Long Burns Poems
Long Burns Poems. Below are the most popular long Burns by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Burns poems by poem length and keyword.
DEATHLY WARMTH
My head rolls in hazy smoke.
I feel warmth in the burns of death.
White, sickly ashes stain my plates.
Death sends a warm smile.
The more it burns,
the friendlier death becomes.
The more hell welcomes me,
the more insanity embraces me.
With every cigarette,
my final abode digs deeper.
Never mind, I know what is calling.
I still don't believe,
for the burns of it
only give me an indescribable feeling.
I gladly ignore the warning.
Not all smokers does death embrace faster.
I only die by God's will.
It's not my doing.
It's the doing of cigarettes
the feelings and joy they give.
Either way, they send you down
three glorious roads
The paradise of insanity.
The warmth of death.
The heaven of hell.
Tima Write
OH LORD
As I pray to you every day
In my own special way
You are the light
So that I might find my way
You are my protection
Against any of Satan's connections
You are my deflection
So that I will follow your direction
Oh Lord how you light up the night
So that I might take flight
Making sure to never lose sight
Of a future in you,
That is so bright
You give me the strength
That I might follow you the whole length
You fill my head with all the words
I have read about your daily bread
You feed my mind with so many kind ways
May I honor you in all of my days
You give us the wisdom to understand the journey
You light up the night for us all to see
Just how bright your love is that burns within me
Oh Lord now that you have shown me the way
I will spread your word in everything I say
You are my light so that I might find my way
You are my God in everything you say
I know your listening to me every time I pray
I will love you all of my days
Because you are my God in every way
TODAY, and......ALWAYS
Damien's fire.
Burns within.
The original sin.
The rockers taking.
In music making.
Loving the guitar.
Songwriting by far.
Playing for the ages
of fire breathing pages.
Unleashing lyrics beasts.
Strumming,
before those drums.
Of a life coming undone.
Rock on, Sinful baby.
Make the world go crazy.
Whip those asses,
playing hells desire.
Make them play
with Damien's fire.
Rock on, Sinful baby.
Make the world go crazy.
Whip those asses,
playing hells desire.
Make them play
with Damien's fire.
So, rock with us baby.
Make, this world go crazy.
We need nothing more.
Than sin at our door.
Play the deepness of the soul.
This burning that was stolen.
Licking over that spine.
Strumming on the shrine.
These dark times unwinding.
The instruments of lying.
Feeling the heat of searing.
The hearts time in bleeding.
Cut me with that knife.
Of loves sinful strife.
Rock on, Sinful baby.
Make this world go crazy.
Whip those asses,
playing hells desire.
Make them play
with Damien's fire.
Rock on, Sinful baby.
Make this world go crazy.
Whip those asses,
playing hells desire.
Make them play
with Damien's fire.
So, Rock with us baby.
Make, that world go crazy.
We need nothing more.
That sin at our door.
He reflected on the life he had lived
Staring out the window watching his kids with his grandkids
They were his greatest gifts
He also felt this quiet melancholy of putting them in a position
To survive In a world filled with racists
He hoped they would outlive him
He hoped he would end up in a casket
Way before they ever did
Flicking through his memories
He remembers as a kid
Watching his father being killed
By the very same people who were supposed to protect them
He remembers how that day he had lost his innocence
The day he fully understood what being black meant
They didn't convict his dad's killer
His dad never got justice
He remembers the day of his first protest
For his father's unjust killing
His first chant:
No justice, no peace
He also sadly remembers
The day he tried to rub black of his skin
He thought if he turned white he wouldn't end up in a coffin
For all these years it was a memory he had kept hidden
Even if he had permanent burns that would not leave him
He looked back at the window
Watching his grandkids playing
Looking happy
He hoped that what happened to him wouldn't happen to them
He had always did affirmations with both his kids and grandkids
He had hoped it was enough
For them to see Their self worth
After a while he joined them in the garden
Forgetting about his problem
Wanting to enjoy spending time with his family
That was until
He saw his granddaughters skin
With the same burns as him
This was his biggest fear
This had left him heart broken
He looked in her eyes, long gone Her innocence
It had left earlier than his
She hadn't even reached double digits
This world had stole her innocence
All because of the colour of her skin
This infuriated him
He wished he could take her pain and replace it with her lost innocence
I have to say I've been here before
My life has changed but not these shores
Of this salty ocean sea I still drink
I thought I'd escaped it so long ago
When I caressed the ball which skims it low
Yet even then, I knew someday I'd sink
I found so much in its blinding light!
