Long Confusion Poems
Long Confusion Poems. Below are the most popular long Confusion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Confusion poems by poem length and keyword.
Giving birth is indeed great
and being proud of it, is natural....
but holding on those lives is a sin.
Mothers let go...
You are not their lives...
It's not yours either... it's theirs.
And you have your own no matter
where you've reached in life ..
No matter what ...
the so much you have been doing for your kids...
Mothers do.
They are as much human species as you...
You won't stay to live with them..
You won't stay to live for them..
Or live their lives with them.
So let go...
Mothers should.
You had your chances;
You lived it or not.
You were successful or not.
You were happy or not.
They do not have to answer for this
Or bear it with you.
By binding you are distancing and
not making them any closer.
So noble mothers be noble
and let them go.
The News changes seconds after seconds
body's mind's and heart's too
from channel to channel advertises
eye sees for a mo
one friend says to other
what is to do or not to do
if something is done by opposing
surely there to rue
whom to hear whom to not
for whom to cry with in to
inner world conflicts in confusion
very hard for soft glue
Ducks Walk
Ducks walk
That’s what they do
It’s what they do when you‘re not there that’s scary
(Technically speaking they waddle but who cares)
Work occupies my every hour
Ducks can’t be tended to relentlessly
When morning turns away, turns a corner on reality
Ducks change their ways
They can’t be trusted
It starts with small things like the mail
They read it all but leave the bills
My checks went missing and then a sock
Rock formations in the kitchen said definitively
Something is wrong here and it’s not the fish
Naturally they left the dishes for my wife… to do
But absconded with my favorite watch
You know. The one with Mickey
The waters become murkier with each crime
Ducks walk. That’s what they do
Anyone can quack. What’s complicated in that?
Listen. Quack quack. Was that so hard?
And I don’t even have a bill
Hey! What happened to my car?
I don't know what I'm writing for,
didn't start to find the cure
or rewind the cord
to find a vision true and pure
started to express distress
regarded as a mental mess
a brief relief and gentle ease
unheard words found release
polluted air surrounding ceased
clues poured spare with each piece
and every layer had an underneath
each more gruelling full of grief
an Autumn Fall turning every leaf
finding fitted Lego bricks but no design
a puzzle with no box
random pieces hard to slot
gritty echoes from sickening times
pulled from the rubble stock of my decline
separate scenes on one timeline
separated by my own mind
people, places, a point in time,
spaced through thought naive and blind,
this string of knots is one combined
not many which have got intertwined
each scenario more crazy
unlikely yet more maybe
cuz answers without knowledge
grew confusion ever solid, dipstick
gas clouds so thick in places liquid
fused and never flowing
just floating never knowing
expelling as I wrote,
clearing horror shows,
which emotionally and mentally stoked
could have turned, forget and go,
but in agony the ink flowed,
as though my pen morphed the gas
covering up my past, until at last
the understanding is grasped
understood and let it pass,
but the years are empty,
I've vented free,
so i guess now i write reinventing me,
and who knows maybe eventually
pressing on, willing, adventurously
I began because you didn't listen to me
The jade moon no longer illustrates~
poetry that illuminates synthetic flowers,
and the timeless trinkets of twilight,
refuse to rhyme halcyon hymns in twinkling hues.
Tonight, I sit in crippling confusion,
drawing fireflies across the onyx sky;
suspended in painted illusion,
searching for swirling pink diamonds.
Yet from the saffron silence of sakura in blossom,
I find crystalline colors of butterfly bliss,
though I’ve long been awaiting rosemary rain,
to emanate a balmy muse amidst inked pain.
Now this rustic heart aches to be,
within the amorous arms of amethyst dusk,
there I’ll rise to the music of lotus love,
be anything but a caged weaver of faded stars.
THE DUST ON WORLD’S EYES.
The earth crying of pains, the Sky’s eyes running tears, complains of losing sight.
Rolling in phases the destructions of man,
The earth orbit sick of hearing more;
Civilized and uncivilized laws destroyed our values, as religions incarcerated the truth.
