Long Breath Poems
Long Breath Poems. Below are the most popular long Breath by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Breath poems by poem length and keyword.
She died before her actual death
Before she took her final breath
She was dead before she used that gun
You see, you killed her with your tongue.
What ultimately made her choice
Was the constant sound of your voice
Telling her she was no good
She died because you wished she would
She died when you tore her apart
She loved you, but you broke her heart
Her friend you pretended to be
But you were really the enemy.
She died because she felt alone
You never called or texted her phone
She had no one to call her friend
And so her life she chose to end.
She died because society
Decided who she ought to be
But those standards she couldn't meet
She died because she did not fit.
You really are the ones to blame
You heaped her head with loads of shame
Her death was ruled a suicide
But twas because of you she died.
Holy cadoodle, do I feel fine
Bout as happy as I can be
Just found out the lump on my back
Was a benign type of cyst you see
Worried as the biopsy was sent to the lab
Fearing the worst as humans do
Didn't sleep well for 3 or 4 weeks
But happy my wishes came true
So no need to hold my breath any longer
I'm good for another while yet
Till the next scary thing that comes along
I'll be just as freaked out, I bet
It's the way humans are or so it seems
We tend to think the worst most times
It's probably the way we protect ourselves
So if the news is bad, we're primed
Whatever's the case I can safely say
Good news is sure great to hear
When you're thinking maybe this is it
And now you've got a few more years
So holy cadoodle, it sure feels great
To be told it isn't the end
Live every moment as if it's your last
'Cause one day it will be, my friend!
©Jack Ellison 2012
I am carrying this heavy burden around it feels like something is going to crash and burn, the rocket in the sky will collapse and die and the missiles will explode when you empty the heavy load.
This terrible feelings in my stomach just won’t go away, NASA must check its projects that are on the way, the sky in the heavens is getting dark and a new age is about to start.
I am carrying this heavy burden around and it really makes me want to frown, space X explodes in mid- air and some of mankind’s invention you ought to fear.
You have to examine the dipstick, pressure riser and the water cooler, the front and back engine load and the valve that open in the rocket throat.
Haste makes waste they say, you have to examine every particle in the engine line and if your bet is good as mine you will find a chip stuck inside.
I am carrying this heavy burden inside; I know that the spirit is divine, I can see things that you cannot see, and I have been to places that you have not been without leaving my confined space.
I have opened my heart to let you in and you have punctured it with your folly tricks. I have nothing but sincerity in my heart and I have never doubted you from the start.
When I make a choice, I know that it carries a heavy price, but I always hold onto it because there is nothing better that can fit.
When the ocean rise above the roof and you don’t have anything left to prove, your choice will see you through and the long-awaited dream will come through.
I am carrying this heavy burden around; it is the weight that you feel when life spin you around.
It is the feeling that you get when you run a marathon and you are almost out of breath and when you cross the finishing line you see them struggling behind and you realize that you have crossed over, but you are still running for destiny to win but you have already won.
It is not the Monday morning blue or someone wearing a strange pair of shoes. It is the wagon on the wheels and mercenaries hiding under a shield.
It is the desert clown and the presepit underground and the petrified people seal up inside waiting to come out dead or alive.
When you get those people home this weight will finally drown. I have heavy feelings inside come and sit beside me before I die.
This thing called Death
Lay me down by the one I love
In the light from the moon above
Let me hear his quiet breath
As we face this thing called death
Let me gaze upon his face
Feel his body his warm embrace
See the way he looks at me
This is how love
is supposed to be
Lay me down by the one I love
In the light from the moon above
Let me hear his quiet breath
As we face this thing called death
Let me hold him close to me
Still his worries and his fears
Let him know that I am
near
Help me please to dry his tears
Lay me down by the one I love
In the light from the moon above
Let me hear his quiet breath
As we face this thing called death
The time has come for us to part
I ask you please mend his broken heart
Let him rest in the love we share
This my Lord is my final prayer
Lay me down by the one I love
In the light from the moon above
Let me hear his quiet breath
As we face this thing called death
Earth element of wind, elusive to exploring eyes,
a gaseous, gusty ghost, she gyrates- gallops gallantly.
She bashes, bends, and bobs the branches of each bush and tree,
and chases, circles, curls dry fallen leaves so agilely.
We hear her bellow, bawl, and bluster when she's feeling fierce;
soft sounds of swishing, stirring- sighing when serene and tame.
With solid, staunch, and strapping strength, she soon can shift a house
within a raucous, raging, raving, reckless, hurricane.
She cools, controls, composes in the sultry summer heat,
forms wild and wheeling waves with whitecaps on the widespread sea;
a force that's fearless, frantic, sometimes, feeble- frail, she flies,
impermanent, intangible, she soars invisibly.
This ghastly glimmer of great ghostly gumption rushes by,
a force that is not sculpture, shadow, silhouette, or shape.
We feel and hear her apt and awesome atmospheric breath-
until she plans her fast, flirtatious, feathery escape.
March 18, 2016
~1st Place~
Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Qualifier's Final Placement
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 04/20/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 22
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 03/08/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: Elements Part 2: Wind
Sponsor: Brian Davey
Judged: 3/29/2016
*Alliteration, Rhyme, written in Iambic Heptameter,
14 Syllables, 7 feet per line
Darkness coiled in the depths of the night.
Where shadows try to hide from your view.
The moon is a mirror reaching for the light.
Rattling on the doors grappling with the dew.
Cigarette rims on window ledges stub out edges.
The marred ghosts of fear misty file foul pass.
The well-known places on wrinkle old folks faces.
When your mind sees and grieves with the ashes.
