Long Decay Poems
Long Decay Poems. Below are the most popular long Decay by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Decay poems by poem length and keyword.
You want a poem my dear damsel
abruptly I start this off beat for you still
after all these illustrious years
turn my heart into a robotic puppy
I curl up next to your feet wanting to be petted
to be warmed, to be loved
you neither kick nor scream or show affection
there you sit upon your throne
an elegant, graceful queen
busy up to your knees in royal technicalities
when you'd rather be out on a boat
in open water, going 80 mph
the sun setting with the wind in your hair
a majestic view for a cool calm day
to forget the stress, the decay of the mess
attacking the doorsteps of your inner fortress
You want a poem my tangled heroine
upon a knee I'd give you a ring
for a fairytale dream to make believe
twirl your hair once upon a finger
as your small pink lips present a smile
the sun would be jealous of
for you bright up the night, the day
you bright up my world, what else could I possibly say
you're amazing
there's not a star in the sky I haven't wished upon
to let you here me say
I'm here for you always
You want a poem, is that what you said precious Scarlett
do you want an array of calculated words to describe your beauty
or is that a cliche I should put away for a rainy day
Would you like a careful depicted letter of how I missed you
your whimsical laugh, your spontaneous demeanor
or to put it simply the blessing of your presence
Answer me this, I beg of you, I ask of you
would you permit this night
a carefully construed romantic pledge I'd cascade into your everglades
a visual portrait to appease the goddess in your eyes
or would you just be comfortable with a silent movie
filled with mystic lullabies, no goodbyes, long sighs
a hug for old times
My dear love kiss me swiftly, sweetly, strongly, would you please
I've missed the way your eyes used to stare at me, glare at me
miles and miles, right?
I could channel my inner Beatles, grow a strawberry field
tell the whole world that we've met
ever since I've met you I've been fallen
and I just let it be
the only words of wisdom I could muster
let it be
You wanted a poem my pretty damsel, my dear Scarlett
you wanted a poem dear love
I want a victory, tell me do you miss me?
You wanted a poem fair lass
can we make at least this night last
You wanted a poem beautiful one
you are my only tangled heroine
You wanted a poem graceful queen
does this suffice?
Written: June 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
********************
The Phantom Choir
In the quiescence of last Sunday,
Prophecy heralded the hour past two,
I heard a whisper at hibiscus dawn—
a seamless voice I swore I always knew.
In blissful flutter—it said night was wide,
Chrysalis sorrow stirs a bed for fools,
that in the hush, when hearts collide,
The lost willows are left to wade in pools.
Facing the kernel until the street thinned,
And my shadow’s sepals bled away,
Rusted voice strings within me spoke again—
It's hymn frills poised for slow decay.
The Hollow Pact
Will I wake to descry my cracked mind,
emptied of all its sharpened teeth?
Will murky echoes break their binds,
Or gnaw beneath the sheath?
The alchemy battle sparks, but I am dust—
wispy strands, a soldier tied in flimsy chains.
Each idea erodes the periwinkle ones I trust,
while the weight of stress remains.
You graze me with a maze—why do I stand so still?
Resurrection of the soul—so why shake your hands?
But dread can have its way to fulfill—
The transcendence of love is lost in vicious demands.
The Third Mourning
Wise chakras buried beneath the walls I built,
the zen voice still scrawls its wordless plea.
It concedes my yantra’s vulnerability, my guilt,
peers where peacock pleadings wane into a spree.
It hums inside the tremors of sapphire light,
I close my eyes as it runs over lily-filled shorelines.
Bits of lunar-glazed silver dust grow in quiet nights,
and procrastinated pledges become lies.
In my dour dreams, it tells me not to resist—
“You know that silken shivers favor sound.”
Amid cyan azure peace, I learn misery persists,
for flickers of love fear the burial mound.
The Acoustic Waltz
In nocturnal dryness—sing soft verses in the dark,
claims the enamored inked words are not hers.
She plucks cerulean hymns without leaving a mark,
The tune of her carved kohl was lost in slurs.
