Long Concealed Poems
Long Concealed Poems. Below are the most popular long Concealed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Concealed poems by poem length and keyword.
The storm has passed, the wind’s a silent ghost,
when passion dies, we search our past for pleasure;
of vanity we never care to boast,
and fleeting things become our buried treasure.
Affection once beheld our young keen eye,
concealed in emptiness when age is ripe,
the soul is battered, the spirit won’t comply,
and wrinkles deep within starve one of life.
But age can speak of wisdom without greed,
for fewer entertainments are required,
the gratitude of peace is now agreed
where inner sweet contentment is inspired.
With tired eyes the world’s too fast to view,
and with a gust of wind, our life withdrew.
I’m striving, my love, for brighter days,
To walk with you on life’s better ways.
With every breath, I lift your name,
In prayers to Allah, a sacred flame.
I seek His mercy, His guiding light,
To bring you close in love’s pure might.
Through countless trials, I tread and fight,
To craft for you a world so right.
Janid wears struggles like a crown,
No burden too heavy to pull him down.
In silence, he labors, through nights so cold,
Chasing the dreams that your heart holds.
With trembling hands and humbled soul,
I build our future, my only goal.
Each hardship faced, each tear concealed,
A promise of love, by faith is sealed.
Bear patience, my beloved , hold on tight,
For every step brings our dream to light.
Through storms, through fire, I’ll endure,
To give you a life steadfast and pure.
So trust in me and trust in fate,
My prayers, my love, will navigate.
I’m striving, my soul mate , with all my might,
For your dreams to soar and take their flight.
The cascading stream leaps skyward in swirling ebullience,
the dancing shadows of serenading trees sway entranced.
The dainty dewdrops draping the glinting grass tips,
weave splendored tapestry for me to lie on dreams.
The drizzling dust of the descending moonbeam drifts
through the mesmeric aura of the silken sapphire night,
adorns the pearl-laced waves of the rolling sea,
where I saunter in search of my muse so elusive.
Up above the majestic mountain’s supine slope,
stands the sun-soaked summit of ecstasy, I climb.
Down the verdant valley’s curved spine smoothly carved,
winds the emerald pathway on the pictorial plateau I tread.
The rain-washed sky sparkles with the shine of sequins,
sequestered by the spectrum of my dormant dreams,
paints the chromatic rainbow arc that beckons me
to seek out my ingrained imagination concealed.
Turning emotions into wings of creative craving,
I fly in the cadenced air across the sky of fantasy
to all these delightful places in the realm of afflatus waiting.
To float on its fervent rhythm, feel lyrical vibes, follow me.
My heart a garden, concealed deep away
Where sunlight rays rarely reflect its way,
A setting unknown, unseen, unravelled
Where some savvy stories secretly dwell.
Within its walls resides a serene peace,
Where profound feels may find silent release;
The doors are locked with a distinctive code
That securely rests in my mind`s abode.
This garden enfolds roots of a flower,
By fate shattered in youth `s early hour,
A secret secure spot, a private space,
Holding still slender shoots of nascent grace.
The surround is thick, with no shine of cheers,
But echoes of lingering inner tears,
Yet, pulses of courage bravely do rise,
Beneath the stiff shroud of secluded skies.
A serpentine alley, no one can trace,
Leads to a serene solitary place.
Where mournful memories like ivy creep
And secrets that my sombre spirit keep.
No gardener enters this secret ground,
No stranger’s furtive footstep can be found;
Here I alone, with mindful step, do stroll
To recall the plight of my youthful soul.
This garden`s fragrance is unique and deep,
Reminiscence, whole life I vow to keep,
A fragrant flower lost in quietude,
That often I recall in solitude.
Though the world may hurry and rush with calls,
My heart’s own inner garden stands up tall,
A stiff sanctuary, secretly cast
Where by-gone sentiments of youth do last.
It is a garden concealed deep inside
With youth sorrowful feelings of low tide,
With its un-bloomed flower staying unseen,
That not the brightest light can ever glean.
Once concealed like
the devil behind the
serpent she is.
No!, not even an inch
did i know of what
lies between her
bamboo legs.
With lips as that of an
angelic maiden she
kissed, saying nothing
else i accepted
comfort like cold
porage.
She hugs better than
a lover, cuddle so tight
than a mother.
But her motive was
vile same as those of
lost eden,her actions
bears it forth.
My memories said to
me, tainting your
image was her
mission, soiling your
name her vision,down
to your rising
fame ,her proffesion.
Alas! I recall this is
but the lips of a
temptress.
From nowhere,
a type of sadness descends
as that which sometimes possesses
a child on rainy afternoons
when what is vulnerable withdraws
and curls up in a corner
of the mind to seal
itself with silence.
It's a sadness that doesn’t
wear a name, more like a shadow
cast by something way back
that memory has forgot
or put away concealed
behind a veil of sleep.
