Long Constellations Poems
Long Constellations Poems. Below are the most popular long Constellations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Constellations poems by poem length and keyword.
These constellations appear like this here
they are completely different on
other planets.
There are four places in this galaxy
that the star Shiva appears at the top of a constellation
ironic the coordinates are the same
even though the sizes and distances from the star
are completely different it appears at the top of
the constellation.
one is a lobster shaped creature named
Usdain on Vulcanite
Posiden on the Moon of Grindolce it's a
constellation of a ram type figure
Munise Gambee a carnivous fangusaur in the
Talapian sky on Talpania 15 and on the astoid
Frillsanite
the tip of a twelve pointed star.
On this asteriod where Galiummite is mined
a myth that says the figure
was branded into the top of
a platue by the God Miersirr who
dared the worships of Brinsh to climb the plateu
it took them 122 years
to see the sight
as they feared the God Brinsh, the constructed a flying machine to see
the sight.
It is beleived that this was done
only ten years after the myth was first told.
But Brinsh punshed them with
dummbest
as the inhabidats thought the vessal was evil
and the works of pagans.
they to are foolish like the Earthlings were before
you developed Space and Aeriel Vessal Captain.
An insult Commander? No Captain
an observation.. There on this asteriod
are minerals that can power a spacecraft for decades.
All we have to do is go there and either ask or fight them for it.
Is there an atmoshere, yes the asteriod is just under the classification of moon, it has an atmoshere substanablae for all except Dr. Lopigiuse.
A missten elemnt and moniter will have to be worn
due to the Calite and lack of nitre in the atmoshere which is a benifet to all of the crew except for him.
This atmoshere will improve the athletic ablities of us all except for, interurting yeah I know the good Doctor.
From
.La'An Noonien-Singh
Triquarter Actaul Account
Arturia Analog Lab
The truth is that we are always children, lost in the labyrinth of time with maps drawn from the dreams of the night,
Children with scraped knees from life's falls, with veins like the roots of ancient trees piercing the earth,
Our scars are medals of survival, and age spots are constellations drawn on skin stretched like the sky,
Yet beneath it all, we are the same children, clinging to life with nails dug into the edge of time,
Because we are life itself, a chorus of laughter and tears dancing on the wings of the unending wind.
We remember the days when we ran across endless fields, gathering sunbeams like wildflowers,
When the wind, our accomplice, whispered forgotten stories, and the clouds painted dreams on the clear sky,
Now, under the sky of shadows, we seek the same fragments of light, like fireflies caught in glass jars,
We try to catch in our palms the moments that slipped through our fingers like sand from a broken hourglass,
And in every heartbeat, we feel the unquenchable desire to live, to be, to transform into an eternal story.
In the silence of the night, when the moon casts its silver veil over the world like a mysterious shroud,
We return to ourselves, to the children we were and still are, dancing on the edge of dreams,
We understand that time cannot take our spirit, cannot extinguish the flame that burns within our chests,
Because we are life, in every step, in every breath, an endless song of the universe,
An endless story written on the skin of the cosmos, an eternal whisper floating on the wings of the wind.
I plead indulgence for my ineptitude
if I seem rude, it's not intentional
You see, my attitude is dimensionally dark...
a painter's plight as daylight fades to night.
It's been labeled 'a fervid fever of fixation."
A calcified complication from the lack of trust,
but I refer to it as the hardening of the heart
as when love has rusted and turned to dust.
The glimmering galaxy is immeasurably immense
but I paint the constellations with pretense
as if Cumulus by day, hide the stars
just as the she-wolf hid Romulus and Remus.
A myth? Perhaps both are that, but...
I believe the clouds spill a thousand secrets
every time malicious Nimbus darkens
and releases his bothersome burdens.
The torrential tears he wept were secrets not kept.
I find no recompense in Van Gogh's 'Starry Night'
and wonder, did he seduce the stars without a script
to capture them shining as light in a lover's eyes?
The only sense I can make of the artist's work
is to view it thinking a torn canvas is two paintings
With oils I do not pause to paint over the constellations...
removing their shine as if they no longer exist
Am I guilty of robbing them of their glory
or is it their secret stories I wish to preserve?
Heavenly stars, if I've wretchedly wronged you
by extinguishing the glow of your luminance,
forgive me for dousing the spark of your flames...
for I am to blame and shaming myself
by melting my tears into your sweet fire.
What caustic contempt you must feel for me
when I fail to conceive the logic of longing.
For my painting I hold disdain as tears must rain
from the watchful eyes of Andromeda and Orion.
No finger and thumb shall ever frame my canvas
nor shall it be given a name, except for "Pain"
My head rests against my empty easel
I tore the painting in half before I could hear
the swooning moon taking pity on me,
forgiving me for my lack of trust in forlorn love.
Tonight, I'll watch the sky without moping,
hoping the Venus in me will welcome the stars
while looking over the shoulders of Mars.
I’M A MAGICIAN
I’m a Magician married with my bridesmaid
I’m a wizard loosing mine’s touch
I’m a Rajah looking after number one
I’m a seer uncovering cards
Now looking himself at the glassball.
Look at me
Saying Relic, Passageway and Kiss
And asking to the Ball
“What is the future?”
And the Ball saying thhrough myself:
“As a predictor, there’s no future
Because as do You see
There’s a set of fundamentalism
Toward which people will again and again
Make hates and wars.
Responses to the present and future situations
Arte ever the same:
The old Zodiac meditating to Death
Full of great encounters and great silences
As responses to all situations”.
Meanwhile
The smile of constellations
Wet one’s face into existence
Where we are taken care of a paradox cat
Stirring by a thought, but of what?
