Long Cathartic Poems
Long Cathartic Poems. Below are the most popular long Cathartic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cathartic poems by poem length and keyword.
In archaic anchorage
of
the wayward mind
isolated intuitively
from
the righteous roots
of inviolability
resolute
by dislodging drive
of
deriding desires
untamed
insolent instincts
shroud the senses
in
disdain abyss
Under sensual surface
apparent
of
corporeal conscience
transparent
fleeting thoughts
tangential
imprint internal
transitory profile
prudent
of
intrinsic images
on
the evanescing screen
of
avid awareness
emergent
within
unique quintessence
of
supreme reality
The inner window
opens acuity
on
psychic panorama
enlightened
lets inside
sunshine
of
the new dawn
where
impetuous actuality
radiates the notion
impulsive
of awakened essence
defined
enhancing strength
of
cathartic spirit
The soul contained
covert
in cauldron of vacuity
finds freedom
as
devout lotus
immanent
unfurls petals
of
divine bliss
within
spontaneity space
ingrained
to capture the true
essence of what lies
behind my eyes
create a palette of
black pastels portraying
the shadow that follows like death
a constant visitor to my d o o r
nobody knows the
story of my heart
an artificial anecdote of
a l l i t e r a t i v e a n g s t
bleeding in metaphorical
ink stained tear drops
d r o w n i n g childhood
sanity in shallow rivers of
bittersweet s o r r o w
fate is a fragile wrecking ball
which has become too hard to love
soul craves to be free under horizons
of tangerine temptations
but all I find is twilight with
a filthy feldgrau sky
fatigue imitates the
last breaths of a
b r o k e n b u t t e r f l y
as 'spirit' becomes imprisoned
in sinister silence
yearning to sleep
forever in an unfolding
labyrinth hidden from the
golden colours of the sun
this smile cannot
continue to pretend
kismet is a
crimson clandestine
cursed t a l i s m a n
speech is my harbinger
of d o o m
miraculous ink
flutters in my pen of
p u r i f i c a t i o n
yet not all verses are
meant to be understood
cathartic martyrdom
sounds like poetry
but there is no remedy
for magenta manifestations
so I curse the poetic limerence
of my tongue suppressing
effervescent emotions
inside a garnet treasure
chest of blood-soaked
bruised and battered
invisible inflictions
I'm a mute masterpiece
drained from the pain
i told the Grim Reaper
i'm not afraid anymore
of all the lives we lived
this is my favourite
but he just smiled
then cried asking
"is this our last goodbye"
My lightsaber can be a mood ring,
that is what makes it so powerful.
It is cathartic when you must swing.
Between lavender and aqua flexing,
never do two shades appear equal.
My lightsaber can be a mood ring.
There’s danger in emotions building,
be cognizant and keep them stable.
It is cathartic when you must swing.
A slash will leave your body stinging.
Keep the core temperature normal,
my lightsaber can be a mood ring.
The goal to be the last one standing,
your fire makes that unavoidable.
it is cathartic when you must swing.
I wield a weapon ever-changing.
Pick a fight? Mind the hue be careful.
My lightsaber can be a mood ring,
it is cathartic when you must swing.
Life, are you a blessing or a punishment?
I'm trying to understand how I'm
a slave to the sculpted version of me.
A prisoner without chains,
upon a path forged with my own hands,
feeling lifeless, drained from
premeditated premonitions.
I'm burning like a caliginous candle,
melting in waxing weepings -
fatigued from flames of rage and regret.
In this sable epoch,
I'm unable to master my mind,
as bitter temperatures trigger tenebrous tones,
I tremble, feeling tremors from corrosive cysts.
Birds remain mute on somber mornings.
When did I become their nemesis?
I've stopped searching for sunshine from absent friends,
or explaining to impatient selfish souls,
too consumed in their internal thoughts.
Maybe the problem is my restless existence,
not in their lack of empathy.
I've always been sober to sorrow,
but I hunger to drink myself to death.
Irritated by smiling, I'm slowly suffocating,
losing all desire for me to breathe -
unable to escape the angst of air.
My eyes are like tender lanterns,
guiding with damp cautious flickers,
craving crepuscule hues,
but all I see is a solemn moon,
wrapped in a blank black hoodie.
My cathartic conscience feels unconscious,
defeated from colourless pastels.
Feeling dejected and dreary,
drenched from misty icy rain,
I walk towards a ghostly passage of muted feet,
searching for shelter in my clandestine cave.
I awoke hoping for a gold and copper dawn,
but only lethargic gloom greeted my spirit.
As I tumble like leaves blowing in the breeze,
I return to nothingness, haunted by wraiths at dusk.
In these dark and desolate times
I have discovered I'm out of rhymes
The messages are lame
And so many poems the same
But it's a struggle to find new words
Just fighting to be heard
I'm not proud of everything I write
But I'm proud of the effort to do it right
And how I started with limericks
I found a lifelong passion that sticks
Always afraid I ran out of words I surprise myself
Every time I add a new poem to the shelf
But see I'm selfish because I write for me
Because it is what sets my mind free
And the joy of verbal vacation
Is what fuels my heart with elation
It's so cathartic to write how I truly feel
When my heart is bleeding emotion it's real
But time continues to match on
And it's true that one day I'll be gone
I just want to leave a legacy that lives forever
So for now I'll keep on with the endeavor
Hoping even if the rhymes are the same
Nobody would say my effort is lame
When soft colors of
the amethyst twilight,
dance amongst shadows~
swirling through forlorn forests,
I count sparkling syllables of
pirouetting peridots,
looking for metered refrains
from the emerald empyrean,
while wondering,
what am I but a
speck of astral dust;
garnet silhouette of
desert orchid dusk,
hanging on thin threads
of lilac-laced lines,
seeking sanguine
streaks between
black and white realms,
composed with rhythmic reasons,
that reveal pristine pathways
to still wander,
like a soulful sojourner,
sleepwalking through pilgrims
perfumed with peace,
to attain eternal nirvana,
there, I’ll no longer
be a wingless bird,
but will soar like a golden eagle,
feathered in fragranced faith,
and porcelain-tailed promises.
