Long Darker Poems
Long Darker Poems. Below are the most popular long Darker by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Darker poems by poem length and keyword.
Every day is a fresh start-
To relive the pain again
A spoon scooping out your heart
All you feel is hollow
Days are blurred
Life’s veil just became darker
And you smile a little less
What’s the point to fake one
When you lose the sunshine in your life
You only see rain
You can only remind yourself to breathe
Eat and survive
Nature doesn’t care
Nor does time
And both of those are there
To remind you that you’re still stuck
In a limbo of before and after
A reminder that you’ll never be completely happy again
As you grip the rose
You hardly notice it puncturing through your hand
But it makes you cry
And not because of the pain
But because it made you feel something deeply again
It made you feel alive
Every day is a constant reminder,
But its also the chance to feel alive
Our drive started out like any typical summer trip into Philadelphia. Both buses rolling down the highway loaded with screaming teens, eager to reach their destination in a hurry. Rush-hour traffic was heavy, the white lines hidden beneath watery mirages that lifted only briefly beneath underpasses. The skyscrapers were barely visible through the thick haze of summer's heat. The skyline had the appearance of night and day clashing off in the distance. You could smell the rain approaching.
along city streets
slight breeze carries aroma
food and wet pavement
Once the children were safely inside, the buses continued to 30th street station, the only place the city allows buses to park free. The windows were all still down and the roof hatches open as the skyline grew darker. A light show was off in the distance and approaching quickly. The homeless people were now entering the train station in hopes to stay dry and earn a meal or some quick cash.
almost homeless
young girl wears a sign
on the corner
Inside the train station a young family sits on a bench awaiting the arrival of a family member. The benches line the hallway with vendors tucked in the center isle. We sit across from the young family, facing them as an elderly gentleman approaches them. In his arms he carries a sketchpad and a piece of charcoal. The little boy, probably about 10 years old, has grown tired of sitting by now, and his teenage sitters seem agitated by his silly games, the mother in frustration hands him money for a sketch.
with quick hands
he carefully sketches
to perfection
The oldest sister now amazed asks for her's as well. The man sketches her picture to a beautiful black and white replica. The mother refuses to spend another dime and sends him away without paying. Behind us sits another elderly man. He seems to be carrying on a very intelligent conversation with himself. This amazes the children for their final hour and fills them with much knowledge as they slide in to listen.
an old man speaks
as he looks to his right
just his cane sits
The last train has now entered the station and the crowds of people are disappearing outside. The storm has now passed and the sky left a permanent black with the coming of night. We headed outside to the buses to begun our return trip home.
on the street
two yellow buses
filled with rain
Endless Thirst
The world is shaking,
but I am not.
The world is afraid,
but fear,
feeds itself...
The sky is blue,
and the clouds are white,
but they are growing darker
all the time.
The monsoons...
care coming.
Spring has ended here.
I am still toiling the soil...
Trying to get two crops in,
instead of one.
The first already,
half of what it should be,
and not enough to feed us.
Famine is coming.
Starvation her little sister,
is coming with her.
They are not welcome
visitors anywhere.
They are the children of evil.
Plants seeds,
even in the hot summer heat.
Pray for rain,
that will bring the world... new hope.
We need to repent and give back,
instead of take... from the land.
We need to repent, to the Lord.
It will take storms... and flash floods,
to ease the burden of thirst.
But the saddle, the weight of the problem,
the encumbrance will return.
I have never heard my mother express her love for my father.
Perhaps after having seven children, she lacked the energy to articulate those sentiments.
Many women convey their emotions through their unique forms of expression. I find myself questioning whether it was unwise to have loved someone deeply.
I composed a piece reflecting on the relationship between a mother and her sons, encapsulating the journey from birth to the conclusion of his life at the age of twenty-three.
The radiance that once brightened my countenance and the warmth that illuminated my caramel-colored cheeks is now a memory.
The fervent affection he expressed with his lips upon my own—my youthful body, darker than the night—was met with rejection of his desires. I find it challenging to forget the moment he chose to walk away.
As I transitioned into adulthood, I recognized that perhaps the relationship was not destined to flourish. Presently, I maintain a sense of calm, whereas in the past, I was unresponsive to his advances.
The poem I authored remains unpublished; it was not destined to see the light of day, constrained by the vulnerabilities harbored within my delicate heart.
I have observed the relationships of my friends with their partners, often characterized by disconnection and turmoil. Dishonesty, I believe, serves as a detrimental force in any relationship.
Despite my disdain for these dynamics, it is essential to acknowledge that my friends' choices can be misguided. When love and resentment intertwine, one often finds solace in creative expressions through poetry, song, or even retail therapy.
She walked into the room without any word, and with familiars eyes staring through her whispering a silent, "Why "?
And then walked past every mirror, hoping her reflection somehow change, become lighter figure.
A little more acceptable to a world that taught to fade when they were born to be seen?
And then she think why did society neglected the darker kids with a fade figure?
Then she stopped and looked at herself.
"I'm beautiful in every way. "
I'm just beautiful in the way I carry myself, ln the way I stand
In the way i represent my self without asking permission to take up space.
Brown skin are natural Tan
Glows with the every kiss the sun leaves upon me.
And my thick hair it is my mink coat, a crown of richness not everyone can afford .
