Long Curtain Poems
Long Curtain Poems. Below are the most popular long Curtain by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curtain poems by poem length and keyword.
FUTURE
It is now a seed,
a fetus in full
gestation..
sense felt,
glimpsed... not
coming...
a scent of another
living generation in
another sphere...
a sleepless chimera
that just waits
place and time...
not even a dream
dreamed by angels
and cherubs...
an unopened door
and without possibilities
for an hour to open...
An untrodden road
and therefore do not walk,
a curtain to be opened
and be unveiled without fear...!
Future is what we don't know
but that we must not give up
because even uncertain,
is what moves us forward
and what makes us vibrate
the soul with hope...!
Desire birthed us.
Desire created everything.
Desire chose to be us.
We are not helpless puppets
we are willing puppets.
We are actors sharing the same space
in an ever changing theater.
Then when the curtain parts just a little bit,
then we see behind all the masks.
We see that we are all only a desire,
a desire happening,
a desire desiring to be something.
We’re not even human.
We are just experiencing being human.
We are being a desire.
Now you know you're the only one
and there are no other's, just You.
Now you know you are ‘God’
(or whatever label we choose
from our very limited vocabulary
to describe the indescribable).
You are That.
Happily and at peace you return to the play,
to be only playful.
and you don't even ask,
want
or need to know what comes next.
For it is You that is next,
always You.
a thought strikes a match
nothing much, a little flame
moths alter their course
someone whispers, what if this—
the curtain catches the light
a balloon inflates
sky requires another sun
string loosens, goes slack
already counting the stars
on the backs of envelopes
morning finds the chairs
still facing yesterday's stage
confetti in shoes
someone refolds promises
along familiar creases
after all, a spade
fits superbly well in hand
soil under the nails
the gate can't bend or unhinge
rain dons handle with slippers
no trumpets today
the kettle attends to rain
a chipped cup, still warm
someone has darned the elbow
of the coat we nearly threw
Love goes on forever
Isn't it funny, how quickly,
life can change
One day your here,
next you're gone...
Beautiful dreams
start to... fade to black
The body weakens,
and then, you're done
Bridge1
(but) it doesn't mean all hope is lost!
('cause) love endures eternity
e- ter- ni- ty...
Chorus
And, so it goes..... love
Love... goes on ...forever
When...there is, so much love
it ...will go on forever...
forever...
forever.
There were so many,
plans and schemes
What was the purpose of it all?
Life's never really,
just, as... it seems,
but... love will catch you
when you fall...
Bridge 2
I don't really want to...get you down
(cause) our love's all we need
our love is all we need
Chorus
And, so it goes..... love
Love... goes on ...forever
When...there is, so much love
it ...will go on forever...
forever...
forever.
Even as the final...
curtain falls,
and we breathe,
our very last breath...
the memories of love,
linger...on and on
(yes) love survives...even death
Bridge 2
I don't really want to...get you down
(cause) our loves all we need
our love is all we need
Chorus
And, so it goes..... love
Love... goes on ...forever
When...there is, so much love
it ...will go on forever...
forever...
forever.
John Derek Hamilton
April 29,2017
And you can't paint him a laugh
his face is a metal curtain
with attached sign -
no emotions allowed
you can't
nor you know how
and you gladly would
breathe life into those cells
the same way that life spat in your face
acknowledgment of successfully driven tokens at belonging columns
and you, men
women
don't be mad
because yours are misplaced all over that ludo board
it was a bad, bad idea
to implement that rule of maneuvering the game according to rolls of a single die
countless thoughts
questions
from the other side only
crystally voiceless visage
in the course of the night, a view flies there
where ripped breaths on a baby's mattress
quieten the trepidation down
I'm a bad person
I really am
but if tomorrow I learn how to smile instead of him
maybe my name will get to Saint Peter's list
longevity... a natural proclivity of the mind
the want... the desire to live a long ––prosperous life
basking in rays of sunshine...
though even in the midst of life's strife's
we dig our heels in and deal with its spills...
in hushed awareness we know one day the curtain will close...
our sun will set in our medley of daffodils ...
life as we know it will end
but until then...
we build relationships that bring us love and laughter
we try not to think about the day we will transition to the here-after...
the gift of longevity is such a blessed and beautiful thing
by the same token can be an emotional sting...
as we witness family and friends one by one
lives set with the sun...