She sways in the russet yarns of neon glow,
bows beneath the ricochet’s wild haze—
a phantom waltz in katabatic motion, moving slow.
a cosmic voice garden, too faint to truly be a maze.
Her pocket holds a ring of black gem glass,
won as a child’s dare, a piece of smitten ink.
She warms it, sighs, and watches it pass
through flaming flecks—hands that fight to sink.
When I Give You My Heart…
The love I give to you dear one,
Is love I know belongs to me,
To think that it is yours alone
Is adolescent fantasy.
For if this love weren’t really mine
How could it then be mine to give?
If heart is always True Love’s home,
Without a heart how could I live?
It may not bring you comfort love
And you may never feel secure,
But dreams my heart is only yours,
Reveal a heart that’s immature.
For you to tell me that’s your gift,
Suggests that you’re naïve at best,
For even if you think it’s true,
The emperor is still undressed!*
At least most men aren’t made that way,
Our futures never are for sure.
And pleasures taken while we can
While praying there might be a cure.
A sick child cause our love to end,
Even our jobs drive us apart,
Though no one plans on stuff like this,
It spells disaster for the heart.
A partner that decides they’re gay,
Somehow an accidental death,
The day your spouse does not come home,
The world can take away your breath.
So when I ‘just’ give you my love
Please check your heart to know it’s true
And realize that lover’s chose,
It’s really all that one can do.
A witches spell, a chain of fire
Cannot restrain decay to dust,
A lifetime all we have to live,
Where good days start with hope and trust.
Brian Johnston
August 29, 2014
Poet's Notes:
* ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’ – A tale by Hans Christian Anderson about two weavers who promise an Emperor a new suit of clothes that is invisible to those unfit for their positions, stupid, or incompetent. When the Emperor parades before his subjects in his new clothes, a child cries out, "But he isn't wearing anything at all!" The tale has been translated into over a hundred languages. From ‘Wikipedia.'
Few go into a relationship with the expectation of love not lasting a lifetime, and yet we all know our relationship too will end, sooner or later, hopefully the latter. The time spent may be quality time or more of a learning experience, usually a mixture of both. But nothing can totally prepare us for the future except to be honest with ourselves and to admit, we are not really in control. That understanding can make things easier for those able to embrace it. Failure may always be failure, but being able and willing to forgive, to love yourself too, is the only path to future happiness in my experience.
As two, hearts dance the embrace of a fire,
plucking your heartstings as a lyre
Distrust, lies, eclipses love's satellite true- natal
loon, into a suicide hot air balloon ride!
Moves aside bend of light, chooses,
side, of a dark malignant side of moon !
In the twilight hour blues,
where passions softly stir,
emotions start to blur, turn sour,
painting pleasure in the night maw to devour two
In the depths of the night, a solitary light wound
casts a shadows upon the heart,
where darkness slowly seeps through
With every stolen kiss, a crescendo of desire,
a symphony of emotions that sets souls afire
Strings of anticipation strum
in rhythmic delight tuned to
caressing secrets, where fantasies abide, nude
Signs, who, hides moons of the truest kind!
O a tale apart
Moves side winds, breath of the dark arts,
to align into hearts maligned
arms folded in death to make with
as a stolen kiss ignites a flame,
like a symphony, our hearts fall prey to again
be betwixt in the game
With every stolen kiss, a crescendo of desires,
hollows,
a symphony of emotions that sets
souls adrift from the shallows
In passions dance in the shadows,
at Night, where secrets cannot hide their gallows
from the ghouls that preside in it's marrow
In a tale ripped apart...
every 'plete of your heart
Strings of anticipation strum in
rhythmic delight tune
turns to the knife of sacrificial rite
In the twilight raimant so blue, where passions fly,
the jolly roger of motley fools,
selling the fine line
sailing the live mines
Embracing the darkness' essence,
a tale yet for reason
harmonies of ecstasy reaching
a breathtaking peak of reasoning
Oh, the cadence of desire, intoxicating and divine,
as crescendos rise and fall, our spirits intertwine
a symphony of emotions, wild and misconstrued,
leaving souls aflame, forever marked,
for death do you sever
apart partaking your
passions dance in the shadows,
at Night, where secrets cannot hide to
desires lever toggle with every touch, new,
every sight of slight or bruise
Urban decay of a dream,
dream theater of a tragedy
playing looped scene
In the Twilight raimant so blue
With every beat of your heart
Moves side winds, choose, sides,
with a dark maligned tune
you call me when its good for you
which is hardly ever
its like I'm a convient friend
one who wont sever.
keeping me in mind
you say to yourself
"oh i call her later"
you stick me on the shelf.