Moister paint the shadow of your face in the sky.
And night continues impenetrable at a lively pace.
Unawares of the rage consigned conspicuous cry.
This hoary claim might charm all the living race.
Perils bring the way that rides the waves of death.
Turned all ends of pleasure into a darker season.
Freely flying thin into the dying fading breath.
Risky living dreaming of another set of reasons.
Deadly steer rides the night with spavined grey.
Journeying without remorse to throw the woes.
And try to catch a glimpse of the fleeting day.
That wishes to defeat time with all their prowess.
Darkness running along far flung into the night.
Black clouds filled the whole dome of the sky.
Grasp muffle decaying voices along the street.
Water nectar rain, wash, rinse, and balm the eye.
The Voltaire of space stars on a voyage in the clouds
Rival unquiet air shivers with unheeding tremor.
The changed atmosphere invites sleep into the crowds.
Binaries cover the city to make stragglers scatter.
The long night closes with a kiss in the frost.
Pale and fear as dear vintage sauvignon saint.
When the drink is in the wit, we see the rein of cost.
That holds the kingly feast of a mysterious variant.
From the porter’s view drink, is a jewel of the night.
Each keeps its way separate in the flames of desire.
And oozes away in the morning behind the sunlight.
In greater sanctity with dreadful eyes smiling in a fire.
When the dust of morning rises in the grassy skies.
The glint in your eyes, you dare not raise too high.
And risk the manor for how your honor applies.
When your mind likely knows, it holds a deeper sigh.
The wolves do lope high and free
in mountainous trails and her masonry
the hallowed wood and rocky clefts
hold the dens of their hidden nests
Golden eyes pierce thickened dark
hunting prey within their park
hot breath raises mist in their flight
with urges to run in thick of night
lounging with the pack on a hill
neath the moon silent and still
The forest with all her rookery
cast eyes below to the pack they see
the cold crypt of the earth below
blood covered in splays of snow
pale ice rugs flow on ground and rocks
as the pack do run seeking the flocks
the burrow of the white wolf and her pups
upon her milk the fledgling sups
the shiver of their meal in deathly gore
lying torn apart on the forest floor
the sinuous beauty of their agility
of taking prey down with ability
The dominate male and alpha mate
are always first in hunger to slate
how many priests have nature of pack
are hidden in darkness and innocence lack
looking for victims the prey that they stalk
in secret places the plans of it talk
Religion that is false will slaughter the sheep
to not be it’s prey the truth you must keep
her princes are wolves ravening prey
the word of the truth they seek to stay
they would come clothed in appearance of light
but within the gown is blackness of night
With a flood of lies He seeks to deceive
and devour the hearts of those who believe
The serpent lays in the den of his mate
The Queen of Harlots , Babylon the Great
Ez 22:27 Zeph 3:2-4 Matt 7:15-16
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
"Within the Contained Behemoth"
we think we travel
strange universes
in our planetary
reconnaissance devices,
transporting initial
contact communication
for exporting
potential new lives
for resettlement,
perhaps we are the
internal world
of God,
we are
the good
and the bad
of an otherwise
invisible being,
a central life source
we cannot see for dreaming,
because
we are
part
of the internal sum
immersed
in the body
of something much larger
and we,
we are like
nerve cells, along which
impulses received
from other cells at synapses
connecting, are transmitting
to the larger bronchi,
travelling through
the trachea we
give breath and voice
to lungs that appear
like a galaxy,
perhaps we are just
crystalline allergens
we are antigens
and dust particles
debris to be
removed with
antibodies to keep
the larger life
genetically
alive.
perhaps the code
not in us, but we,
the code within
the larger, are the
internal messengers,
contracted
like a virus,
eternally mined
within the
contained Behemoth,
conscious of its time,
it is, sustainably recycling
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
When my mother took her final breath,
something inside me shattered — but it did not die. For a long time, I believed I had left this world with her, suspended in the moment her heart fell silent. The day her eyes closed, mine opened to a grief so vast it swallowed light whole. I carried her absence like a wound that refused to close, a sorrow echoing through every breath I struggled to take.
But healing is a strange and sacred thing.
It does not erase the breaking; it teaches you how to survive it.
Living without her will never feel the way living once did, because love that deep leaves fingerprints on the soul. I still ache when I remember she is not coming back. I still reach for her in moments where the world feels too heavy to hold alone. But I no longer mistake grief for death. I understand now that losing her did not end me — it transformed me.
Her absence is no longer the only silence I hear.
Beneath it, there is also her laughter living in my memory, her love stitched into my spirit, her lessons moving through my hands, my voice, my becoming. The silence that once screamed now carries something softer: the undeniable proof that I was loved deeply enough to grieve deeply.
Though her body is gone, her existence did not vanish.
She survives in every part of me that chose to keep breathing when I thought I could not. The soul that fissured beside hers slowly learned that broken things are still capable of holding light.
I walk through this life changed, not hollow.
Scarred, but still alive. Haunted at times, yes — but also held. And instead of waiting to follow her into the dark, I carry her forward with me into every dawn I once believed I would never survive.
(May 21st, 2026)
Never Losing Sight Of You
Telescopic moments in full view
seen through the senses of a gathering flute
I remember the fresh linen scent of water
the herbal essence of blossoming trees
The way your white beard caressed me,
like the whispering winds of, ...slow time
Meditative apparatuses, (pause) none
only the sound of your breath as you exhaled
brought the instrument to life..
As the orbs circled your frame you swirled
into oblivion,
leaving me sitting there
like a wisp of a breeze
a tendril of smoke
a shred of light
I listened to your melody from a bird's eye view
floating up, never losing sight of you.