I am the girl
Who learned to love her reflection, the girl who turned her scars into petals _
And the strongest flowers and the ones that“bloom through every season”
I can't imagine
A world without heaven
Especially when I look at the sea
In this world of so many lonely people
My Savior brings such comfort to me
Can you imagine
A world without heaven
Is that really what you would want it to be?
Like you I don't care about religion
I prefer a relationship that sets me free
"You may say I'm a dreamer"
I say to you there are far too few
Let us join our hearts together
Is not that what we all want to do?
In this world of many hardships
We can escape the darker blue
Forget about temporary possessions
If we try we truly can
Brotherhood is more important
Jesus teaches us to love our fellow man
Heaven's revealed when we are loving
Imagine please, I know you can!
Inspired by John Lennon's "Imagine".
For Silent One's "Music to my ears" poetry contest.
Friends come gather around
There is a young soul that must be found
Travelling the air
Complaining life wasn’t fair
Trying not to scare
Being daunting
In his haunting
Only a few months old
Buried in the sands we are told
Somewhere called Beauty Spot
Liverpool ended up the resting plot
Listening to waves on Brick Beach
Learned lesson if one wants to teach
Michael chiseled on the gravestone
No mention if he fell asleep all alone
Nearly a century has past
Since the infant’s last gasp
Apparently there was trouble
At the crypt where heaven was supposed to cuddle
International war pulled up the covers
Like a loving mother
Hiding him from the enemy under the rubble
Days ago
I wanted to let you know
A lovely couple taking a stroll
Happened to wipe away natures cold
Letting the eternal story unfold
With a name marker
Situation disturbing and darker
Did God plan this?
Feeling angry showing a hiss
Coming to a decision
Taking a position
Seeing a combative vision
Soon countries would be fighting
When this lad should have been mastering cursive and writing
Attending school
Preparing not to be a fool
Getting a belt filled with lifelong tools
Sorry we will never know
About Michael’s character in the 20th century life’s show
Soon the death anniversary will be here
Hopefully closure will come giving us a tear
Thank you nice reader for the time
Entertained by my rhythmic chime
And if you do not mind
Can you spare a nickel or dime?
Place it in my hat
Just like that
So I can get some toffee
With a midnight coffee
Michael could be there
And we could share
Maybe a word or two
Before our night is through
And I fall down
As the sunset of life reaches out to me
in marmalade swirls…orange sherbet dreams
I follow in loose footsteps,
not sure of the bridges I cross
or those burned in the process
Alone I stumble on braided pebbles,
scattered along this serpentine path,
feeding my mind with thoughts
Peering back on what was,
crying when your picture finds me
Dark tangerine tints line the sky now
for the day…this day…my life
shall soon disappear beyond the horizon
Fading to a tiny speck,
hiding in plain sight where no one can see…or care
Finality sings its sad melody
in fractured bar chords and minor notes
As I again find you invading my soul,
reaching down from my heart,
the place you still reside
And I whisper I am sorry…for the pain
Collections of hurt I did not realize I carried
beneath shiny bows and pretty paper
Sending you away from me…my precious gift,
the loss of all that was me…you
Quicker my steps drive
to that straight line illusion beckoning
Darker still as minutes pass
for I know this end is mine alone
as the moon crests the sea and I fall…down
She's on her way going back to a room.
From a long journey since morn.
She went to church and prayed harder.
Then she baught a gift for a daughter's birthday.
It's been five months now since an angel lost her wings.
In an illness that a young body can't conquer.
Nights and days, weeks and months...
She fights the light to remain on sight.
Too many times that her heartbeats get weak.
Life support is the only thing that's left.
To suspend the day of a coming death,
And fade the little hope they all seek.
Moving so fast she saw the open door,
Doctors and nurses are reviving a soul.
Breathless and fainted little one,
Is now waving a hand of good-bye.
Tears fell like a river from her eyes.
The entire room gets darker as she arrived.
The clouds turned gray that afternoon.
The heaven cries for a lost of angel's soul.
written : 4/21/2014
entry for: Dr. Ram Mehta's Darkness at Noon Poetry Contest
*1st Place Winner
—Post Mortem Lectio—
Thou cam’st by chance unto this page,
in some still hour when lamps burn low;
a quiet room, a folded night,
and naught but idle verse to know.
No witness but the patient walls,
no sound but paper faintly stirred—
yet something in the silent air
grew strangely watchful as thou read’st word.
Perchance thou felt it once or twice—
a pause that chilled the drifting breath;
a thought half-formed behind the mind,
like footsteps walking close with death.
Forgive these lines: they know thee well—
thy lifted brow, thy doubtful gaze;
the very moment thou didst stop
to wonder at their curious phrase.
For just before thou reached’st this verse
thy fingers lingered on the page,
and some dim instinct stirred in thee
that something watched from out the age.
Yet mark thee now a darker truth
few living eyes could comprehend:
this script reveals itself alone
to those whose breathing hours have end.
The mirror clouded yesterday.
The hound that shrank from where thou stood.
The clock that faltered in thy hall—
all signs thou never understood.
And if thy gaze hath travelled here,
still calm beneath the lantern’s breath,
then know—thy reading is the proof
thy life concluded long in death.
But ere thou turn’st away in dread,
one final mercy must be said—
The lamp beside thee is not lit—
it burns above thy coffin lid—open.