You take me down
when there is none left
one doll friend of many
my heart is going deaf.
what is it with you
and your "I'm sorry"s
if you took the time
you wouldn't have to make up stories.
Am i that convient?
am i your chore?
what keeps you around?
Our friendship is on the floor.
you have tons of people
you talk to each day
i guess i should understand how easy it is
to throw your best friend away.
"I love you so much Ravin
your the best of a friend to me"
your words fall upon deaf ears anymore
what ever happened to WE?
" you will always be the one i come to"
" you are my bestest friend"
you say these thing so carefully
in hopes it never ends.
"I'll call you later"
"no not today"
" I'm at the bar"
" cant find a way"
when i call you are so occupied
you haven't listened to a word i have said
" hold on" 8 or 9 times
the "call you back" lies you fed
you know i am here
and i love you so much
i come to you about everything
its my heart that is crushed
I thought i was good enough
for you to come to anytime or day
why is it you put me on this back burner
and leave me here to decay.
you'll see one day
there is none like me
your TRUE friend is still here
but yet you choose not to see
you seem not to care
as much as i thought you did
why should i still be here?
because i am a REAL friend.
you have crushed me a few times
only to see me come back
you use me when there is no one else
you talk to me to pick up slack.
so here i sit a paper wait
waiting to be used again
will you ever realize
I'm your number one fan?
i keep all this dust hidden
on that shelf you put me on
waiting for a call from you
why am i not gone?
so i sit here today
writing aloud
spilling my heart to you
hoping you hear my sound.
keep from that shelf
keep me close to you
don't use me when I'm convient
I have better things to do
I love you with all my heart
Is it impossible to see?
I try to be the best i can be to you
but what about me?
"its a best friend thing"
is what we used to say
you seem so distant now
what made you go away?
leaving you with this
please know i am here
just give it some thought
and keep me near.
Form:
(1.)
Alas! So Shoot Me, I Grieve What Was Lost
Alas! So shoot me, I grieve what was lost
Not just youth, but those things Time took away
Within aching heart comes an icy frost
Covering epic pains of such decay!
One may ask, how dare I so complain?
Does Nature cry about hard falling rain?
Yet does not this world its ills promote well?
Oft with sorrows borne from depths of Hell?
Dare I choose to such dark verses to write?
Have I not truly joined in the fight?
Alas! So shoot me, I grieve what was lost
Not just youth, but those things Time took away
Within aching heart comes an icy frost
Covering epic pains of such decay!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet, repeat stanza ( with triple couplets )
******
(2.)
Those Lush And Tender, Soft Welcoming Lips
Those flowing curls, glowing luscious mane
Sexy smile, flowering as desert rain
Bountiful beauty, sent to ease heart's pain
Lovely blessing sent for this soul to gain.
Ravishing essence with sweet touch to match
My hesitation, thinking what is the catch
That such a beauty would now my way pass
A goddess, sweet speaking to this poor lass.
Those lush and tender, soft welcoming lips
With true beauty, grace, and curvaceous hips
Yes beauty, as could launch a thousand ships
And greatest king's treasure surely eclipse.
Those tender kisses that were sent both ways.
May we forever - remember that day!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet,
( And Life, Its Journey Ever Sped Onward )
******
(3.)
Does Basking Moon Ask Strolling Stars For More
Of beauty, earth, wind and soft glowing sky
Dares this artist to weep tears asking why
Heart and soul must pay such a heavy price
And shed blood for it to ever suffice?
Does basking moon ask strolling stars for more
Space and time to heavenly night explore
And cast upon earth a much deeper hue
To inspire such in poets such as you?
