Long Decline Poems
Long Decline Poems. Below are the most popular long Decline by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Decline poems by poem length and keyword.
Under the shadowed vault of time, where power flickers like a deceitful beacon,
Authority tempts the shadows, alluring the lowest elements of our kind,
Throughout history, humanity has been shackled by the dregs of the world, slaves to its own decline,
They endure any indignity, commit any vile act, just to taste the nectar of dominion.
The world's wretched remnants boil in the potion of sovereignty,
Each government, a parliament of debauchery, profaning the virtue of the soul,
In the tragic mirror of democracy—whispers reveal that we wear their masks,
Desperate, we cling to the threads of authoritarianism, seeking release from anxieties.
In the abyss of thought, we dance on fragments of shattered dreams,
The narrative thread flows, a river of lost hopes,
Seeking liberation in promised power, blind to the hidden snares,
Captives in a labyrinth woven from our deepest vulnerabilities.
Eyes dimmed by uncertainty gaze towards fragile horizons,
Our hearts, fragile, beat under the weight of perpetual injustice,
We drift into the melancholic reverie of unfulfilled dreams,
Hoping that one day, truth will shatter the illusion we have built.
With arms stretched towards the pale stars of the night,
We find solace in shadows, seeking fragments of pure light,
Dreaming of a world where our slumbering souls awaken to freedom,
A story unwritten, etched with mystic melancholy upon the skies.
But until that dawn, in this realm of illusion and unchecked power,
We hold hands in the darkness, cherishing the fragility of our hearts,
Imagining a world where our unseen words unlock change,
In a mystical odyssey of poetry and healed souls, under the watchful stars.
Propellent syndromes rotating with energetic drum
the winds of time begin to churn your soul begins to hum;
Through the portal of time you go regressing, progressing
forever moving forwards, you are a tiny little string;
Dangling at the edge of time, waiting for the big rebirth
with the sun, moon and stars hung around your girth,
you slowly decline at the doorway of heaven's nook
and enter mothers womb as she delivers you with shook;
Ferris wheel cries cracking the silence of dusks headdress
the dawn is a blush of bruises but the eyes, oh! the eyes
they are two luminous stars of love, here is no surprise
the old soul has done it again, thundering back in, mortal
as you once were. Immune to taste, sight, and smell,
a propelling syndrome rotating with energetic drum,
the winds of time has brought you back, now hum.
June 7, 2021
the night is barking among the dogs
moaning over the family shame
preaching to the deaf like a blind demagogue
so where’s the collector of common blame now?
something is soaring above the house
heart-shaped and half-baked
it’s slowly making us roused
there was a cadence of stars yesterday
despite the awe they’re sharp as a butcher’s knife
they flew in through walls and window panes
she tried to pick them up and she just cut her hands
and there was a strife about the afterlife
god, these boundless hours, so lurid!
moulded into this blushing bride of mine
locked in a spire by heavens so arid
stagnant in solace she’s mortal and quivering
her heart inside out and her soul on decline
To decline in sense by standards, morals and dignity,
perceived decay in honor, faith and most of discipline.
Falling into the process of condition deterioration,
societies antiquities and its embarrassing vulgar declaration.
Excessive indulgences for the riches spoil,
and the hangover as inheritance as waste to toil.
No real challenges with that hoarded gold as bliss,
throwing all the coins towards the issue and miss.
Scattered treasures as wild status quo and garden of Eros,
juices of amnesia and enhancing substance grandiose.
Upon the soul the kisses and floating wine,
smoking hot chicks not to mention therein.
When that velvet luster speaks the eye,
and cruelty pronounce that language of lie.
Business or pleasure not the question here,
for vicissitudes ripeness amorously to stir.
Thousand twinkling stars from heaven dares,
as above so below are the mirrors unaware fares.
To pamper pleasures perversion wanton desire,
fervent demeanor and the call to admire.
We all coming with a purpose in this world,
and many shades of fears establishing that paradox mold.
The force of life into purity of spirits and its evolution,
attachments of lost egos and its trauma seeking conclusion.
I’m so excited about this election
about America and our direction
We’ll trust old men
to make big decisions
elderly men
of compassion and vision
Men who were there
when the work was done
when we went to the moon
and warred in Vietnam
A glorious age is at hand
we’ll be safe in those trembling hands
One who launched a murderous insurrection*
Another who can’t even follow simple directions
They will grasp what needs to be done,
our land will be free and efficiently run
We’ll trust old men
who think with precision
to keep us safe
with complex decisions
Men who were there
when the work was done
promoting corporate advantage
and environmental damage
A glorious age is at hand
we’ll be safe in those trembling hands
I’m so excited about this election
about America and our direction
.
.
Officer, Brian D. Sicknick was murdered by rioters, beaten to death with a fire extinguisher. 113 other police officers were injured trying to protect our capital on January 6th, 2021.
The world was going to end in nineteen fifty-nine,
according to my grandma. I know; she told me so.
Not because of Russia and its threats of nuclear war,
but because Italians had moved into the house next door.
"The street, the neighbourhood, will rapidly decline,"
That's not what my friends and I thought, though.
My mum was just as bad, "they've painted their door bright red.
Brown is the only colour for a rightly English door.
Just look at it," she moaned each time we walked the street.
"Some people just don't understand, the nerve, conceit!"
"And have you seen the clothes she wears?" "You wouldn't catch me dead."
But my friends and I; well, we all said; blimey, cor.
