Long Confessions Poems
Long Confessions Poems. Below are the most popular long Confessions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Confessions poems by poem length and keyword.
The telephone rang..
What am I supposed to do?
The intoxicated feeling:
Amidst rugs, warm blankets, pillows
and crumbled bedsheets
Overpowered me,
So I let myself free.
The room was blank:
Windows painted blue.
Music system that has been quiet for a year now;
And other furniture here and there..
I lay half asleep:
Pretty and fair.
The world was no longer a bad place
The people were generous.
I had found love again:
But I needed to escape!
Escape from the falsity of life,
Escape from immortality of soul,
Escape from the green eyes of humans,
Escape from the damage of the hateful..
Is it possible to escape the rumour called life?
Or is it impossible to escape the reality called death..?
~~Thank You for the reviews and comments~~
Losses not consolidated leave contributor raw
Arrears rip pages of rational compassionate law
Turblent thoughts toss turn to channel retaliation
Embittered brain rubs static into smooth radio station
Nocturnal curtain eternal drawn over forgiving stance
Tortured cortex tar drips coal smudge repugnance
Behind lids of eyes fingertips pressing upon
Lacking exposure conjures warped projection
Attonement can't be granted during darkness
Confessions sparkle once in white starkness
Killing accountability in murky private mind
Proliferating hatred sees old harm magnified
Asperity of sins committed stew in torpid trench
Years of historic plot twist regale harsh revenge
Bulged breeding dim ideas seethe evil scheme
Attack mapped by movie shock putrid scenes
Creeping balaclava covered crow bar at chest
Knavish initiation repaid with blood reaps debt
24th August 2021
Written for Contest : The Colour Black
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
sometimes I sing
antique anthems,
of the nights
I was confined
within a bottle
of diamond tears,
wept woefully
from the widest sky
that held kaleidoscopic stars~
amidst festooned fields of
pixie-dust flowers,
hanging like
starburst chandeliers,
when t i m e was never in favor
of designing a
heart-shaped galaxy
to ease the
troubled torrents….
as languid linings
cast by the
sombre umbra
soaked me
in melancholic sprinkles,
of what was left in my strength;
for I knew nothing
beyond the evening clouds
that mirror
marshmallow musings,
stained with
tuscan tones. ..
yet, I remember
seeing your sunflower smile,
as I dreamt of
your mystical melodies,
spoken poetically,
way before I knew you
would become my reality,
though the homely hideaway
to my hopes
now fester amongst
corners of your
dusky eye lashes…
I’ve battled with nothing
but obsidian obstacles
that laid
in the
tiny tunnels
of my
crippled consciousness.
now our souls
seem chained in pearls
and coiled in amethyst anklets
as one, in stellar waves
through a
ceaseless constellation;
cosmic connection
endorsing these fingers
with your
poignant pantoums,
aligning my heart to lay
within your
evergreen embrace,
limited by
the lyrical land
you’ve lavished
my
longing lagoons into.
so here I am, scribbling stories
of our zealous zenith
within your platinum presence~
as confessions disguised
within tangerine tercets
of vanilla villanelles
have now come alive,
amidst a rebirth
of a warrior meant
to b l e e d
vivid verses
eviscerating
nacreous nebulas
into blissful b l u e brines,
that shall stream
through
unfamiliar rivers of dragon roses
till every electrifying element
rests in aesthetic harmony.
I gaze beyond
the silver winged
heart of
twinkling twilight,
lost within metaphors
in warm cashmere
bows of midnight.
Whilst lava lamps
for lost souls
f l i c k e r across
a maze of melancholy,
ghosts of past whispered
surreal sagas through
subtle mists~
silky snow that
d r i z z l e s
in the shape of crescent,
slowly trails
my moon-kissed skin.
If only the stars
of scarred silence
spoke the voiceless
truth raised from
the arms of trauma~
not every glowing
ray is destined
to be your wish
come true,
I was sculptured
in hailstones
of burnt ice,
and my ivory nails
drowned in the color
of your fire blood.
I am the throned
mistress of massacres,
a walking black storm,
that strikes onyx lightning
upon pearlescent
roads to hyacinth healing.
For everything
I touched
became frost,
when heavy clouds bled
to paint the skyscape
in citrine powder.
Perhaps, there is
no need of stretching
your fingers in gratitude,
as it shall
soon abandon
every lucky charm,
like the death of poetry
within inked
pages of
an accidental poet.
Yet, I still see
the unwritten
verses in your dewy eyes~
unsung
poetic confessions,
written in
diamond and rust;
“you’re the poison
I’m willing to take”
Like how romeo
died in the name of
a forsaken tale
told by the infatuated
soul of his Juliet~
Cupid’s bow still
is adorned with her
love-struck tears
that emanate
unshed truth.
So let, the alchemy
of dreams concoct,
a perfumed potion
from black
quartz rain,
to ease this caricature
lifetime of memories~
chasing sonnets
contrived in sorcery,
to seize the stories
of
misplaced prophecies.
whilst hope is flying
on paper wings
of a dark
horse carousel,
where my past self
was crystal-gazing,
to see the crown
carved from rhinestones
of shattered glasses,
piercing through
my honey mane.
But, this immortal
heart will remain
in a museum of
Monet’s garden,
where sorrowful
serenades linger
above thornless roses.
For I am heaven
and hell for you,
in everlasting awakenings
transcribed in turquoise
topaz till tomorrow…
The day before yesterday was laced with dismay in every possible way,
Yesterday was better but has into the backdrop faded away.
But today is another day,
New stuff to think, do and say.
Today I will brave the world all alone,
And enjoy my freedom full blown.
