Long Consumed Poems
Long Consumed Poems. Below are the most popular long Consumed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Consumed poems by poem length and keyword.
The touch of turning day and night
builds the life bud layer by layer.
The blossomed design of destined time
opens the petals as the floral essence
of existence gradually unfurls
the transient beauty of living,
until the flower withers
at the stroke of winter’s slashing silence,
and disappears drifting consumed
in the abyss of the allotted time.
At the far end of life’s rough garden path
I now amble with the wilted flower
for the last 39 minutes,
steps tracing the last mile
in the corridor of tarnished twilight
with lasting sleep creeping in my eyes.
I see the spectrum of the setting sun
stain the sands of time almost still,
turning into specks of eternity
sinking within the sated soul.
I float in the ethereal waves
in the bay of infinite bliss,
sailing to the yonder shore,
waiting for me to be reached
at the end of the last minute of my time,
and let me be with me in perpetual dream.
The zephyr in dainty dusk ruffles sunk sun’s sequins,
ripples the radiant facade of the placid pond,
where on the lilting lap of a silken lotus leaf,
floats forlorn, rolls restless, a rain drop,
a resplendent opalescent pearl.
Lest it gets shoved away, the leaf entwines
its transient trance with the satin threads of love,
unattached to the ephemeral possession.
At the end of twilight time the fluid gem dries up,
disappears in obscure triviality of transient entity.
Swathed by the sparkle of the winter twilight,
frozen at the end of the last mile,
like the wilted leaf of a defoliated tree
my languid life floats on the ebbing tide
of the consumed time, receding fast into oblivion,
where my essence spurts the fountain of elixir.
With the surge of the tsunami of bliss,
under the aura of luminous divinity,
I get jolted by the enlightenment twilight,
imbibe sublime serenity of detachment derivative.
Saturday's Pub garden,
littered with a thousand twisted cigarette butts,
the scattered smouldering tombstones of last night's drunken dreams.
Here birthed the Friday madness wild,
thirsting gin soaked mind of child,
like infant nourishment craved consumed,
the gun within was there exhumed,
a firing squad of gin bemused,
revellers revelling, devillers devilling,
swirling whirling plastic smiles,
pavers quivering raindrop tiles,
summer rain seeping in vain,
from neon roofed city's inane,
to wander country lanes insane,
a blind walk of the drinker's train,
speeding locomotive taught,
relearning burning ethanol thought,
tearing selfless selfish death,
the last epiphany with one last breath,
before the darkness deep draws down,
the flickering light beneath the frown,
where the suicidal businessman drowns,
his sorrows borrowed from newspaper dreams,
that filled the once fragile mind with screams,
in descending begging please,
release him from social unease,
moments lived but to appease,
a fathomless confusion clear smoke screen,
that flashes with the cursor black,
it's wires snigger behind your back,
while slack jawed starring swearing you,
convinced you are one of the few,
who knew but never said a word,
beguiled you smiled, brush muse away,
the stroke left blood for them to play and pay and stray inside your mind,
soul secrets there in stealth to find,
and all forgotten rotten,
men in white wheel you away,
they say poor soul's gone round the loop,
and there you sit in a rocking suit,
pinstripe straight jacket just for you,
and all that's left after their scoop;
is the popular poisoned and once bitten fruit..
By David Nickle Read
All Rights Reserved By The Author
Re-Released 21/11/2017
Original Release 3/6/2017
Hunger 4
So much food such little time
With so much on my mind
As I consumed the New York Times today
While others read it
My stomach grabbed me by the throat
Made me feel its pain
It screamed; “Feed me real food.” “I’ll kill you on the spot you idiot!”
Rejecting lobsters, steaks and other pictures on the pages
The news informs me, implores me to eat on
Out of newspapers that I found
Though the images were colorful and pretty
The ink did not go down so well
Cellulose taste really grainy
I couldn’t fool or trick my self
Consuming nonfood stuff is, well, a little crazy
Eating buttons, coins and dirty bugs
Is not exactly healthy, delicious or nutritious
My stomach is not too fond of me these days
Perhaps it’s something that I said or ate or read
Hunger is the only one true constant
It’s hard to keep it down
I’ve been drowning my sorrows in a whiskey bottle
As if I’m on salary to do so
My eyes don’t recognize my body,
Two cyanide sticks to clear the route to my thoughts
It’s like the ground and the sky meet when I think of her,
I was on a two day alcohol crusade before this day
You’re the first and last thing I thought about before my friends took me to bed
Consumed by the tequila and ram
I’m a heavy drinker
I love to write poems and love to love
I’m obsessed with the idea of you under my sheets
As we ply body to body
I wish to make a smaller version of you
And you two can share my heart.
Reside in the condo of my thoughts,
For as long as I live.
Historians are mere men.
They sail in the high seas of people
To catch a glimpse at the elusive whale of peace.
Yes, History is not just,
It is the poor outline of the book of Life.
Everyday historians climb their intellectual mountains
And observe their nation like the news chopper over the Brooklyn Bridge,
Down are the flipping pages
Like fresh fish caught from the pond.
The children of the World are born naked,
They will be dressed with the garments of their Culture,
They will be indoctrinated by the idiosyncrasy of their Society
Schooled and fed the yellow marrow of their History,
Except for the marginal and exploited children,
They will be consumed like shrimps in Chinatown.
All the children without exception will be made to choose
Between their consciousness and their Patriotism,
Between Humanity and their religion.
Early, the superimposed mind will be placed
Piece by piece in their initiation ritual,
Crowned with a montage of thoughts,
Others' thoughts.
