Long Betrayal Poems
Long Betrayal Poems. Below are the most popular long Betrayal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Betrayal poems by poem length and keyword.
#She's_not_the_first_but_she's_definitely_the_last
She's not the first but she's definitely the last, I swear, diamonds were just never meant to lay bare on the ground, to be discovered by every passerby, it's patience and being a slave of hope that I too, find myself here today. Confessing what I know not of,
maybe its a forever, I have been prepared for, by this life, her kind of forever, in my life.
Been crossing this street for the past years but my instincts just never listened to my heart ache. Need I borrow nor hire the best band in the land to help me celebrate, for this heart of mine, alone just can't contain this elegance inside,
maybe I should ask her, her name and tattoo it to my heart, to mark this day, as the beginning of my better lesson, a lesson of being in love without fear and conditions, a start for love not drama and justifications.
Can I just have a seat, need to collect my lost years of pain and betrayal, gain strength to be a better half, a lover, long had I been a fighter, in a world of lovers.
Let me love better, learn better and lead a better love story, at least take a better and positive proof to my grave, that i too have loved, in the living land. She's not the first but she's definitely the last
#Poetic_Ink
In life I've done my dirt and I paid for that
Had more than a few bouts with doubt where I was succumbed to hurt but every time I strayed or I lost my way, it's a fact that I made it back
When the skies were gray all through the day before the night came and they faded black
I knew in order to win I had to restore the order within so I changed my ways and in return got burned betrayed and played for that
Ever time I hit my knees in need I'd proceed to pray & ask
But with my problems it seems I just made more because I ain't get I prayed for so tell me please what you got to say for that
In my eyes maybe it's to late for me
I mean how can I live gratefully
When the world is as cold as frost and every soul I cross seems to be just lies I get & every vibe I get is just another's hate for me
But I'm still moving gracefully like I got a place to be
Life's logic, we're nothing more than puppets, ain't it funny how the church prays on our money yet they claim its the root to all evil as they're diluting the people from a sadistic role when in reality statistics show within that same circle is where most the pedophiles, rapist and the racist be
I mean we live & we die so to each their fate
But in trying to reach the gates they continue lying on top of preaching hate
On the low low the priest is a cho-mo & the Deacon's a snake
The pastor grew up a bastard so everything he's teaching reflects from neglect, deceit & hate
Ask no questions, they're biggest fear is that everything becomes clear, they fear for us the sheep to wake
Disrespect you & praise lies expect you to pay tithes, get your money in the bowl than keep ya cake
Claim if you bring shame to his name it's a deep mistake, you won't reach the gates
But growing up all I saw was grim & any & all who called on him that was broken, they remained that, unanswered prayers ain't change that, in fact they died hoping so I keep my eyes open like I sleep awake....
He's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep,
near a warm campfire on a cold December night.
Sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.
Through Ponderosa pines, whistling winds sweep
while a silver moon hovers, lustrous and bright.
He's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep.
Visions of her appear. Each cutting cruelly deep,
memories that should never be brought to light.
Sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.
The fire sputters, causing golden flames to leap,
crimson embers and dark ashes rise up in flight.
He's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep.
Over rolling plains, echoing cries of coyotes sweep.
His heart fills with regret and he's gravely contrite.
Sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.
Serenading Andromeda, too restless for sleep.
Fingers picking the fret as he sings about his plight,
he's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep.
sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.
November 8, 2022-Third-Person Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins
I still stand
Have a chance
Mike in my hand
Lyrically band
Drums beating
Cymbals clashed
Titans passed
Powers situations
Bolts metaphorically hating
Pacing Blues
Sue pursue
Royalties with no moves
Jacking prices
To get a sail
Back down river bends and boats
Seattle with no coasts
Trailing door knobs without a turn
Skipped
Tripped Sun burn
Comcast
Infinity
Antennas remotely
Coated Symphony
Operatic Anomalies
Fake paced with properties
State faced moralities
Given sentence no warning
Exclamation interrogation
Periodically visitations
Paroled up
Handcuffs taken to another case
What stand
Back at it again
Chance
Stashed with programs recorded, which, condensed on universal files
Will tell them very little of what they don’t know and may never know
In this lifetime or the next heaven, in this orbit or the next
Treasure from this Earth loaded up on classical chips, some kind of text
Even the quantum loads with memory mimetic, made to mimic the brane
Will lead you no where’s at all, empty, with your mind well past insane
For what else or beyond could be so crazy as to part from this precious earth
Without ever having known it’s cost, price, work, measure or stint of worth
And clearly, those who leave, when they leave, will not have known one grain
Of sand or soil, mud or toil: all dusty plows pluming billow-clouds into rain
Run on gasoline or stocks of mules, donkey, horse, or ram, shepperd’s hand
Fields from lost fields, turning wheat from grass, rice from blue water land
The mystery of death and birth still a mystery; life a mere reminiscence
Without any real light here or plant photometry, only luminescence
Imagine leaving this planet without every having known it’s rhythm
Going to some other world set in it’s own path, with it’s Keplerian hum
Beating out some different drum, set in a blinding sphere of light and sound
Like blended whiskey with the Irish; or Navajo, without the calendar round
Sans irony, the starmen will consult their astrologer or star-chart for this logic
Countin’ the days before they land again when the stars are [csmo]allo-genic
Since this cosmos has revealed no light to them, the starmen going forth
Eager to jump off of Earth’s orbital path, bend and trajectory
Their spacesuits, ships, tanks, sabres, and thrusters made from the factory
Everything printed like plastic in hazy glow and in false dimension
In light and low gravity, with false smiles and fat charms hanging in suspension
How could the new age begin completely unaware, one might ask ?
