Long Cave Poems
Long Cave Poems. Below are the most popular long Cave by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cave poems by poem length and keyword.
Through the prism of the soul, a mysterious alliance of reflections is bound,
Pieced together from shards of worlds lost under bare soles.
Streams of betrayal trickle over the skin, constructing ruby maps
In ten directions, to be wrung out, to be cleansed of primal anguishes.
The agony writhes, a tremor of despair suffocated between stammering sobs,
A home is built upon the canvas of reality, just to see it shattered in the porcelain of promises.
The sign of peace is vain when screams sustain an endless echo,
From the ashes of your being, the fire stubbornly flares up towards the infinite.
You tread over embers hidden beneath ash, anguish on hot coals –
Your home smokes the reddish light of dusk under the weight of silence.
The scent of cigars and the noise of fallen bottles in a symphony of shadow and flight,
Each step echoes a gathering doomed to insignificance.
A disjointed section, a star-studded rainbow with the caress of fleeting hope,
Are broken dreams and wilted wings yearning to envelop,
A flicker of the firmament, proud in the moon's reflection, testimonies of imperfect brilliance.
You are lured by the dungeon's aroma, but it's just a dream encircled by passions to which you succumb.
Rustling through oceans of quiet, the fear of the grave keeps you from the depths,
A laugh of hypocrisy breaks through, the metaphor of a cave full of echo and re-sanctification.
Be a guide on a tour of truth, if you are a helmsman on the rivers of the soul.
When the veils of silence fall, we will find ourselves in the unsaid verb, in the long-lost vow.
If I were to expose my vulnerable breath before your pure gaze,
Would you continue to kiss my wounds, to confront the red that paints your lips?
And, at the moment when scars weave stories on our skin, will you venture forth,
To embrace my enigma for a long while, even if the fire burns and sparkles within us?
Will I still be arcane enough for you, then?
Miss Adventure liked to be doing some activity
Climbing in the tallest tree or swimming underneath the sea
Up a mountain, in a cave, doing something really brave
On a surf board where she’ll crave the fullest and the fastest wave.
Sometimes flying in the sky, leaping out... why o why?
All that daring-do... or die, isn’t something I would try
Steep, and yet we know she’ll cope, as she climbs the rocky slope
At the top, with faith and hope, leaps with an elastic rope
Speeding at a manic pace, as we humans race the race
To a very distant place, she’s the face of outer space
NASA said at Ursa Centra, no way back from where we’ve sent ya
Were that me I’d lose my denture, but then my name’s not Miss Adventure
Cuddling close, near bedside table
a blanket wrapped, cold rainy night.
Mind thrums journey, a book on navel,
playground of words, feelings delight.
As vermicules squirm, sculpted souls spark
lighting white pages, of zillion black letters.
Trailing love, smile, thrill,... adventures dark,
touch of sadness... hostile heartless haters.
Opens Alibaba's cave of jewels and gold
wafting thoughts sail on magic carpet.
World of strangers, imagination unfold
Just can't stop,... reading has started.
Wilderness of books, a grandiose treasure,
a corpus of knowledge, exciting...arcane.
Shelved floor to ceiling, a visual pleasure
drunken in syllables, an addiction insane.
Soft slow caress, of flipping through pages,
book in lap, heavy eyes.. droop to slumber.
Heavenly relation, warms solitude cages,
Bookworms, !!..why we slang?, I often wonder.
12th March 2019
Kai Michael Neumann's Bookworm Contest
The Voyage of Life: Childhood, painting, 1840, Thomas Cole
**********************************************************************************************************
The Voyage of Life: Childhood
A gentle dawn, a tender hue,
Where innocence begins anew.
The river flows, a silver gleam,
A baby born within a dream.
The small boat sets out from a cave,
Symbol of man`s source, from earth brave,
And streams down in a weather fair
Amidst greens under divine stare.
The boat`s prow holding an hour glass
Marks dawn of life and how time pass
In the voyage of human life,
As in diverse phases man strives.
At first, a lush shore, a bright start,
Delights the tranquil, happy heart;
With eager eyes, he gazes wide,
Where future currents softly glide.
The world unfolds, a vibrant scene,
A tapestry not ever seen,
Each flower bud, each hissing breeze,
A symphony amidst the trees.