The diagnosis came
As a bit of a shock
I am starting on Alzheimer’
Slowly tickling clock.
Will I be watching in horror
From a near zombie state
As my body develops
Into a thing I would hate.
Unable to speak or
Express any thought,
Fly in spider’s in a web
Pulled relentlessly taut.
Will it be a prison.
Will there still be a me.
Will I be mind trapped
Struggling to get free.
Or will the real me
The spirit and soul
Have been wiped out
As I lost all control
So in one way
Avoiding the mental hell
As my body became
Just a physical shell
Feeding and moving
But the real me is gone
Just a querulous nuisance
As this condition grinds on.
Will there be a kindness not,
Being aware, in not knowing,
As the me is erased
By this disease’s growing.
Is this my future as
I try not to despair
Reduced to a hulk relying on
Loved ones providing my care.
So, pity them not me
As the process grinds on
For by that stage that me
May already be gone.
My oldest and dearest friend is now almost totally mentally consumed by this
awful beast. I am trying to understand what he is going through.
Listen, dear daughter, with heart and soul,
For the wisdom I impart, is a guiding role.
Love begins with loving God, and loving yourself too,
For self-love is the foundation, on which all else is built anew.
Believe me, you're special, a gem so rare,
Don't lose yourself, in the noise, and the glare.
Don't be a doormat, that anyone can tread,
Respect yourself, and your worth, will be forever wed.
When you look in the mirror, don't be ashamed,
Of the person you see, with a heart that's not tamed.
Don't let beauty's lure, lead you down a dark path,
For dignity matters most, in life's every aftermath.
The body is demanding, with needs and desires so strong,
But self-control is key, to a life that's lived all day long.
Be mindful of what you put in, for it's a choice you make,
Don't be a wild fruit, that's plucked, and consumed, without a sake.
Don't be like a public place, where anyone can roam,
And leave you messy, without a thought, or a home.
If you need something, work for it, don't expect it free,
For nothing's given, without effort, and a willingness to be.
Be an example, of a good child, with values so bright,
Be good, and kind, and gentle, with a heart that's full of light.
Don't be vindictive, or divisive, with a spirit so cold,
For forgiveness starts, with forgiving yourself, and letting go.
Nobody can love you, if you don't love yourself first,
So be humble, and cool, with a heart that's not cursed.
Talk less, and listen more, for understanding is key,
To unlocking the secrets, of a life that's lived wild and free.
Be careful of whom you give your heart,
For love can't be bought, and a heart that's sold, will never be a work of art.
A woman who fears God, is a woman of worth,
Clothed in good character, and respect, from the inside out, on this earth.
Don't love money, but rather, like it with moderation,
For the love of wealth, is the root, of all temptation.
Be a woman of substance, with a heart that's pure and kind,
And you'll shine like a star, in the darkness, you'll be a light to find.
#Her_unique_story
From a distance, my thoughts provoked, gazed in with deep mesmerization, saw only the fine linens God had embroiled her silky soft texture with, forgot that she too was human before all, so many stories her archive posses, I chose only to hear the tales which would make my heart twinkle,
but she had a story in particular, the uniqueness I have heard of, now honoring my presence, a unique story she carried, in all the soft edges of her voluptuousness, got lost in her voice, it was a question she asked but my ears consumed only melodies, a melting pot of my attention, liquidized before my eyes, after a while realized I was been spoken to, oh! Heaven have mercy,
a beautiful rose, her name recites, I heard rockets blowing out of my eardrums, after effects of her voice, so ***** I fell upon my knees, attacked by her attraction, felt and filled her presence with my magical touch, automated smiles running flawlessly on her facial, knew my codes, were granted access, indeed met a female dinosaur and she gave me a fire conversation,
her story broke, its a yesterday she had, chaining her to step any further from it, a smile turning sour, with one eye as a passing hose from her bleeding soul, filling her lenses, the mood dims, reaches some climax so up raptly, forced to provide tissue words,
a bond germinates, her story stirs hidden emotions, wondering why though, answers at no avail, some wind blows wisdom and understanding to my sense, and I say "if not you, who then?
Her story woke my silent demons, intrigue fills my heart, how so beautiful being goes through such, realised the beauty in her trauma, my art eye spots, all the drawing her yesterday contributed in making her the ornament I just can't get enough of,
pain indeed beautified her unique story, the freckles on her face, so perfectly placed, making her all uniqueness dazzling for the public to admire, a plain evidence that her story is unique, her unique story
#Poetic_Ink
The distance away makes fear seem absurd,
As the steady approach of the end can be heard.
The finale is all it can be called.
So many times broken I have balled.
Ounces, quarts, and gallons these young age filled eyes create.
Each that escapes connected to deep seeded emotion given too generously by fate
Each heartache, each loss, each time ripped thru,
Like a hot knife to butter can slice, seperated before the mind knew.
The highs, the lows as time flows,
Consumed so unnoticed the ends approach slows.
Crawling, desperately trying to creep,
Instinct quietly screams, so hard to sleep.
The body, the mind, the soul weary beyond its tender year,
Each one frantically ready for the end to appear.
Only a heart beating loudly in that cavern called a chest,
Could possibly wipe away the pain and loss a girl in duress.
As the ends approach becomes louder still suddenly it dead stops,
So close the heart squeezes then drops.
Nothing can be heard, insanity upon me,
Scrambling to pull back control as the end lets lose of a deafening scream.
Numb bone chilling nothingness the last exhale,
A moment in time when sanity was destined to fail...