Does dawn its resplendent new rays withhold
That gift, that gleaming beauty to be sold
Or Mother Nature fail to gift new birth
Or poets fail to cast beauty's true worth?
Do such quizzing queries set well in verse
Or fail as being dated and quite terse?
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet,
( And what of life, love and this thing we call earth ? )
SPECIAL INTEREST
With the thought processes of the masses overwhelmed
By the heavy burden
Of no influence on policy
And with little scope for advancement
Up the greasy pole
Insurrection and rebellion abound
Catching the chattering classes off guard
Traducing a broke government is the new game
To incite discontent and to pander to
Front page democracy the new weapon
Of those whose frustrations
Know no bounds
Unions and lobbyist throw their
Handbags out their prams
Yet they provide no new income streams
For a government on its knees
The pension pot is the new not to
Be touched holy grail
Its reverence brings to the fore those
Who wish every proceeding generation
To pay for today’s profligacy
Money comes money goes
Often the government seems to have none
To spend it all on special interest
Is a very selfish goal
This new era of austerity is but long overdue
A curb on the excesses that let the selfish
Do as they would please to do
With society’s blank cheques
A welcome break for the taxpayer
The one who petulantly foots the bill
Those that want more may need to pay more
A progressive system is not unwarranted
Tax is but essential to fill the pot
Those that have but give not
A blot on an otherwise decent lot
How selfishly all sides do behave
They want but refuse to give
To be the one who wins all
Exceeds all other considerations
No compromise is considered best policy
To lobby
To influence
To fool
These are the goals of the one sided
Minstrels of the selfish school
Knocked from their little thrones they rise
They but skew interest towards their cause
An unfair system
Built like a house of cards
That flutters in the wind of change
Selfishness is but a wanton Unhealthy game
A grand state of decay is society
Where wants and expectations
Outgun reality
A government unwilling to be brave
Allows democracy to shiver and shake
A useless waste of a vote
A dismal disgrace
Society is but made up of parts
That only function if all contribute
And everyone gains
Grappling hands should be slapped
We must all enjoy what our hard work has begot
A delicate balancing act is government policy
Frustratingly it seldom meets its aims
For the unintended consequences
Forever drown the initial good
Not everyone sadly wants policy to do some good
Seek out what’s best for you
Always remembering it’s not
All about you
Earth had offered Her eco-centric contract
of love and synergy,
awaiting ego's personal response each day,
each moment,
eager to optimize wealthy health care cooperations
of sacred grace.
Over an apparently inadequate lifetime
ego implied his competitive response:
I grow increasingly excited,
stimulated,
by this co-petitioning challenge
to frame our dissonance,
our operational riddles and puzzles,
games and illogistics
and dark strategies
Measured in statistical decomposition
of the odds for sustaining life
by perfecting hatred and fear
of death's dissociative decay.
I question Earth's right to positive resolution
and harmonic resonance,
as consonant co-governance
of enlightened ego empowering eco
to play win/win,
recreate without sin,
and co-passion nicely together
This co-petition against wasted anxious time
fully exercises my right of conscience,
to re-search 0-sum ego-partisanship
for absolute freedom from eco-dependence.
This co-petition asserts our human natural guild's unlovely preference
for contention over contentment
for sustained longing rather than resilient belonging
for uni-lateral freedom
rather than ego/eco bilateral interdependence.
EarthMother absorbed this richly contentious compost,
this dissembling over cooperative rights of assembly
and competition challenging associative eco-creation
as too inclusive recreation,
divisive of ego's omnipotent present place
in organic space
derived from eco's multisystemic functions
within history's healthiest seasons.
It seems to me,
said She,
Time has unfolded an eco-systemic co-tractive gift,
born of Her binomial grace
in bilaterally felt space,
a belonging response to mutually co-tribute with ego
gratitude for bicameral mutuality
and full freedom of co-scientific consciousness,
to conjoin time's eternal moment
of past personal ego
with future eco recentering life.
Post Scripted: "After all this time and space
repeating inhumane competitions and cooperative contractions,
deductive inducements to balance positive political space
with negative un-ecological economic time,
thank you for remembering why RightBrain felt eco-normics
gave birth to LeftBrain's verbal ego-petitions
in our first through last breathing moment
of win/win eco-operative identity."