No heavy thought, no weary sigh,
Beneath the vast and azure sky;
The babe floats on, with spirits light,
Bathed in the sun's pure, golden light.
He laughs and plays, without a doubt,
As life's unfolding paths branch out.
A nascent spirit, brave and bold,
A story waiting to be told.
The gentle slope, the banks so green,
The fairest sight he's ever seen,
He trusts the stream, its steady pull,
His little world so beautiful.
No shadows loom, no darkened fear,
Just all that's lovely, holding dear,
The child's pure gaze, so clear and true,
Reflects the skies of azure blue.
The journey starts, a quiet grace,
On this serene, watery space
A time of dreaming, pure and free,
In a parental modest lee.
His heart a bud, about to bloom,
Dispels any whisper of gloom,
He sails along, with gentle sway,
Towards the promise of the day.
The river's song, a lullaby,
Beneath a vast and watchful eye,
The childhood phase, a fleeting art,
Engraved forever in the heart.
Though the rain pounds outside,
Bidding everyone in my surroundings
To wear a grim frown
On their faces
I choose to open the door of my house
And to run, bare feet, in the open
Letting my skin be soaked
With those drips dripping from the skies,
Drips which ruin my brushed-up hair
And smear my made-up face
Making me look as messy as would
Be a cave woman!
Submerged in my own fluid realm,
I close my eyes
And dance with imaginary friends,
All who like me
Can only care to please themselves,
Without even opening their books to give
Their stories some space to plot out about what those
Who do not enjoy celestial showers
Would deem to think about them merely by glancing
At their clumsy dance moves!
If I choose to let myself be swayed by thundery showers
Or by the flow of the winds enouncing of how grand
Our world is,
So grand that it allows everyone treading upon its soils
Some space to enact for themselves,
Their own roles in a script which has been
Written by some higher power,
Why can’t it be that
We simply feel inborn in us, the surge to be like flowers;
Existing merely for our fragrance and our beauty,
While allowing life to create for itself
More artistry
By giving permission to bees to share our pollen?
Why can’t it be that
We see in others, the same essence
That inhabits us?
And since we shall all leave, someday,
After shedding off our useless and lifeless corpses
Why can’t we make our duty
That of understanding
That only when respect is given
Is it returned!
After all, when I enjoy dancing in the rain
I opinionate not
About those who stay indoors
I, rather,
Am so engrossed in experiencing the mystery
Of existence according to my personality
And the physical attributes that
Have been given to me,
That everything and everyone else
Become mere fumes!
Respect is my oars,
It allows me to keep rowing my boat
Further and further into murky waters
Since, armed with it,
Ancient creatures fear me!
Respect is my drive,
It allows me to set up my car
Into racing mode
So as to reach the finishing line as
As a winner!
Respect is my breath,
It allows me to be virtuous
While I transit in a world
Which shall never be mine!
Respect is my birthright,
I swear allegiance to it,
But
I make sure
To return it only when it is
Given to me!
Ollie Ollie Oxen Free
by Odin Roark
Corners to peer around
The harlequin of angles
Where peeking
Reveals
Where being stuck
Confines
Where feeling trapped
Separates
Our remembered child stands
Eyes squeezed shut
Face buried where two walls meet
Counting to one-hundred
While confidence sought
To play out our innocence
Beneath
Behind
Beside
A trusted game
Waned
Time passed
Shorts became pants
Pants became suits
Nostalgia echoed once more
“Ollie ollie oxen free”
Still we remained
Unwilling to believe
The forged sincerity
Baited with fiendish smile
Enticed with charm
Was but to set up
The next furtive trap
Suddenly
Acquiescence lay naked
Villainous schemers
Knowing but numbers
Who lured
Cajoled
Seduced
Our reluctance to cave
Are…
Later
We dragged ourselves away
Kicking and screaming
“We only wanted to play the game
Not be the game”
Emptiness invaded
Freedom to respond
To return home
To trust a voice
Wasn’t so
Anymore
Ollie ollie oxen free
So simple
So everlasting
Now but an epitaph
When r e a l i t y feels like
a poisoned paradise,
trapped in a claustrophobic cave,
strangling my spirit
with ice-cold claws of fate,
I close my fatigued eyes,
attuned to the mellifluous
flames of the moon-wings,
detached from the gravity
pulling me six feet below,
chained to a casket of chaos,
adorned with obsidian roses
clothed in ghost-veils of Lilith,
as this onyx heart
screams in silence,
longing for an ethereal escape,
where every song I sing
is no longer a tattooed mistake,
to the eyes that feel not
the burden I wear in resilience,
to the ears that heed not
the truth I speak
in hushed tones.