An old man knelt down and attempted to write--
But their deaf ears could not withstand
The Supernova!
Since then my years have ran so fast
But memories still stain my mast
And on these desolate waves, I still stand
And since then I have fallen in love
I've spoken to priests and our God above
Yet here I still lie on quick sand
I've felt these waves fall-- Burn and crash!
The salt stains my hair! And it burns to ash!
As waves burst in the sea I can feel
A Supernova!
Well, maybe one day I'll be free of this place
Across these horrible shores I will finally embrace
This poisoner who I know as me
I may touch the stars-- But I never burn!
So to truly touch I long and yearn!
To truly forget about this sea
To cleanse in water of somewhere else!
The golden sprays that will fill and melt!
This heart of stone and emit
A Supernova!
He walks through rain that knows his name,
the streets remember every step he’s made.
His silence hums — a blade without a sheath,
his thoughts are storms that never fade.
He does not beg the world to see,
nor crave its shallow, trembling praise.
He burns within a quiet sea,
a ghost that slept through better days.
The moon keeps watch, the dogs all hush,
the wind avoids his shadow’s chill.
There’s danger not in what he’ll do —
but in the fire he keeps that's still.
His heart, once open, sealed by scars,
beats steady as a blacksmith’s will.
The man who walks alone is war,
and yet — he’s mercifully still.
No two ideas seem alike
Always paradoxical as North and South pole
Though they are of one individual,
You find a world of difference between them.
Time brings changes in our perceptions.
Some struggle with cognitive dissonance
Of ‘to be or not to be’ for deciding something
Some deliberately play the role of devil’s advocate
Some dogmatic ...
With their anomalous sense of invincibility
They pave a road to downfall and exile
The extreme arrogance and superiority
Culminate in their ruin and many human beings.
They ignore the reason and validity as they never cross check.
Getting two different opinions is not a mistake
Actually, we can use them as testing tools.
No doubt, self-esteem is to be honoured
But let us not allow our hearts burn and humiliate
Let’s avoid foolish opinions as Russell remarked.
Remember, human life is very little in this vast cosmos
Differences demand high price.
Why?
Ego... burns everything unless it is burnt.
She knows every step, and a turn
gives the direction of the day.
Every twist in her mind should be straightened
for the children to follow
without stumbling.
She is a widow, dancing to the way of life.
The mark of her pain burns and runs
down her face to wet the old, dry land
that once gave her a reason to live and smile.
She nods her head from left to right, again to left,
back to right, again and again, whenever
she hears the voice of her crying children.
Her little ears are always open,
taking in thorns and honey, while her rough palms
remain forward and sway towards the rain and dust.
The widow dances with her children,
spinning around with them towards light and darkness.
She bathes them with the tears of her innermost happiness—
the holy water from the heart of a single mother,
which can wash away the pain of hunger and sickness.
Her empty kitchen has no rats,
but she kneels down daily to count the plates
and divide them by the number of heads
under her wings—only if she has
managed a few beans in a pool of soup.
The widow spreads her wings
to cover the children; she’s the protector,
the ambassador of the family.
Her voice is her children’s,
and her tears are their pain.
Sure love so strong it’s atomic
Metamorphic and Transformative,
Informative. So strong it repels,
Rebels incinerating cells of doubt…
Pure Love is a cure that never burns out,
Shouts in dreams as the Know.About
Awaking screams of X.tasty candy casting
Shadows of fantasy and Romancing.We
Merely aren’t here for knot AND, We
Are the eYeSing… magnetic.gLee dancing
Entrancing, bursting forth and toward!
Real and revealing Love in a Word…
Dreaming that a beam could be heard
In the Light and knowing…it feels right.
ASure Love, is a puURrr Love and Our
.... Write!
Sensation!
Sensei.TI.s’on!
Sense.’A’
It’s On!
Sense i.
Sensei (???) is a Japanese title used to refer to or address T’each…
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sensei
Form:
In every heart that opens wide,
there burns the flame
The beloved comes and goes,
but desire fans the flame.
They say that loss is grief,
but I have learned its grace:
Each absence is a prayer,
each memory a sacred flame.
Pour wine for what has passed!
The vintage sweetens with time
The years between us glow like embers of the same flame.
Your leaving carved a temple in the hollow of my chest
Where I tend the altar of what was, and bless the flame.
To love is to release
the bird, the season, the perfect word
And celebrate the flight,
the fall, the freedom in the flame.
In parting, we become more than we were in holding on:
The poet learns that loss itself can bear a singing flame.