My dad took me aside one day; sat me down, and said,
"Take care, the folk next door are not like us at all.
They're Jews or Catholics; one or the other;" he confines.
"I saw them all out yesterday dressed right up to the nines,
walking with a bag of fruit and strange-shaped bread."
My friends and I didn't care; they had an ice cream stall.
We became good friends; me, and the boys next door.
We pricked our thumbs and pressed; became blood brothers.
I learned cool words; Bellissimo, Chao; and in Italian how to cuss.
And in return, I taught them English words like grotty, snot, and puss.
Grown-ups were wrong about Italians moving in next door.
When you make friends, there is no them or us, or others.
Jaundiced Eye Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Date wrote: 20-June-2021
Oh you stalk of corn,
How withered you look now,
Stripped of honour and full of scorn
Oh you stalk!, now you bow,
you have remained standing only
as a provender for stalls and fodder
Once in full bloom, you were the
cynosure of the farmer
Paying homage to you regularly
giving you largesse
of herbicides' and fertilizers'
The delight of greenery, the envy of
weeds, the lusting of goats and sheep.
The stalk of corn of yore days.
Your peak outlast, your decline at last
Your grains harvested, gladdens the heart
of many wearied;
In dough's of pies, in puddings and porridge's.
The pangs of hunger you salvaged for man
and for beasts
Your seeds await your demise oh stalk
of corn,
To take your place in the vicious cycle
of life by the farmer
Oh corn stalk, you are bowed and
withered waiting for the set time.
Corn stalk, I salute you, take a bow
for now.
You have fulfilled purpose and destiny.
(written on 20/09/2016)
A delicate dance, a balance to abide.
Let me share a verse, a tale profound,
Of union wed in hallowed ground.
When vows were spoken, love's embrace,
Within the walls of sacred grace,
Two souls entwined, a blessed bond,
In faith and hope, their hearts respond.
The church, a haven, where spirits soar,
A sanctuary for love to explore.
With blessings sought, in prayers they knelt,
Their union sealed, divine presence felt.
Yet in the realm of worldly decree,
Lies the state, where laws decree.
An earthly realm, where lives entwine,
Where unions formed, but can decline.
The state, it claims a different role,
To govern lives, the heart's control.
Through trials faced, its duty clear,
To grant divorce when love's austere.
For love is fragile, human, frail,
And sometimes falters, starts to pale.
The state steps in, with measured might,
To disentangle bonds, no longer bright.
Though wedded in the sacred place,
Where heaven's grace did interlace,
The state, it follows rules laid bare,
To sever ties, love's weight to bear.
The separation of these realms, you see,
Protects the church, protects the free,
To let religion guide its course,
While state ensures a civil force.
Thus, if the state may seek to part,
What church bestowed, two souls held in heart,
Remember, dear friend, it's not their aim,
To tarnish love or cause you shame.
They're bound by duty, laws compiled,
To navigate love's ebb and tide,
For if love fades and peace departs,
They offer solace, fresh new starts.
So let us honor this subtle divide,
Respecting both realms, hand in hand they stride.
For church and state, they coexist,
Preserving freedom, love's gentle twist.
A silver spider spied a golden fly,
and to it most amorously did sigh:
"O most glorious of flies!
What fine wings you have, what eyes!
No earthly thing shows beauty more.
I shall weave in silver thread
a garb for you, a vestment fair,
that we be forever wed,
a common destiny to share.
I in you, and you in me,
O how happy we shall be.
You shall be my metaphor.
To you I'll pose reality."
"I'm sure what moves you is benign,"
the fly replied in dulcet tone.
"Yet I regretfully decline
your offer of a common home.
My gold is - like your silver - pure,
and may such purity endure,
for purity, if once alloyed,
as sure as fate must be destroyed.
To sun and moon it was decreed
not fusion but duality
should constitute reality.
Cohabitation I debar!
I shall admire you - from afar!"
He had fondly decided to do his best
And win her love- his warm,cute choice ;
He flew about her, in chivalry and poise,
Who pecked and offered him to build a nest
That should be all of comfort and pride,
Besides being surely safe and compact ;
Beating amorous wings he receded with tact :
It should be pompous ; she won't deride
Nor ever in any way, the cosy love decline ,
As he would truly buckle down and align
Hovering about the nearby greenery and foliage,
He perched finally on an entangled branch,
Watching the waters running through a ranch ;
From the dawn to the dusk he did engage
His spirits and effort to search and port,
Shreds and patches of fronts and grass;
Every flight secured his hope and strength across ;
And then in all came up a neat little fort,
The emotive achiever made a careful scrutiny
Contented that the nest would house his destiny.
Fluttering around the proud preener, he did woo
In soft twitters and impulsive moves explicit ,
Of flapping wings and the beak came the tweet ;
The preview began without much ado....
Just a perch on the nest shaped well
And a few choice leaps here and there ...
She shrugged and fluttered away in the air
Leaving the poor proposer in a pell-mell
Yet was there a helpless humble chase
To seek the hopeful way out of the maze
The crest-- fallen darer with lost regard
And vanity, wrathfully began to crack --
Peeling and undoing every minutely twined pack
And pull down- his love laboured hard ,
With perches and hops crazy and anger agile;
The torn naive mass from the foliage nook,
Fell into the nonchalant water of the brook;
The puny loser's flight was fretful and fragile;
Snug warmth empowers and accomplishes a task
While cold pride crushes and sticks a mask.