Long Déjà Poems
Long Déjà Poems. Below are the most popular long Déjà by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Déjà poems by poem length and keyword.
Dark Forces
There is a sense of ennui the déjà vu after a feast
life is not what we thought it was, the banner of battle
no longer flies on top of the town hall.
The hero is not a hero but a figure fluctuating in the wind
and ruled by outside forces where he is only the visible
to fool the world into a shared vision of bravery.
There are so many other problems the scourge of pest
the sizzling heat burning human skin crisp
and rain that kills and sea that floods the landscape.
The undertone is getting louder; we have been lied to
dark forces seek a unipolar world, malleable people
into enslavement, where words are no longer truthful
but lies are endlessly repeated until lies are the truth.
It is late in the day, but there is a rumble of a fightback
the freedom of the individual precariously wilts like
grains of life die if not rescued by the rain of revolt.
I awake to the beautiful plaintive strains
Of a violin - then realize it’s just in my head
Just a dream - a shame to find
I’m in the hospital - same room - same bed
The monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall
Time, an indefinite progress of my existence
Time for my pills, time to call the nurse
Time not on my side, breaking down my resistance
After lunch a quick nap
Then the visiting hour I dread most of all
Seeing pity in their eyes, they wish me back
To what I was before my withdrawal
The world of music - my life - my love
The fame and fortune that once was mine
Exhilarating - Intoxicating, a wife at my side
With children sharing the Glory Divine
I lived it - I breathed it
Plucked at its very soul
The core of its existence in my hands
Like a faithful servant it played its role
I look at the painting on the wall
A feeling of Déjà vu enters it seems
I’ve seen this glade of lush green plants
And these sparkling bubbling streams
I remember drawing back watching afar
An Angel who danced in its midst
Who danced with wild abandon
Her hair that the sun had kissed
I remember wishing I could dance with her
With this Angel from above
A hundred birds would sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
But it’s just a painting - There’s no girl there
And I’m just a sick old man
Wallowing in my grief and sadness
Existing however best I can
What’s this I’m suddenly in the glade?
A young strong man once more
She has come for me, my Angel love
I leap - I twirl - I soar
The world I’ve left behind
Unshackled my attachments of
A hundred birds do sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
We dance with wild abandon
We dance without a care
With sun kissed skin our arms entwined
Wild flowers in our hair
Footnote:
We do not know for sure if my Father – who was a great violinist and classical musician, had imagined this story when he was a young man, when he chanced on a young girl dancing in the glade. It’s a story he told us many times and we loved to believe it.
I like to imagine a fitting finale to the first story, when his time came and have pictured it in this poem.
This story begins in my Poem arrangement 'Dance to Love - Part 1'
As a certified, bona fide woman of a grown-up sixteen,
she light-stepped with grace thru the baroque castle.
She wanted to tell her Father of the déjà vu she gleaned
at last night’s élan party scene with a man who dazzled.
She gave her fantasies carte blanche to freely travel
for she was but a love dilettante, still romance green
and unsure what her anomaly feelings could mean.
She found the King, Father, leaning on an avant-garde mantel,
his manner ennui, despite the cacophony of swords at cavil.
Knowing her, he said, "No talk of new suiters, many already battle."
... CayCay Jennings
January 25, 2018
I work each day in peaceful chaos,
A tireless race where I wear my fatigue like a badge of honour.
Sleep? A stranger I rarely greet.
I chase knowledge like tomorrow won’t let me try again—
Straining past my limits, just to say “I’ve done my best.”
I push beyond what’s humanly possible,
Only to fall short of a dream that seems reserved for others.
I ask myself:
“Why does fortune embrace them and leave me untouched?”
I followed the roadmap, mastered the strategies,
Still, I wander in circles.
Is it mediocrity in disguise or simply fate in denial?
Or maybe I’m just not kissed by the ever-elusive lady called Luck.
Suddenly in the restless night,
The breeze walked barefoot beside the shadow,
Like a breath held too long.
