Long Burn Poems
Long Burn Poems. Below are the most popular long Burn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Burn poems by poem length and keyword.
I held my breath as long as I could
Until my lungs began to burn
I forgot my Tibetan embodiments
And gave breathing again, a turn
O, I held my breath and waited for you
From October, till Winter’s depth
Yet you could not say
On any day
That your heart held any breadth
For me or my breathlessness or my cares
Or my happy days or my joys
You measured me
By another tree
That splintered
And left you forlorn
And you hoped for naught
So, your ropes were caught
In the tree
Like a kite in a storm.
O, there’s always a reason
Why loving fails
And makes a person go
And your wordlessness
Made me blow out my breath
And prefer a sensible life
To death
And go out to watch the snow.
She waded through the dreams as she drank her coffee.
Always speaking of the past and her lost memories.
She was fine as frog hair and fleetingly thought of a time when it mattered.
Her old man had died of a broken heart in one of those.
She loved him and she loved those days but was left with his brake.
She lifted each one and slowly remembered and the love.
What shall I eat as if it counted?
She didn't wish to move on and she tried to embrace.
The woman climbed and the thought separated and died.
Have to keep on, for the moving made it all leave.
But those whiskers burned and waking she called for him.
And realized it was just a dream and the whiskers burning.
Mr Johnson was nudging her as she reached for the old man.
Mr Johnson lived there or she lived with him.
It all was so confusing and he was a clean freak.
Always grooming himself and a cough to get the hair up.
Mr Johnson had a pair when young but she had him fixed.
Why did he shave so infrequently going back to sleep.
I wish he shaved regularly and she hoped he would in the night.
Hoping for the burn she lowered herself back to the pillow.....
*****cat Johnson is my cat that when my wife and i separated she took him back to Italy with her.. Momma said his name was troppo loungo {too long} so she changed it to Mr Johnson...
Let us fly on the wings of love,
within our hearts, we fly above,
on the wings of grace.
You shall now be my tender dove,
the eternal light of my love,
a passionate space.
We lie within a crimson light,
where love does sing within the night,
love sings in this space.
We fill the night with love's delight,
you are my most wonderful sight,
passion wins the race.
Desires fulfilled in crimson song,
our hearts are one, we both belong,
love is no disgrace.
sights escaping, desires are strong,
we feel the joy longer than long,
deep in Heaven's place.
Sing the song of crimson desire,
let us burn in the crimson fire,
this is Heaven's space.
Don’t talk to me about self-control
If you’ve never cried in your bed
After trying to quit for the 50th time.
Don’t tell me “it’s just a phase”
If you’ve never looked at yourself in the mirror
And hated what you became.
And don’t you dare say, “Everybody watches ****.”
Because that’s the problem.
This generation is overdosing on pleasure
And starving for purpose.
Sex is everywhere
On TikTok, on Netflix, in ads, in schools.
It’s pushed like candy
But nobody talks about the cancer.
Women turn their bodies into brands.
Teen girls trade dignity for attention.
Boys are praised for lust, not purity.
And those who dare to stay clean?
They’re mocked.
They’re “old-fashioned.”
America, wake up.
You’ve become Babylon in high heels,
Drunk off ****,
Calling perversion “freedom”
And modesty “oppression.”
Governments fund the poison.
Churches avoid the topic.
And parents give kids phones with zero boundaries
And call it “love.”
But here I am
One of the ones who got caught early.
But praise be to God, I didn’t die there.
He met me in my mess.
He pulled me out of the pit.
Not with therapy.
Not with filters.
But with fire and truth and grace that burns.
I don’t speak to impress.
I speak to deliver.
Because somebody out there is where I was:
Ashamed, addicted, crying, pretending.
And they need to know
There is freedom.
I won’t shut up.
I won’t water this down.
**** kills.
Masturbation enslaves.
Lust destroys.
But Jesus breaks chains.
So no, I’m not afraid.
If they block me, let them.
If they cancel me, so be it.
If I perish, I perish.
But as long as I breathe,
I’ll burn with truth.
This generation doesn’t need more influencers.
It needs intercessors.
It needs prophets.
It needs warriors
Who bleed and still roar.
I was once bound.
Now I’m free.
And I won’t stop
Until the chains that once held me
Become the swords I use
To break others free.
Let this be the sound of REVIVAL.
Naked and Revealed,
Sexy or Lewd,
What can I do
If I have them on me?
Inseparable, heavy beads,
Bulgy with shady teats.
All you care:
Is it concealed well beneath bra strips?
Gasping for breath,
Sharp stabbing in my breasts,
Lying on the bed,
Nausea till my neck -
All due to the unbearable clasp at the chest.
Tell me,
Is it still my fault,
If a brassiere is not enough for my ample busts to exalt?
Should I cut them?