And as the pink pearl moon
unveils its hyacinth halo,
I twirl to the tamarind tenors
of twinkling topaz,
that fall upon healing hills
thriving with buttercup bliss,
below funeral fogs,
where melanin phases of faces
lurk in sweltering silence,
stimulating my quill to release
pastel pigments of contentment,
like glowing galaxies of gratitude.
Yet, I am an unfinished poem,
completely incomplete,
comfortably rhyme-less,
misplaced in a melancholic
meadow of magnolia metaphors,
too vague for the eye
that sees not beyond
my sun-kissed skin.
While from ethereal verses,
scattered across
seraphic spheres, I strive,
wishing that phrases I weave
across midnight skies,
would calm the soundless storms
beneath lunar-pillowed oceans,
as this glistening ink on
the ceremonial canvas
of life and beyond,
longs to be the epitaph
that immortalizes my voice
amidst ashes and stones,
skeletons and bones,
there I’ll slumber with
light still flowing
through poetic veins,
amidst the
piercing pandemonium
and turmeric tranquility;
yin and yang of existence,
I am both, earth and water;
aura of intuitive seas~
and cathartic currents
mirroring the crestfallen crescent,
soaked in infinite luminescence
from aesthetic lanterns.
In the depths of solitude, a poet dwells,
A lover of words, where silence swells.
His heart, once vibrant, now laden with pain,
A life shattered, lost in a torrential rain.
A child, once joyous, his laughter's delight,
Now a memory that fades in the night.
A marriage, once promising, crumbled apart,
Leaving him broken, with a wounded heart.
Yet, amidst the darkness, a flicker remained,
A glimmer of hope that still sustained.
For deep within his spirit, a fire burned,
A steadfast belief, a lesson hard-earned.
Depression's grip tightened, a relentless foe,
But he clung to faith, refusing to let go.
In the depths of despair, he found solace there,
Whispering prayers, releasing his care.
Like a solitary phoenix, he emerged from the flame,
With resilience and strength, he overcame.
For trials and tribulations had shaped his soul,
And from the ashes, a stronger man he'd grow.
He sought solace in the verses he penned,
Pouring his anguish, a cathartic blend.
With each stroke of the pen, he found release,
A balm for his wounds, a gentle peace.
And as he shared his poems, he touched hearts anew,
For in his words, others found solace too.
His story became a testament of grace,
A beacon of hope in a desolate place.
Through the darkest nights, he trusted in God,
His unwavering faith, a staff and a rod.
And from the depths of despair, he arose,
A testament to resilience, where hope freely flows.
So let his tale be a reminder to all,
That in our darkest hours, we need to recall,
That even when we stumble, lose our way,
We can rise like the phoenix, find light in the gray.
Sensing your nostalgic angst,
I’m gripped with sentimental reminiscences
transcending melancholic predicaments
of yesterdays' significant moments
along crossroads' decisions*
yet beckoning past decades’ jubilation-mirth
in loving relationships wrought by the Lord---
Here am I, your photo album, offering you
my gracious cathartic assistance
amidst the soothing therapy
of radiant flashback scenes
freely allowing you to shed tears
and, or beam with exuberant glee---
Keep me serving
as your steadfast knocker of memory**
when oblivion attempts to prevail in your mind
despite your heart’s defiance.
*Joel 3:14 Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision: for the day of the LORD is near in the valley of decision.
**Psalm 145:7 They shall abundantly utter the memory of thy great goodness, and shall sing of thy righteousness.
September 6, 2019
Edited on September 19, 2019
2nd place, "Crossroads" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 9/22/2019.
In Retrospect
As an appreciated audience, though small,
you are inspirational, the reason to give my all.
To do the best that I am able, telling my tales
of times and entities responsible for what ails –
lost moments, unfulfilled dreams, all that fails –
a broken heart, a fractured spirit, a soul smitten
are the essences of my words, words I have written,
cathartic visions, healing, this is what you have read.
All, has left the building, the confines of this old head
and onto pages of poetry / rhyme that I spread
across the uncertain, uneven grounds of this plane.
Know that all the emotional pain -
heartache, again and again -
I would never, ever refrain
from any of those moments I did live
nor deny, to the one’s, whom I did give.
What has been placed before your eye,
came from all the pain, the tears I cry
for the loss of all that would never be.
These poems / rhymes came from what I see,
blinded by a desire to rise above
and get to know another’s love.
B. J. “A” 2
December 25, 2012
S ince I have been separated a year
E ventually I have come to see
L ife can be lived large, not small.
F orget about being left on the shelf.
A ctually, I now sing Alleluia.
C hoir practice I find cathartic.
T he poetry has been absolvent.
U nleashing deep hurts in haiku.
L aughter rises often, I'm cheerful.
I appreciate my friends in literati.
S kip along at work with a buzz.
A nd I am ready for any fiesta.
T hankful for this wonderful gift.
I nspiring, empowering, stimulating.
O ffering me a chance I hitherto
N ever had for self actualisation.