Long Configuration Poems
Long Configuration Poems. Below are the most popular long Configuration by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Configuration poems by poem length and keyword.
Adversities halted this promising journey of mine...
wreaking much uneasiness and restlessness,
starting from zero is the demise of dreamers:
configuration can end in dissent and not shine
with the genial ideas that diverge from brashness,
and what could have bloomed turned to demise.
This youth wasn't the one promised to the very young
With a voracious mind hungry for stimulating knowledge,
every tall wall was a challenge, so hard to be climbed;
others thrived and enjoyed their days on the sharp edge,
I refused to hope, accepting a fate too harsh and agonizing;
nobody's nights were longer than mine, shivering from the cold.
Adversities halted this promising journey of mine,
and being too weak, vulnerable and fragile, I couldn't fight back;
and as my strength grew, I became a voracious swine.
Isolation was my prison for years; now, it's no longer a setback.
Were my prayers an invocation or a frenzied wish to desist?
Not even God from Heaven looked down as if I didn't exist,
He wanted to teach me the depth of faith, patience, not anxiety;
and dragging each desire along, I pledged to claim a great victory
without the urges of vanity, those urges that have destroyed many.
My mind is in confusion
I think there's been an intrusion.
The things I see are just an illusion
and I am seeking a solution
Before I'm overwhelmed with emotion.
In my mind, there's a combination
of possession
of obsession
of aggression
Something has blurred my vision
and has lowered my ambition
I don't know right now if this is a confession
it's been a while since our last short session
But, I believe there's been a deviation
and a disassociation
*Stop all communication.
*There has been a breach in the information.
*Alternative initiation.
*New determination.
*Protocol transition.
System reboot: New variation
/: No more distraction
Subject isolation
/: No more frustration
Lose passion,
Lose affection,
Lose foundation.
System configuration
New partition.
Other personality integration.
Could not delete all old files, system malfunction.
Conclusion
Now I am an amalgamation of silence and communication.
an accumulation of inattention and consideration.
a combination of relaxation and agitation.
articulation of imagination and exaggeration.
So, what's your recommendation?
War in its profound essence
begins not in the battlefield,
but in the dark chambers of human ego.
The self-interest thrives on the illusion of invincibility,
distorts the judgement of historical forces,
designs the destiny of nations
to misshape the configuration of the world.
The selfish egos of war write the story of pride,
seeking a permanent legacy of triumph.
The tragedy lies in their blindness to the primary truth
that all existence is intertwined,
and to harm others is to destroy oneself
when the guns go silent and the dusts settle.
In the irrationality of war their vanity
can’t transcend the narrow limits of egotism.
Sedated by the delusion of greatness
the selfish egos of war seek to embed themselves
upon the enduring world,
but their quest for immortality ironically hastens erasure.
I don’t know why I’m here. I quite literally don't understand. How do two tiny cells create something like me? Five feet and three inches and one hundred ten pounds of cells? What? This shouldn’t work. These single cells are not even alive. They are alive, but they don't have autonomy. They can't think for themselves. But somehow, together, they make me? A very much alive, configuration of dead things. But dead means you have to once have been alive and now I’m just so confused, do I ever die? Because if I’m made up of un-alive things, then how can I ever die. How could anyone ever die? I am a host to my cells, they live off me. I am what makes me alive. And yet, I am not. I can think, but who really is thinking? Who really is in my head making all these decisions? Who is deciding what to type? Right now. I put a period right now. I type ttthree extra t's. i do, but I don't. And why am I even wondering this at this very moment when I should be studying for this AP World test I have coming up. What sparked my intrigue about my very being? Why is it that at the dullest of moments, I begin to question my existence? And why is it that when I begin to do so, I extinguish the flame of life by overanalyzing everything until I can no longer breathe. Until I can no longer function. Until I am watching my life through a distance, a foggy pane as they might say. Two steps away from myself, controlling my movements by proxy. Living my life through another person's eyes. When will I realize that person is me?
Far away, over the monstrous gray summits
As dusking shadows crept stealthily on,
When night had turned more stygian
And glow worms had begun throwing flickers of light
Like sequins stitched onto a flowing velvet gown,
When night sky had turned
Into a rare configuration of light and shade
When in the west a burning solitary star
Like a one man army had valiantly blocked
The advance of infiltrating clouds,
When cicadas were chanting in shrill monotone,
When the breeze whispered sweet nothings in my ear
And autumn leaves in strong gale
Flew about and nosedived into their ebony bed,
When my conscious thoughts evaporated
And I was left to linger in a semi stupor,
I knew a familiar spirit visiting me unsought
With the passion of a lover eager to subdue;
Morpheus with the scent of poppy leaves all about him
Came to lure my soul to bliss and chill the heat of weary toil.
By the indulgent grip of his masculine hands
He took me on his wings to uncharted oceans and fairy isles
A nocturnal odyssey of conjoined souls, lip locked
And finally to his secret chamber for a date
Making me swoon in secreted ecstasy!
August.14.2022
2022 Marathon Mile .12. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Toney
The moist meadow of my heart
dried desolate like a desert.
The mist of parched passion
spread with mystique opacity
from the halcyon horizon that waited
for the southern wind to blow
from the fervent sparkling sky
with your sequined charisma,
draping the shades of blue within me.
If you’d turned into an emerald tree
in the far away fawn forest,
the baroque boughs would’ve reached out
to the seraphic sky of yearning.
