Long Dare to dream Poems
Long Dare to dream Poems. Below are the most popular long Dare to dream by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dare to dream poems by poem length and keyword.
Dare I think of you?
Lead into temptation
I dance in danger
of falling -
falling,
into a turbulent inducement:
a tantalizing, dangerous liaison,
yet awaking dormant,
quiescent fantasy.
Still falling
free fall, no control,
no safety net, no way back.
Be still my beating heart...
still -
still dreaming
of a life less ordinary:
Latent passion lascivious and
lazily seductive.
Delicious sensuality......
but still sensible
I return to familiar stability.
Awake now, not daring
to dream. Quietude
calming my reverie.
Time passes
Passions fade,
normality returns.
Mundane convention covers
clandestine delusion.
Still now,
Still in the safety
of proclivity,
yet always remembering
that once I dared to dream
There comes a time for thiings to change,
A time for certain endings,
A time when Old gives way to New,
A time for new beginnings;
For endings aren't a thing to mourn,
They herald graduation,
A sort of time for stepping out,
Toward new generations;
And if we look ahead with dread,
And cling to customs past,
We'll miss the good that change can bring,
Because of fears amassed,
Until their numbers are so great,
They overcome the will,
To search for treasures yet unseen,
The urge to grow until,
You've finally reached your goal in life,
And found your destination,
That point where you are satisfied,
And happy with your station;
So go ahead and reach out for,
That thing you wish to be,
Don't be afraid to try your hand,
Or then you'll never see,
Your dream take shape and come about,
Your goal is not too high,
Unless, of course, you heed your fears,
And never dare to try.
Do not say they are numbers.
Do not reduce them to body counts,
statistics scrolling like credits on the end of a war no one asked for.
They had names.
They had nicknames whispered by mothers,
chalk drawings on the walls,
birthday candles they never got to blow out.
They had futures
architects of skylines that now lie in dust,
singers whose voices were buried before they broke.
And still the world watches,
flipping channels as if children are worth less than silence.
But we will not be silent.
We stand with Gaza’s children
with their laughter torn apart mid-breath,
with their soccer balls rolling through streets where tanks left scars,
with their kites still flying though the sky is heavy with drones.
Because their courage shames our cowardice.
Because their joy, even in rubble, is a revolution we cannot ignore.
Every stone they pick up is not just stone
it is testimony,
a declaration:
We were here. We are still here.
So say their names in your chest,
carry their faces in your voice,
make your stance clear:
We stand with Gaza,
with the children the world tries to erase,
with the future they still dare to dream.
And we swear this truth will outlive the lies.
This fire will outlast the bombs.
The children of Gaza will not be forgotten,
not while our mouths still know how to speak.
What if we are indeed
not the 1st
But in fact the 2nd coming
And all the evidence that we
seek is yet to be discovered
Buried beneath the scrub and
sand time has naturally
camouflaged human access
from prying eye
The missing link and knowledge
of the who and how of what we
are and where we came from
The answers to the most of
relevant questions still remain
unanswered
And to boldy go 1 single fathom
below the ocean or sky's
ceiling in search of wonderment
Look both to our left
and right and never loose
sight of what is present and
important to us all
And never to forget everyone
one and everything is part of
something greater than us all
Though children do and parents
may dare to dream and be able
to invent new thing's from clocks
to wheels and computer's
History is what makes the future
possible
And history is the only means
we have of maybe us suffering
the same fate
As I dare to dream
A full-time fantasy.
A wonderful wet dream.
Perfect aspirations
of a single wish,
to start each day with
but a taste of your lips.
I dare not go further
beyond perfect bliss.
As my desires
demand more
of what I wish.
If I could wrap myself
around you,
I would be content
as your skin.
Caressing the surface
of your softness.
Loving the pleasure
of our tender
warm embrace.
I’m lost in your love
and taken to
another place.
Paradise is you and I,
where ever we are,
there’s no one
in the whole world
but us.
As I dare to dream,
I’ve never been
to heaven.
Instead,
I spent the night
making love to you.
Listen my dove, to the lulling music
of Gounod’s Ave Maria.
Hear the soft brushing of the bow
against the perfectly tuned violin strings,
vibrating tenderly and lovingly.