It comes creeping
out of the quiet
and hangs as a blur
beyond the reach of sight,
a blank in the headlights
of a child’s far away stare,
without shape or form,
a sadness perhaps left
by a scar or the imprint
of a longing cast by a previous life,
or nothing, nothing more
than an ordinary sadness
that comes upon us all
on rainy afternoons,
when we are alone.
The word existed eternally in the heavenly world.
As Father, Son, and Spirit in every tongue, it unfurled
As Brahma and Allah too to the world, this word was shown.
As known to the unknown and unknown to the known, this was known.
In the form of a life-giving breath of breeze, this blew around.
In hills, mountains, valleys, meadows, and plateaus, this was found.
As fountains, streams, rivers, and rivulets, this always flowed.
As ponds, lakes, seas, and oceans, with the fullness of life, glowed
In the sweet chirping of each little bird, this is revealed.
In the might of each wild and domestic beast, it's concealed.
Is this not the music rising from the flute, lute, and harp?
Isn't this, in mothers and their little children, heard sharp?
Saying, let there be, this word brought things from the vacuum.
To each living and non-living being, this word is the womb.
SUPERNOVA
Stars can't shine without darkness
God has a purpose for your pain,
A reason for your struggles,
A reward for your faithfulness.
Save the rope and leave the dope,
Take a life, run the mile,
Execute the thought
Let the Hades' voice wane
Don't pull the plug now
See the end until life is over,
Still be the supernova.
When it shines so bright
It's at the expense of explosion
Many lives depends on this life,
Generations wait endlessly to drink
From the steep ocean called YOU
To suck from your milk and honey soul
Not to sing the graven song and so
Give hope for tomorrow
Better days will surely follow.
They laugh at you because you're different?
Laugh at them because they're the same
Never bow to those ephemeral gods,
They will fade into shades,
Ignore the names, rise above the blames
Stir your flames, set ablaze the shame
Don't turn swords into ploughshares
Glory is concealed underneath
The veil of mist over the hills,
Way to glory is through the furnace
It's never a Cinderella on ice
But knocked hard by the rod
Not to be knocked-out
But beaten and banged to shape
The iron does not know
Until it becomes the envy,
The cynosure of all eyes,
To honour and to cherish;
A Samurai sword of valour
Shinning with blaze of glory and power,
That is who you are!
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2015.
All Rise
On this day,
Familial ties were diverse
but sentiments parallel
loving
fearful
On this day,
The tone of the room was formal
but its members conflicting
unsure
commanding
On this day,
The photos of my memories were joyful
but the truth within concealed
unseemly
intimate
On this day,
The stage comprised of props
but the actors real
official
judgmental
On this day,
The clues were numerous
but lacked absolution
validity
substance
On this day,
The people in the box were random
but their adjudication discussed
debated
final
On this day,
I heard arguments in volume
but the words judicious
ordered
disciplined
On this day,
The phrases were mandatory
but my conscience echos them at night, "All rise"
"We the jury"
"Guilty"
On this day,
The prosecutor claimed victory
but the father of my children mandated confinement
regiment
life without parole
On this day,
The accusers celebrated
but I sensed our son's defeat
sadness
prayers
that it was all just a bad dream
It stood there
looking empty and old,
neglected and sad
with windows shuttered,
covered in shadow
both day and night,
hovered over
by trees whose branches
disguised the house
and made it seem
a part of the
overgrown landscape,
completely surrounding it,
keeping strangers and unawares
at bay.
It stood there
shrinking from the present
almost lifeless,
a house with no soul
no face, no breath,
as if it started out as a ruin
and was determined
to remain so for all time,
unwanted, unkempt,
shunned by passersby,
its roof looking tortured
its doors uncertain
as to whether they opened at all
and no one knew
and no one asked.
It stood there
talking to itself
in a silent conversation
that no one heard,
talking about things
that used to be
as though the Past was in the Now
and the Now belonged to the Past,
and who would dare
to knock on its doors
or tap on its windows
to see if anyone would answer
or show their presence
to the world outside,
a world gone by.
I stood there
on many a night
along the side of the road
just endlessly peering
at this lonely old place
wondering, waiting
for a light inside
to be turned on
at the same appointed time
emanating from behind
heavy and yellowed lace curtains
that looked like tattered spider webs
in only one crooked window
and one window only
hung with spidery lace.
I stood there
on those moonlit nights
bewitched by this house
listening to calls
and breaths of wild things
that roamed all around me
under ink-black star-filled skies,
but no light from moon nor star
could illumine
this clapboard-covered curio
from another day and age
concealed by branches, vines
and bramble,
bushes and nettles
and mystery.
I stood there
wondering
who turned on that only light,
who roamed the house by night
who walked its tilted floors
who locked its uncertain doors
who hung the curtains of lace
who built this unsettling place
who called this abode their home
and how many hallways would they roam
and are there secrets that lived inside
and what was the bramble trying to hide,
was there anything for it to reveal
anything for it to tell
this house haunted that knew me so well?
copyright © 2019 Gregory Firlotte