think is meant to be
Said aloud.
The silence in-between hugs
The silence between arguments.
We hoop & we holler, but at some point
This urge to label everything
Must cease.
We laugh, we cry
However silent, these still impact
Us the most.
The intimacy of a moment we’ll
Never get back.
No matter how many times we
Try to recreate it.
Although sometimes meaningful,
It’s the things we don’t that are most
Pivotal.
No matter how much we say
What we want,
It’ll never be like the first.
At some point it becomes misleading.
This urge to label everything must
Cease