With no real knowledge of how the past one ended, without a task
This high level of dimness, this naivete, and ignorance unknowing
Much like blind men on the river styx, or perhaps, along with Homer rowing
Going from one ruse to harbour next shenanigan—look into the Cyclop’s Eye!
No land in Egypt and with Dido elope, with the Siren’s despair, intoxicants in Libya
I'm Just a Wicked SAVIOR Child Now Saved
Lord, I try, I try todo right;
But I fall down everytime;
When I came out the womb;
I was already doomed;
My righteosness was sin;
Came from my parents, parents and ancestry
the ones before me;
A generational curse;
That's how I now worship,
I'm just a beginner;
A filthy sinner;
My desire is righteousness only good;
My intentions not to be wicked;
But God knows I am birth with it;
I do seek good, but I'm so wrong;
Nothing but God's mercy grace saves me now;
I seek good favour;
I want to live forever;
My God forever in heaven;
My past mischief I do not want;
Nothing gleaned but God's trust;
I'm just a wicked savior son now saved;
I'm just a wicked savior daughter now saved...
AMEN
inspired from PROVERBS 23
2/21/18
written by James Edward Lee Sr.©
from anthology “Tell the People, JESUS”
I’m stuck in a corner, feelin’ the walls close in,
Air’s getting thinner, can’t catch my breath again.
Every move feels like I’m breaking the frame,
Trapped in a moment I can’t seem to escape.
In this tight space, where the world’s caving in,
I’m searching for a way to just begin again.
The pressure’s on, but I won’t break,
I’ll find my way out of this tight space.
I’ll find my way, find my way, out of this tight space.
The silence is loud, it’s the only sound I hear,
A million thoughts racing, but I’m stuck in here.
The clock ticks slow, like it’s frozen in time,
But I’m still reaching, pushing through the climb.
I’m still holding on, still trying to breathe,
I know the way out’s somewhere inside of me.
Sometimes the walls we build can feel like chains,
But I’ll tear ‘em down, I’ll break through the pain.
I know it’s hard to see the light ahead,
But I won’t stop until I’m free again.
I’ll find my way, find my way...
Out of this tight space.
Every Person ever born
will go through the worst moment of their life,
the moment death or tragedy strikes
and though not all alike all will suffer alike
In those worst moments
all are saved by the people around them
the comfort and support they bring
The worst thing possible is
you find you have no people around you,
you have no people who care or love you
you have no human comfort thrown to you
The worst thing in life is
selfishness
but also dangerous is
selflessness
we all need to put ourselves first
but not as a selfish person
alone by yourself hurts worse
without a selfless person
you're not really living if you're alone
Can you smell the fear,
That is now everywhere,
Even where there is protective gear,
And media outlets of the year.
Extremists and opportunists the only ones to cheer,
As the grieving are tossed up in the air,
While others steal their gear,
It is just not fair,
That those who profess to care,
Are turning a blind ear,
While planning more ways to spread fear.
When the dust begins to clear,
Who will have power they don't want to share,
And who will have kindness to spare,
Who will have a list of people they want to scare,
And who will be worse off than before,
Who will be deciding what is fair,
And who will be counting money they have made from the fear in the air.
The only things that seem clear,
In this atmosphere,
Is that cosmetic surgery will not clear the air,
And extremism will only spread more fear,
Money cannot replace kindness or a listening ear,
And if we don't give back some dignity to those in despair,
Fear will always be in the air,
Extremists will always be there to cheer,
With media outlets reporting on all they care to share.
A tragedy lives on and on,
A tragedy is never gone,
If one tragedy dies another is born.
Roses and thorns,
A tragedy blows a haunted horn.
A lady in black tragically mourns
Her unfaithful lover who adjourned
The twisted tragic love sworn.
She loved him, she did with all she had,
But in the end she was the one who got sad,
Why did she get her humble heart broken?
Didn't she know that love is a lustrous lie often?
Where was her wise mind that always knew?
Was it on vacation with its feet under the ocean blue?
Now will she be able to mend her broken heart with glue?
Or will she keep waiting for the traitor who stole her heart and flew?