So hearken, my little dove
but don’t dare to dream.
For dreams are all illusions
Never meant to be.
Avoid futility, for dreams
are part of our innermost desires
that is, alas, beyond our means.
In this ugly sick world of ours,
real love should reign supreme,
with such a weapon only
we can conquer the arrows
that outrageous fortune throws at us.
Be strong, look forward to life,
even if it is somehow short.
And though it may seem rather slow.
There is always a silver-lined cloud
that glitters after a timely shower.
Aim for it until the day
when you develop wonderful wings
to fly to heavenly everlasting dreams,
Where you’ll hear Gounod’s music again.
For everyday, did I dare to dream,
Of love, of life, of soulful things,
Where blissful words had made serene,
The hearts of all, both far and wide,
Afraid to harm for many had died,
Yet, for man, finds, less peace inside,
A nightmare, made real, blazing across distant skies.
What reason, be made for death abroad, where men and women lay claim, in name, of this one and most silent God?
Did he not say, "Thou shalt not kill?"
Did he slip or stutter, did he mis-pronounce?
Did he not say "love each other?" And what other, had he ever renounced?
No one less, no one more, no one wins in senseless wars,
Scores left wounded, by unbias swords, all for God, made silent, amongst these most spiteful hordes.
For all who walked, upon this, his path, not fear, nor anger, nor wrath or hate,
Only peace unwavering, and undying faith.
For all our books, our words and songs, can we still not tell, right from wrong?
Hocus Pocus
Poets are like magicians.
They trick the heart into feeling,
“things” they had no idea, were there at all.
Sadly poets don’t always know how their tricks work.
They sit and think, and study, and hope and even pray.
They are prone to mistakes and misinterpretations.
Yet…
Poets, dare to dream in colors,
of blue, and yellow, and green.
They sing songs to no one,
people that can barely hear at all.
They make jokes that people miss,
sometimes on purpose.
“May I read you this?” a courageous voice in the crowd.
Met with scoffs and “Oh my’s” or worse.
“How long will it be, why did you bother?”
“Will it make me laugh or smile?”
“Perhaps I do not want to feel that way!”
Then…
they leave their words,
lying on the ground.
Un...cared for.
A blessing,
they are found…
treasures all around.
words on a page, a tiny perfect stage.
When we are alone,
not being what others say we are…
we are closer to ourselves and not far from Him.
Some of us, not all of us, but a few…
look at the words and dare to consider,
to ponder how it feels to fly, from a wheelchair,
to sing without a voice,
to laugh at yourself,
and even…
dare to love.
In a city where dreams intertwine with the shadows of dull days,
society turns away from those who dare to dream,
as if they were committing a crime against the silent laws of time,
because their dream is a flame that disturbs the gray tranquility of the city.
We are all travelers on a sea of memories that slowly fade,
but some carry stars in their eyes and desires that cannot be extinguished,
and these cannot be forgiven, for their dreams are silent rebellions,
an explosion of color defying monotony and gray sadness.
Perhaps society embraces those who steal moments,
those who trap light in cages of concrete and sell it in pieces,
but it will not understand the one who carries their soul like a living canvas,
where each dream is a splash of color, a cry against routine.
Ah, traveler of dreams, wear your burden like a mantle of light,
for the world does not know how to forgive those who look at the sky with longing,
and find in it an infinity of possibilities that cannot be contained,
while the earth murmurs its secrets beneath the hurried footsteps.
Still suggesting there is a place for some cricketing rhymes in these Testing times?
In the land of lengthy cumulus curiosity amazed by the velocity of the atrocity
The crazed ferocity of ghoulish foolish monstrosity which blazed across the ditch
Where Off his Head did bewitch on the pitch so quick slick should've got a stitch
For what it's worth pithier levity aptly sums up the rum girth of the mirth of Perth
Travis’s temerity, depravity of sporting gravity, severity of brevity of Ashes rebirth
No devil may care, hoping us coping rightful heir not moping at the Gabba, repair
Dare to dream in Aussies’ despair lair ending their frightful mind bending nightmare
Cheers to elite broadsheet peers who it appears our fears, sneers, jeers & nadirs share
Ignore more hackneyed score from seedier bottom feeder media on tour, Go All Square!