I will live life with zest,
Try to do things, never second best.
I will live to be sensitive,
Towards others be more receptive.
I will live to be forgiving,
Be more tolerant and caring.
I will speak to all who walk my path,
Make peace with all and unnecessarily not unleash quaint wrath.
I will correct all my wrongs,
And tell this to all by making them my songs.
I will proudly write notes about the new me,
And publish and upload them for all to see.
I will work to be creative,
And learn to open my mind’s eye and not be obstructive.
I will always proudly wear my own neoteric attitude,
To succeed, master the skill of gratitude.
The day before yesterday was laced with dismay in every possible way,
Yesterday was better but has into the backdrop faded away.
And today is the right day,
To commence these fresh new things that I write and say
I like to make things grow
I’m very good at it.
I use my spade and dig quite deep
All sorts of bugs I like to meet.
Ladybirds live together just like in a kibutz
They are very friendly, but each other they don’t trust
I’ve never seen a wedding,they do not seem to mind
Sharing love with each other. I’ve seen them from behind.
Worms all wrapped around each other, I can’t tell them apart
Wrapped in ecstasy they seem, not wanting to move apart
The dragon flys are all around promiscuous they seem.
Hopping from dragon to dragon,I hope they are all clean.
The frogs they are, amazing, many partners they hold on too.
It really wears me out to see, the splashing that even reaches me.
The spiders I have never seen "At it",
"At it" anywhere,
That’s because they scare me to much
And they might get in my hair.
I walk around the garden digging where I can
But am I really stalking, the snails in the watering can?
They twist and squirm together it really looks quite odd
I would have made it different if I had been a god.
My day of gardening is nearly done, I’m tired and need a rest,
But look at those two birds over there "At it" in the nest.
Oh woe is me a peeping Tom, I think I am becoming
Its going on all around me, I think it's time to go back in.
As we look into our hearts
May we know our sins
As we battle with issues in our lives
May we find solutions
Ooh, dear Lord, this is rare
Let the confessions begin
Into a heart that is willing
As we humble ourselves before you
May we be honoured by your presence
As we unify our nation
May we raise our existence
Ooh, dear Lord, let the holy spirit fall
Let is accumulate
Into the unbelievable
As we distinguish between humanity and racism
May it be questionable
As we battle with issues of religion
May we be respectful of one culture
Ooh, dear Lord, this is a master piece
Let it be
Into the unknown
Unspoken words
can keep a face from smiling,
and a pretty star from shining
into a dark summer's night;
unexpressed thoughts, concealed inside,
even with meaningful glances,
must be said with tenderness...
I am one of them,
perhaps a hesitating dreamer afraid of emotions,
of letting them out;
but if they are locked away...deep inside,
who can ever discover them?
Nothing is short of wonder,
so make your confessions without fear...
to someone who's willing to listen,
to hear the sincerity of your words,
and the sweetness of your long-kept secrets!
Untraveled roads won't lead us
to discover peoples and places,
to embrace them as our own this Human Race;
I've stood here dreamin away...
imagining those far-away lands where folks
do the best of what they have,
but heir dreams are never taken away;
we have too much to be grateful for in a Nation
where plenty is not a rarity...
and unappreciated by many!
Unsettled matters leave plenty of grief,
isn't forgiveness the quickest relief?
Resentful hearts bear the eternal grudge...
till there's little control in their rage!
Peace was meant to heal the heart of cruel intent,
it is that gentle dove hovering over us,
hesitating to land into our unclean hands;
look...I've forgiven them and I don't ever regret it!
is there room for the Irish in the good ole USA?
room for the hanging of the greens, Hennessey O’Shay?
we will hang this flag over our tavern on Tuesday.
Irish parade will come by and leave a bit of Celtic our way.
will Father O’Leary listen to the confessions of Stephen and Clay?
will there be a mad dash to the Blarney Stone with a tiny sashay?
believe the hanging of the greens might be here to stay.
is corn beef and cabbage on the menu for Tuesday?
merry and gay, we will dance a lively jig, and Pat's pied piper will play.
famous leprechaun will disappear, with his crock of gold, far away.
paddy mcCullough, is there room for the Irish in the good ole USA?
we will know more on Tuesday during the St. Patty’s day soiree.
Another meeting for the important elected procedure,
attainment and its necessity for the believer.
Those trivial suggestions by all means to please,
to the sympathy of the dutiful ear, like the chill of a morning breeze.
Controlling manipulation changing direction,
arty serenade with confusing conception.
Smitten confessions as tangible bribe,
like tinkles of repeated mono chords that have something to hide.
Cannot change the fallible structure regardless its loss,
the hammered maze charmingly with strokes of fate to toss.
So many ‘ifs’ that must do thunder,
sparking the ideal of burden to take under.
Questioning liberation with more questions chiming the gasp and moan,
while superior compassion providing the free buffet as tone.
The imprisoned alternative cries in many hearts,
the orator voice still conducting his inspiring sacrificing arts.
Those marches of the all experienced brave,
the nerving monotone at the edge, by the martyrs cave.
The caffeinated beverage becomes the inner hug with little release,
leaving conceptions so pale in forethought to please.
Countless compartments of wasted attentions looking for the door,
when the same same mounts to the erected surprise on this floor.
The hypocritical day with dreams to sell,
while the conscious metaphor rings another bell.
Are those wisdom pearls from life’s ocean the crown?
or is the slave of the never meeting ends holding down.
O convenient comfort and loss of love thereby as melody,
the ends of being and ideal grace the ultimate remedy.
The living game of chess, where figures cannot be at same place,
the protection of the king are the square schemes of the trace.