I am the storm of tranquility,
whirling through
warm winds like delicate dandelions,
drifting in the darkness~
an untamed asteroid
to your eclipsed breeze.
Forgive my bleeding ink,
for I choose to flee
from this sulfuric sphere,
testing my patience
while the seething sun
tortures my sanity,
burning lifelines breathing
within my splitting skin.
Yet I still remain
an unrestrained distraction,
skating upon Saturn’s rings,
steeped in sakura smoke,
exhaling toxic fumes of twilight tremors
into the vast blue ether,
drawing layers of lethal lies
from the dark sorcery sprouting
through hemlock roots,
as I sculpt paper boats from
pages of disappointments,
watching them ferry my demons
through methane lakes~
mirroring memories,
as melancholic mists engulf
my bones in volatile violets,
drowning me in endless waters
rippling with twisted topaz,
and scorching salt.
So let the tempest of life
unravel doleful desires,
entwined in the
whirlpool of doomed destiny.
I am more than a caged nightmare~
tonight I float with my shadow,
through astral projection,
abandoning the hellish embrace,
to drink from the citrine cup
of lithium serenity,
that numbs the p a i n
of existence, forevermore...
I got my gloves on, my hair tied up. I'm ready for today and whatever guilt throws my way. I am going to fight back, throw my untrue thoughts into the trash. Pick my self-esteem off of the mat, that's riddled with all my what ifs and should haves.
It's time to stand tall in this life ring. I'm tired of getting pummeled by my own insecurities. I am ready to take a step forward and throw a jab in; finally
to crawl out of this mental cave I have been festering in.
I just have to be strong, because my guilty conscience thrives on doing me wrong. I won't give it any power for it's not yours to make me cower; it's my life and you can't have it not now, not at any hour.
--The Howling Wind and a Camel’s Hump--
Considering that all life’s matters are not special of but ordinary things,
surviving is just another perspective on life. I unloaded the weight of life nonchalantly, on the roadside.
The load I carried with wobbling legs, as if it’s my destiny,
without grumbling; though it’s back-breaking because life
is a desert, the load looks unattractive and burdensome like
a hump of a camel, it was the vital element to sustain my life.
In the desert,
when a camel crosses leaving trails in the sand hills
you hear the unpleasant, even fearful, sigh of a vindictive
spirit pulling their heads out of the sand; and a deep sigh echoes
in the very end, of a bottomless cave and returns with a dreadful howl
the air is incapable of handling the scorching sun it rises and turns into
a turbulent wind become insane
the passing wind, really is not moving,
a giant goes with wide stride leaving the sound of
his vigorous heart beat. Though he is, in fact, not a living body
when the full harsh sound of brutally tortured spirits
pile up from the underworld layer after layers of groans
the camel lays down its yolk and kneels to pray, with the setting sun,
the stars fall on the sands to soothe the wandering-moaning spirits
in the desert,
when the sand cools off, rather than a burden of life,
it becomes a wall of oblivion and puts every soul in it, to sleep;
in such desert,
when absolute tranquility casts her anchor,
even hearts stop to beat; the dream of the camel flees from
the world of suffering and goes drifting on the water, free from
all thoughts and ideas.
The magic lantern, like Plato's cave
Should comfort us from here to grave
Illusions tempt but serve to save
Us all from small tedium
The little deaths that make up life
'tween buoyancy and mindless strife
Let balance there be our midwife
And rescue lies aborning
Breathe deeply in, the chance of mirth
At ev'ry chance from here to birth
The only measure of life's worth
Is pleasure gained from honest laughter dawning
For life's a heavy weight to bear
And we should not the mantle wear
Like it's a cloak of camel's hair
Thru the desert of life's making
When oasis waits upon the verge
If we but let our senses merge
Resisting mightily the urge
To wallow there in grieving
When courage is what takes the day
While life's embattled forces play
The lightness out in bitter fray
Shall not the victor be upon death's requiem