Humanity raining destructions; hard on everything on the surface,
Things under the earth, are crying of volcano damages that’s spreading like roots of tree .
Scandal s got angry like madness snake;
Targeting figures and stars; bitten harder on men
Nations destroying each other, leaders drawing sword of war and sanctions
Yes, ruling class are clashing, little sleep do they find.
Politics is destroyed by scandals and corruptions,
The umbrella of peace is broken , made crippled and stationed on wheelchair.
Yes, peace made sick and hospitalized in sanction’s hand.
The strong are Kneeling and begging for waving ;
the stronger spit fire of more.
The more the strong isolated from the stronger, the more the confusion.
Things fallen apart, allies gloaming and head thinking.
Unequal fairly is destroying the world, unequal living has destroyed us
Weeding out elements of unfairness practices; stands unrealistic but realistic.
There was a World I met , a world of peace , a world of hope and a world of prosperity
In that world, men are lovers of peace and women are hold high.
There is a World to leave behind, a world of disarray and chaos
Where existence looks inconvenient;
only the anointed of corruption have the best
in that world, nothing left undestroyed.
Humans are sold like pieces of meat in the market, children are homeless and the fear not to born get worse.
Unequal currencies set ablaze the economy, leaving it disjointed and sorrowful
Everyone have sore of pains unhealed ; things that made us one has tore us apart.
A world where humans have no leader; but, leaders have leaders,
All have destroyed the world
Written by
Pastor Omojevwe Emmanuel
money-love, makes a whore of us all
I think this ol' story might be yours
'makes me feel like them other freelance outlaws
y'know this old story could be yours
--------
promising a world to win or lose
catch them unawares when they are young
get them drunk on desire, keep them on the run
under the thumb, n' yet still so young
money-love, makes a whore of us all
I'm not above the struggle of money-love.
---------
slight of hand, the cheapest of tricks and
interest to cash in on your prime
and woe betide, should them payments fall behind
y'know this here story could be mine
money-love, makes a whore of us all
I still think this ol' story could be yours
-----------
'want t' talk 'bout that what makes me sick
I'm not above the struggle of money-love
Frustration
By
Lionel Derbyshire
Convinced this is the poem
I dont want found
When a had been life
Is like a selection
Of random carrion.
At first by birth
I heard echo's
Of sweet expectations
A rose grows everyday
Impatience can make it unwilling
And frustration discolours the tone
When hope cheats .. it creates a fuse
But oceans always remain the same
And I fuss when I should be eager
My soul calls for determination
I say life lie's under oath
Yet it formed another blue sky
Let me shoot down the damm moon
And away with the sweet tune of the bird
I am offended and caged
When in my convenience
I blame everything ..
Frustration..
You are a boo.
I can't change the weather
Even if I wanted too.
he does not love me anymore, oh
heart you give me away
the expression of a broken heart
is permenantly fixed
across this face
my eyes
tell stories of the brokenhearted
for thousands of years
I mourn what could of been
he does not love me anymore,
it is such a shame
for my heart gives love away too freely
like a common whore
he does not love me anymore
oh heart, you must decist.
for the deep trench of pain and confusion seems to
fall for an eternity.
Its boundaries unknown to man
I do not wish to explore this pain
for
I may never return
again
he does not love me anymore
the person I once was is no more.
He does not love me anymore,
heart, you will make it through.
the shards of it
will
be picked away
gently by time's gentle embrace
for every moment there is it's place
he does not love me anymore.
and that is ok.
Form:
To the twist of themes exploring art's beauty so plain
Is the precious jewel that unlock the hearts' blissful ears
That listen up to the least of muse well explained
Kicking raw the mood of handling pens passionately like spears
But he who hasn't been a poet is ever lost
To the precious flow of great quill painted so raw
It shall be an aegis aesthetic appeal been too glossed
In exquisite inks that wink lovely discourse of emotional war
Its influence would have been enough a good morning song
Born a bright mantra to journey with the whole day
And an elegant lullaby to toast him to sleep long
It's so painful it gets his heart heavy to weigh