It was my soul taking a seat across from me
—uninvited yet welcome.
In a calm, unsettling voice, it said:
“The time will come.”
I felt the weight of hope and the sting of déjà vu.
“That’s the same sweet lie you whispered years ago,” I said,
“For every sunrise I chase, the sunset steals.”
Still, it replied with measured softness,
“Maybe the effort you deemed insignificant—
That throwaway task, that barely remembered struggle—
Will be the seed that sprouts unexpectedly.”
How ironic,
That in this cruel kindness of life,
The thing we regard as meaningless
It could be the one that redefines everything.
I sat there, overwhelmed.
My hope was both alive and dying,
Burning bright in the dark corners of doubt.
Will the time really come?
Or will I keep dancing in this joyful sorrow,
Until “later” becomes a permanent pause?
Time is the the fourth dimension.
Placing things where they ought to be.
To state 'I am', may be true of false.
You see there was a time when 'I wasn't'.
Mostly we think and talk in the now.
What is real in our lifetime.
However this brief period is miniscule.
It took millions of years to get around to me.
Very loosely translated, Déjà vu causes a familiar feeling
One of "I have been here before"
Has there been a time for me, before this one?
Its not just places that spark Déjà vu.
The first time as a youngster that I saddled and bridled a horse,
I did it perfectly and knew I had done it many times before.
At 12 years old, and never having owed a horse before it was impossible.
But still I knew it was true.
Another time? Another place? Another me ?
The place had to exist as places don't just disappear.
Somewhere on earth the place I saddled a horse existed.
Another me? Is that possible? No, I know it was me saddling that horse,
If it were someone else, I would have no first hand knowledge of it.
Then its time. Time is the culprit.
Thus I proved without a doubt, by process of elimination.
Time is the illusion.
Sponsor Unseeking Seeker
Contest Name Deja vu
2nd March 2023
It was a windy night in Dubai,
on the highest floor of Burj Khalifa,
the crown of glass piercing clouds.
I stood, a monk, silent and bound by vows,
awaiting my fall into sky—
when she appeared.
A Persian vision, tall as prophecy,
skin aglow like hammered gold,
hips curved as desert dunes,
eyes that held forgotten centuries.
She moved toward me,
and time itself bent to listen.
“Fatimah,” she said,
her hand trembling yet sure.
We smiled as strangers,
yet a current older than memory
ran between us.
“Are you the next to leap?”
Her voice quivered,
yet her spirit flared like flame.
“If you are brave enough,” I told her,
“we will face the heavens together.”
At 828 meters,
on the ledge of all existence,
we stood hand in hand.
The wind was a hymn,
the sky a cathedral without walls.
And when we jumped,
the earth fell away—
we were not falling,
we were returning.
In the air she whispered,
“Your presence has taken my fear.”
And it was déjà vu—
the kiss of a life we had lost
and found again.
We landed on the Palm Islands,
the sea catching our breath.
She clung to me;
I clung to her.
Her lips met mine,
and Mount Athos shattered in silence.
“I am a virgin,” she confessed.
“So am I,” I replied,
“perhaps it was always you.”
And our kiss burned like destiny,
like vows rewritten in fire.
Then the Elders’ voices thundered:
“You have eaten the Forbidden Fruit.”
But I knew their warning too late—
for the fruit was no sin,
the fruit was Fatimah.
And in that moment I understood:
it was not vow I had broken,
but the chain of lifetimes—
and she was the answer
to every question my soul had carried.
Different choices,
Life unfolds,
Choose your own ending,
Carve out your void.
Twin flames,
Similar paths,
Shared trauma,
Halves of the same soul.
I learned my twin flame had died—
Or should I say,
She was silenced as she cried,
Overwhelmingly divine.
Uncanny karmic frequencies,
Simplest rendition,
Union of binaries,
Where polarities merge.
Toxic neediness,
Fear of solitude,
Fear of the unknown,
Unsavory sentiments linger.