Far off Constellations
David J Walker
It’s not me
It’s the judgment
I never see
But can still hear
The chitter chatters
Of muffled voices
That scatters into
A bust of Swahili
Or Farsi
Or Gaelic
for all that matters
I can clearly hear it in my head
Those words
That might have been said
Might have lied
Might have died in cooler
Midnight air
Never to be mentioned or
remembered again
It’s not me
It’s the bubbles with
Those words I see
And can read
in a race
Floating off into
Outer space
On a collision course with
Far off constellations
sleep feels like an abandoned lover;
heart weeps like a wilted flower..
wings of the sun, soaked with sapphire dust,
rise and sparkle; like sea salt in the air,
twilight cascades upon my skin~
wearing your perfumed memories,
I long to see your silken silhouette,
swirling behind the thick veil of shimmering silence,
but I do not know the lyrics,
to sing these thoughts in spellbinding melodies,
so like always, I sit and scribble,
your name in rosy refrains and messy metaphors,
too vague for those almond eyes..
perhaps, citrine stars would transcribe these emotions,
for I’ve long been writing in seclusion,
of the lotus moon in your midnight skies,
of the constellations of butterflies…
Yet, I am the unvoiced verse,
nestled within the waltzing lines
of timeless nostalgia~woven from flawless feathers…
In the middle of the night,
when the butterflies
dance to the moon's song,
I create constellations
with the map of my soul,
allowing astral lights
across feathery skies
to guide my chrysalis
heart back to an avenue
of cosmic reveries.
I lay in a bed of
delicate petals,
and dream-catchers
designed in emerald
swallowtails.
They remind me
of how I found my home
in the gossamer warmth
of your lunar
struck presence.
And when sirens echo,
across silent seas,
distant muse ebb and
flow symphonies of
mystical mermaids-
grieving at the
outskirts of
bioluminescent shores.
For in your absence,
I long to hear your voice,
as the crystal clear
crescent glimmers,
amidst the fragile truth,
floating above
a flurry of glass-winged
jitters, that camouflage
with hypnotic tales
lost in the air.
Tonight I’ll lock
my pollen dusted
dreams in slumberland..
where peacock pansies
interwoven with
pastel peonies,
would be tucked
beneath sweet
scented sheets..
Your love is the
perennial blanket
to all my
nocturnal fears,
as hieroglyphic runes
of life rhapsodize
a lyrical elixir for the
shifting spheres,
whilst change is cloaked
in mellifluous hues,
unraveling a choir
of nature,
orchestrating a
celestial chorus-
to illustrate
cloudless mornings.
Seasons have more reasons
to celebrate an innovative artist
who speaks in colorful dialects—
when abstract silence kicks in
and suffocates the petals dried
and left as bookmarks
within pages of the past.
I see the opalescent rays burst through
the ashen skies the day
the ink of your soul did flow
in fluorescent hues
across the faceless canvas of life.
You knew the synonymous metaphors
to calm rivers of raging riddles.
Your spirit is like
a supernova colliding in the night,
shining forth with lyrical light.
Words fail to glamorize how
you beautify my world.
You paint with brushstrokes of sincerity,
illuminating the void of vulnerability,
effortlessly curating compassion
with pristine pigments of empathy.
Today and always, I celebrate
the tulip stars that shimmer,
aligning constellations in favor,
to guide you to a poetic sphere
where thoughts splattered
in charcoal and gray
would flicker hope and peace
upon your aesthetic aura,
as time and space cannot steal
the lioness psyche which glows
like periwinkle confetti.
I thank the Universe for your
ethereal existence.
You turn the gloominess of midnights
into rainbow-rinsed radiance,
awakening the sleeping sun
to ascend and unravel
acrylic beams of blissfulness.
In shadow I dress for my final rest,
And weep as I die, my body a glacial statue's guest.
A bed of darkness prepares me for eternity's test,
Under the starry vault, eyes of light watch over me, blessed.
Millions of celestial eyes look upon me with solace,
Seeming to weep silently for the end of my pilgrimage’s pace.
But the constellations have hidden behind a god with black wings,
Brought from the shadows to console me, though death is what he brings.
Odd how love can be felt in the coolness of the event,
He's undone my shutters, with his wing he caresses me as I descent.
He presses me to his chest, as a child tenderly,
Becoming my shield as I leave the eternal earth gently.
In the weakness that envelops me I can surrender,
Watching the tear that flows from his eyes and onto my cheek descend, like an ember.
The end is here, he kisses me, longing for my last breath,
And as if yearning for more, he steals it with urgency until my chest is left with naught.
His lips in a sigh upon mine lay and know,
When he pulls away, the fire in me that cries out to life will no longer glow.
Darkness, come now and caress me, and as I die, he weeps,
And now, fearless, he cradles me to a sleep without passions, without keeps.
Yellow daydreams are so vivid and bright.
As daytime strollers, revel in the light.
This wish is magnified by the golden hue.
As we indulge in its golden bliss anew.
Captured by the constellations at nightfall.
Our aspirations transcend and never stall.
By the light of the moon gentle glow.
Onwards, our golden dreams will flow.
There are countless possibilities in this world.
Where we are free and our dreams are hurled.
With excitement and glee, our emotions fly.
As we fulfill our hopes for a free nation defy.
We will not be stopped by hardship.
As we chase our goals in every car trip.
With every step, we draw closer still.
To our golden dreams, we will fulfill
So let us embrace our golden dreams.
And let them guide us alike sweet beams.
There's no limit to what we can achieve.
If in the power of our dreams, we believe.