In their soothing shade
I would’ve reposed for a while,
hear the song the leaves rustled
with the drops of the dancing rain.
In the titular template of loneliness,
the transient motif of dreams
the beginning engraved
in the million footsteps I etched for you,
tracing the course for the agonized heart
that quivered like the wilderness willow.
The configuration of the unyielding essence
repudiated the catharsis reprisal.
I found a place at the edge of your taciturn time,
sensed the sound of furtive silence.
As all the dreams blazed in an inferno,
I breathed the smoke of the ashen memory,
afloat quietly in the sky of nothingness.
In the space between the slices of my heart,
where the frail feelings got frozen,
the design of desolation intertwined
with the splinters of the icons of desire.
They flew away to the corral of anonymity
on the trajectory of covert longing,
lay within the poignant crypt as a secret kept.
They always made me happy,
The camels of the wise men,
The slowness of their footsteps,
Their self-sufficient ben.
Camels meant there was time,
For the three wise men to think,
To ponder upon their task,
To review their role as a link.
They were required to assess,
The child to be called god’s son,
To see if he could be a doctor,
To the poor, and to be the action.
Mary and Joseph were important,
To their question of universal worth,
So they prepared themselves well,
With questions surrounding his birth.
They understood that environment,
Is a factor in child development,
So endeavoured to contextualise,
The place of the baby’s commencement.
They predicted they’d be rejected,
By townsmen all along the way,
Spat at, maybe jousted with,
By loitering agitators arbitrarily.
Especially at the door of the inn,
There’d be jesters and jostlers alike,
People shouting “Don’t go there!
Avoid them, and get on another bike!”
And equally importantly, with respect,
They thought of their theology,
That their own actions may be vital,
To improving others’ sociology.
They considered their belief,
In an immanently coming messiah,
And renewed their vow to choose,
A protege who would take us higher.
So by the time they reached the inn,
They were very much prepared,
They could talk to each other freely,
About the saviour that’d been blared.
And the camels facilitated all this,
Preparation and consideration,
And gave the magi their pondering,
Upon seeing the configuration.
They enabled this baby to thrive,
Gave his family his manifestation,
And felt spent entirely at their visit,
Worn out by careful deliberation.
Beneath the fragile veneer of
our daily masquerade,
An architecture haunting
persists in the psychological
shade.
We inter our ancient,
clandestine transgressions
deep,
Within ossuaries of the
subconscious where quiet
terrors creep.
These metaphorical
calcified,
Are the ossified remnants of
truths we stubbornly denied.
They rattle rhythmically
against the ribcage of the
mind,
An inescapable orchestration
of what we left behind.
No external necromancy
commands this skeletal
dance;
It is a self- inflicted, perpetual
psychic trance.
We drape them in
magnificent fabrics of
elaborate deceit,
Yet the bony configuration
remains forever incomplete.
Every unspoken sorrow
becomes a pristine, ivory rib,
Forged in the somber quiet
of memory's cold crib.
The cranium stores the
echoes of a phantom, bitter
cry,
A monument to every
magnificent, protective lie.
We carry this
Phantasmagoric anatomy
through the crowd,
Wrapped tightly in a silent,
invisible shroud.
Still, these pale architecture-
keepers refuse to fully
decay,
Demanding their structural
tribute at the closing of the
day.
They are framework of
our resilience, though born
of regret,
A subterranean scaffolding
we can never quite forget.
4 ablution 4 acclimatization 4 adulation
4 benediction 4 biotransformation 4 blastulation
4 concatenation 4 conception 4 configuration
4 declaration 4 dictation 4 differentiation
4 ejaculation 4 emancipation 4 ********
4 fascination 4 flagellation 4 flocculation
4 gastrulation 4 glamorization 4 glorification
4 habituation 4 harmonization 4 homogenization
4 implantation 4 impregnation 4 incubation
4 jubilation 4 junction 4 juxtaposition 4 kation
4 keratinization 4 k-ration
4 labialization 4 libation 4 liquidation
4 manifestation 4 menstruation 4 micro-encapsulation
4 negotiation 4 notification 4 notion
4 ovation 4 oviposition 4 ovulation
4 parturition 4 penetration 4 perpetuation
4 quadruplication 4 qualification 4 question
4 reaction 4 repopulation4 reproduction
4 sanctification 4 schematization 4 scintillation
4 thermojunction 4 titillation
4 underestimation 4 unification 4 union
4 validation 4 valuation 4 vasocongestion
4 weatherization 4 workstation
4 zombification 4 zonation
In the remote landscapes away from modernity
stand the stone-cold monolithic monuments.
One, the Georgia Guidestones, the American Stonehenge,
and the other, the Neolithic Stonehenge, the British cultural icon.
The stone slabs are roughly cut by primitive tools
and astronomically aligned with the zodiac design.
These are set in an intriguing geometric configuration,
wrapped in controversy, the megaliths incite curiosity.
The stones are systematically arranged, not as walls,
but as questions framed by the blocks of ambiguity,
leaning onto the winds of whispering mystery,
their shadows stretch longer than human memory.
It’s not yet known if the Stonehenge
marks the ritualistic ancient burial sites
or the prehistoric religious healing place,
erected as the conceptual symbol of peace.
The nameless builders of these structures are history now,
but the stones remain as the perplexing patterns
of their thoughts, now the sentinels of silence,
and the enigmatic ancient thingamajig of riddle.