The futility of humanity unfolds,
As Rumi once proclaimed,
“A thousand half-loves must be forsaken
To bring one whole heart home.”
To crack the universe's circuitry,
My thousand desires weave,
A multitude of incarnations
Chronicled by countless incantations.
Sage my space,
Burning incense,
Polite inhibitions dissolve.
Of déjà vu,
Of worlds askew,
Alternate realities converge.
As I grasp the truth,
I exist simultaneously,
I shun away from parallel lives
And the vast expanse of multiverse skies.
Poem inspired by the song “Lay my body down” by Glenn Hughes
I don’t think of death when I think of you,
We’ve been told many lies, none of them true.
I’ve been drawn to the shadows, it was like a déjà vu;
And I could smell the fear, I could taste the grue.
They are chasing me to lay my body down,
For the things I’ve done,
Unaware that now I know, we are all one,
Polarity encompassing us all in a single atom.
With very step, light clasps from this fields I’ve seen before.
Avoiding my dark casts, I was only hiding my higher call;
You and me are one, energy that endlessly transforms.
Infinite duality that transcends form beyond, I see it climbing up my wall;
I try to brawl it because of the things I’ve done,
Not realising that without my darkness I wouldn’t be who I am now.
We must trust the timing, everything will be right;
Just believe and hold my hand tight.
I am your interstrand, in this boundless land
You are my other chromosome, my super strength.
Don’t judge others, let go of that weight;
You never condemn just projecting oneself,
Close your eyes and you will understand.
Love is the highest vibration, a multi wavelength,
I know you love me and this isn’t the end,
You’ll find me forever walking these fields;
Wearing the shoes of the damned and a costume I’ve lend.
The Stream-Winners
Many a moon, ascending-avatars spent
Eons in caves, on shadows intent,
Struggling to crawl from the shimmering-flow,
Behind the reflections where sentiments grow.
This was the goal—the long, lonely climb—
To slip from the tether of space and of time.
They called them the Stream-Winners, grasped in the sight
That the numinous-moving-us is a trick of the light.
But the means of escaping the torrent’s embrace
Was as illusive as stillness in a galloping race;
Stepping twice in the same stream? A traveler’s lie.
So they sat staring-forever, with a parched, hollow eye,
Until wonder turned-Awe, and the glitter returned,
As they saw in the beauty what the soul had once burned.
For the Stream, it returns! In a spiral, a dance—
Eternal-Recurrence—no victim of chance.
You step in the same stream twice, and then more,
While the water-longs-fierce for your feet on its floor.
It craves you, it seeks you, each time it rolls by,
In infinite waves, beneath a vast, violet sky.
It speeds up to feel you—deep-inside the bone—
Until every Déjà-vu makes itself known.
Flowing inside-out, till your eyes open wide,
Caught in the rush of the free-streaming tide.
An organic-embrace, a shimmering-shove,
This free-flowing, visceral, streaming-Love.
And there, in the vortex where the currents all chase,
We find our own footing...
Taking one step in Grace.
You are the source of my soul.
The colour of my blood.
The lilt of my accent.
The waves of the ocean.
The wind of the night.
The beginning and the ending of me.
Your craters moulded the depth of my eyes.
Your dust painted the colour of my skin.
Your light kissed my body to life.
I am utterly devoted to your illumination.
Years after my separation to you, on this beautiful land I recognised you for the first time. We talked for hours until dawn and from that day on, you never left.
And I never forgot.
Your residual filled my lungs and your orbiting holes of light hummed through my veins.
I lit up, stardust and moondust shimmering within my roots, giving me a sense of faded nostalgia and a déjà vu that acknowledged you.
You were my home.
You are my home.
My place of origin.
My place of birth.
My place of creation.
I am a child of the cosmos.
A devotee to the universe.
A skin of stars.
A heart outweighing gravity.
A loyal disciple, belonging only to you.
I am an angel of the moon.
And I will end where I once began.
For even in my ending, I belong solely to you.