I look around and so many are now gone
at times bitter-sweet thoughts of all the love shared reflected in my muse alone...
in my heart I know if my loved ones... and friends could just speak to me once more
when my spirit is low... my heart sore...
their message would water my soul like a gentle rain
the message:
"let not our passing cause too much pain"...
live... love... and laugh with a vengeance! friends and family
and when it's time for your sunset; you will be in Good Company...
As I enter the old-growth forest,
silent shadows hush whispering leaves.
And quiet descends like a curtain,
suppressing sound within its tight weaves.
A transformation slowly takes place,
from a rough trail to a dense thicket.
And the woods swallow reality,
replacing it with something wicket.
Hairs on the back of my neck stand straight:
following the footsteps Bigfoot made.
And although at first, they weren't that clear:
they're now so fresh that I'm afraid.
Not far, a tree-thump reverberates
through the air, sounding like a loud bang.
And a low-pitched rumble can be heard
behind some branches that overhang.
Making a tactical withdrawal,
I quickly got the hell out of there.
For when it comes to bigfoot sightings,
believe me, I've had more than my share.
How empty can an inbox possibly be?
Not unlike a door..... practically off at hinges
The paint is definitely peeling
More than one shutter has fallen astray.
One piece at a time
Have you ever seen that?
How old houses....
the shutters give way one slat at a time
It's almost like watching a clock tick
After 1 year the slat on the front shutter drops by 1/4
of an inch
By year two there are three slats on the front shutter and four on the back falling falling slowly
Drop an inch...drop an inch
small little pieces of wood losing their ballast
By year five the paint's chipping on all of the shutters
you can tell they were all red once or some dreadful pungent green
Then great shards of paint seem to start clinging off of the clapboards too
Can see it almost like a song
plunky pock rock or a slow lanquid sad ballad
a song of one lost a sea or to storm or just decay
the first chip of paint is the first note
and then all of a sudden the whole house seems to want to join in and it's chip chip chip , chuck,chuck pluck pluck plunky plunkity and it's a symphony of lost paint chips like raindrops sound in an empty metal pail
Neglect
nobody cares ....that the shutters are falling apart
and no one cares that the symphony of chips of paint has begun
because nobody lives there anymore and no one is listening except fro teh occasional drive by
If that house was an inbox.
It would understand mine
Such
an empty house
When you're the first person to enter
an empty house...
It's like you're swirling the dust
of the only thing that lives there
elves and fairies and dust dune devils
it's like they know you're there
But there is just the eerie silence
The elves, sprites, ghosts and memories cling to what remains of the tattered curtain...awaiting a...curtain call?
The house is never ever really empty
The walls remember the hands
The ash remembers the fire
The sink can still taste the water and feel the rust
Even the dust on the floorboards remembers what it was like to be mud on a boot or a cell of her skin
An empty house has more inhabitants
than my inbox
in the beginning....My inbox had a voice
Maybe even my in-box remembers
how it once said
"You've got mail"
It was there that she kept me in the top most part of her eye.
A small room with a mid size window.
A wooden chair that sat on a circular brown rug.
She kept the curtain open. Closing them only at night.
She'd flick the light switch on.
Bringing about photo album after photo album.
Pieced together in perfect memory.
She'd often fall asleep in mid sentence.
Reminding herself of why she loved this room the most.
Surrounding herself in the light that peeped through the window.
It was here where she kept me among all of her favorite colors.
Sharing with me the way she saw the world.
Soon as the sun peeped through the window
my hands are cracked and bleeding
I gag as bone protrudes
but the show must go on.
my hands are tightly bandaged
once i disappear behind the screen
and light illuminates my hands
I look perfect.
I steady my tremors
and put my focus
into my performance.
I wish that someone
would peer behind the screen
kiss my hands
and hydrate my skin
with tears
but instead
I watch others puppet shows
at the slightest mistake
I waste no time
I rip the paper
but there they stand
soft, unscarred hands
I’m forbidden form their theater
for ruining the show
I learned to stop letting
my insecurities show
but I always worry
that others
struggle the same
almost to a fault
but instead
I hide behind the curtain
bandaging my broken hands