Signed: Earth's Polypathic CoOperative Covenant
Was the purpose of your absence an attempt at causing me pain?
That crippling feeling, a spider spinning its web inside my mind.
That arachnid, poisonous, jeers the word space like a handicap.
That parasitic relationship forms a cloud covering the moonlight,
A fog that swirls like a whirlpool in your absence. How rapturous
Your paradox forming a bridge made from our memories. Broken and
Reshaped they become the foundation to a journey in that sea you
Created within me. Your withered emotions and fleeting empathy
were a false proposition of hope only a jester would find funny.
An exhibition of animosity lies in the silent waves – waiting –
for our sunset. How beautiful its rays are against the black water;
falling into the abyss, hidden under that rain your pseudo blanket.
Does the sunrise when you are blind? Does the moon set when
You can’t see the sky? That colorblind man sits there on the beach
Looking in silence. He cannot see his reflection within the water, he
Stands and walks to its surface. There he finds a crow crippled, limping
In the ripples where his reflection should be. That psychedelic feeling
Draws in his drowning breathe, falling into the sea. Paramount to his
Survival the man drowns, his understanding a paradox in his memory.
Only he, the crow, remembers the light of the moon. Its pompous shape,
that transcendent light, a memory to your decay. Only when yellow hits
the eyes of the crow will that white light fade beyond the thunderstorm.
He cries to the heavens, yet his speech murmurs under the weight. That
Black water suffocates his prayer, but he finds comfort in his anonymity. In
the presence of absence the crow longs for loss. He who is stolen from
wishes to be further buried, lost in the waves. That siren sings a fading
melody back into his ears. His own prayer an anchor tied to his feet,
crippled in your memory. Fractured in his own faith, what god heard
his suffering, his murmurs clots of air in a salty sea; black as the blood
from the wound you carved out in his chest. What blessing filled
his misery, that pseudo composition you create is a platter filled
with the feather of the crow. His words held sweet your grace,
an ensemble dancing in the mind of the forgotten. in the sea of
his followers he is Poseidon, yet still the crow sank, anchored in misery.
Long ago, in an estuary formed by the erosion of a fjord,
There sat a piano made of petrified wood with ivy cords.
It was created by a council of beavers, which governed the waters,
Who used local flora and stones to build it, with help from the otters.
For these marine rodents had once heard a human strum a guitar,
And they wanted their own music to impress the humans from afar.
The piano's fifty-two lower keys were made of refined kyanite,
While its thirty-six raised keys were made of black hematite.
Its pedals were donated by some dories from the sea,
Who shaped them from coral plucked from a barrier reef.
As the instrument was built from aquatic and natural material,
It could stand through the torment of torrents and decay of bacteria.
When the piano was finished the beavers and otters stood proud,
And pounced on its keys, which made sounds that were only loud.
The rodents soon realized that none of them knew how to play,
The piano without fingers, so they gave up on music the very next day.
Fraught in their efforts, their hard work had been for naught,
Until a beaver found a boy squatting on a bank looking distraught.
"Why the long face, my dear child," said the beaver to the boy,
Who responded: "I've failed my parents, now I'll never know joy.
Today they bought me a beautiful baby-grand piano to celebrate,
The years of piano lessons they paid for, on my thirteenth birthday.
After seven long years of lessons and tutelage,
My ability to read notes is still way below average."
So the beaver brought the boy to what the animals had built,
To help the boy overcome his feelings of failure and guilt.
The beaver said to him then: "Play not that which you see but hear,
For music is a melodic and emotional sensation that you feel in your ears."
So the boy closed his eyes and rested his hands on the keys of gemstone,
And listened to what he heard and played the loveliest music he'd ever known.
For the boy could never read the language of music that others had wrote,
But learned he could play any sound heard, when his fingers struck the right notes.
So the boy played away to the sounds that he heard,
The current of water, and pecked songs of a bird.
As he played the animals danced with heads bobbing and nodding,
And when the boy opened his eyes he saw his parents applauding.