Or should I burn them?
Since I can't stop their charming dance,
For those
Who only know how to objectify and sexualize their existence,
Without any rightful cause.
It's all you care about.
Maybe what suffocates isn't the bras,
But the disgust for what's beneath them -
And that's what I care about.
i remember when you saw me in the devil's tattered and torn
the flinch was the pinch and i felt the tinge at every inch
my innermost persperation was inspiring convulsing chills as a merciless foe
i remember when you saw me in the devil's forgotten and forlorn
i recall the melancholy raindrops expressing the truth through the feeble theatrics of my acidic lie
the shake was a flake so easily exposed by the obviously expressive ache
my external mannequin was so horribly frostbitten by the flop of the frigid show
i recall the most brutally honest eye talk within the very heart of the most avoidable senselessness gone terribly awry
if i had the antidote to dissolve and dissipate,
i definately would not hesitate
to burn the milky white nucleus of your incomprehensible hate
that makes me melt in your memory in an altered state of wait
a black snowflake falls, and i find myelf wanting you
a white hailstone crashes, and i see myself flaunting you
an indecisive sun teases, and i forsee myself haunting you
a disappointed moon cries itself fuseless, and in the blind stillness of this remaining actuality, I....AM....SO....STILL....LONGING....YOU!!!!
6 April 2024 6:05 AM
The busy bee buzzing here and there,
for hours on end collecting nectar to prepare.
Pollen sticking to its body renewing the flowers it visits each day.
These seem to be the bees only purpose to feed and provide with the next generation as it's pay.
But I wonder does it know that every where it goes.
It helps create treasures much more preciouse than gold.
It's life and it's labour is all blessed by Gods favor.
Creates beauty and wonder and food for all to savor!
For without the bee and it's fellow pollinators all would parish from Gods creation.
All depend on them every specie in every nation.
We like the bee live out our busy lives.
So many of us our importance we never realize.
We just can't do enough and we feel like a failure.
We forget that we are gifted by our King our Savior.
Every little thing we do effects everything else.
It is just about life and not putting trophies on shelves.
We are not measured by works but by our faith.
So don't be in such a hurry it is ok to slow the pace.
That way we don't burn out we don't give up or give in.
We lean on His understanding because on Him we can depend.
My mind simmers—
a volcano,
waiting.
Maybe it erupts,
maybe it just holds,
a silent threat behind every blink.
It takes everything—
to stay still,
to not burst
when no one else feels the fire
licking the edge of my thoughts.
Decisions burn before they’re made—
Is it right?
Am I right?
Will this moment
become another
mess to clean
alone?
Life spills like paint
no one asked for—
a blur of colors no one sees
the same way I do.
And in the haze,
I wish—
not for answers,
just for someone
who sees the smoke
and stays.
Someone who doesn’t ask
why it’s so loud in my chest.
Someone who doesn’t try to fix it
but sits beside the lava
like it’s sunlight.
Just once,
I want to erupt
and not be left
in ash.
To the passage of time, you waste
to an old idea that lives in you
to that vivid imagination that still burns
to your dream that lives on
there will come a day,
when eventually it runs out-
to the passage of time you waste
rejoice in moment of levity that lives within
to your heart that feels heavy
to your soul that is crushed in burden of your own weight
walk close and steadily to that litted room
every step, each one, you take
your crushed soul, in moment of truth
you; will nearly break
-
to an old idea that lives in me
to my vivid imagination that still burns
to that forgetful dream that lives on,
the passage of time I wasted
this pains that drains my heart
this hopeless soul that is crushed
I rejoice in moment of levity that completes me.
to live in burden of failure
exhausted; I still dream
I bath in my old ideas, i may never reach
I shower in fabricated imagination
my soul ashamed, will surely endure.
-
Let's create something new
Let's abandon all of our fantasies
Let's work to achieve our dreams
Let's walk, on a new path
each and every step we take
this time, we learn
through the the passage of time,
we will learn to live again
this crushed soul will burn again
The words
1. If my words were sand, they will drag me from my feet and sink me into the eternal abyss.
If my words were concrete, they will cement me facing the mirror of my bad deeds I've written to forget.
If my words were as fickle as air, it will strip me of its loyalty and leave me buried six feet under, to say the least.
If my words were candor, I will be stoned to death for every truth I left bare, forgotten, and neglected.
2. If our words were fire, it will burn us from inside out and make us beg for its mercy.
If my words were poetry, it will convey the most heartbreaking emotions in the pretense of metaphor.
If my words were excellent, they will be rated five stars, not four.
Words are heavier than metals, faster than bullets, more pulling than a magnet and less prettier than daisies.
3. If the words were humans, free and destructive as it pleases
No one will escape its wrath with every living breathing in the wary arms of the sea. Beware, this is not a tease