Long Decry Poems
Long Decry Poems. Below are the most popular long Decry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Decry poems by poem length and keyword.
Bat-blind to looming gripe and cold decay,
Clueless shoots jump onto life's gay stage,
Oblivious of Grim Fate's scything designs
That waste with disease and stealing age.
They wouldn't turn around and at once behold
Slowly waning sires with mean griefs to scold.
Youth's full plate such wanton cheers parades,
That no eye can see sly time's thievish shades.
Thus enchanted our pleasure-lured victims file
Onto glum podiums whereon their sires stood;
Dancing to selfsame tunes of deaded antiquity,
Decoyed by vanity's unedited rhythmical mood.
While earth's tetchy wheel of raw fun yet turns,
One in the numbed lot in death's embers burns.
To decry such brazenness by that spiteful foe,
Smitten hordes seethe and writhe in brief woe.
In the end every joy-craving dancer sadly goes,
And green offspring pop in to follow their toes.
Thirty
It's a curse word I barely heard
More of a fable and not a label
Far away and not here today
Thirty
Haunting my dreams more than it seems
Because I know what it means behind the scenes
I'm nearly halfway there and it doesn't seem fair
Thirty
I'm more mature but less secure
I'm not gonna lie I just want to cry
But that I decry and that I deny
Thirty
It's a new start but I'm faint of heart
I drank the kool-aid I'm just fool made
I won't throw a fit but I'm over it
Thirty
Thirty has done me dirty
Where I am today I don't want to say
I don't want to stay because next month is May
Thirty
It's all in my mind I want to rewind
I'm trying to find time in a revival of rhyme
It's hard to fight in such a dim light
Thirty
They stop and they stare as if I don't care
I stop and I think but I'm starting to sink
It's all in my head I'm gonna be dead
Thirty
It's a curse word I've always heard
More of a label and not a fable
And now that it's here I can't shake the fear
Does life hang on a tiny thread,
haven't many been misled?
Discouraged? One needs the courage
to achieve the impossible!
Decry fate, never fling your sword
to wound a moribund soul already bleeding;
control your irrepressible rage, doesn't healing
begin when reasoning is finally deployed?
Does life hang on a tiny thread
as the breath, our lungs exhale?
Would one prefer the silence of Haden,
over the freedom of choices, or vale
yourself as a worthless martyrdom
that is simply a deplorable word?
Has your bottle run out of rum...
realizing your sin is unforgiven?
Does life hang on a tiny thread
when one succumbs to unfounded fears,
and mutters the words of a drunk?
Cowardice and valor don't match a bit,
look deep down and see how you have sunk,
no hands can lift you out of that abyss;
never dismantle the steel armor you have wrought:
victory is not attained without bloodshed!
Hating The Haters?
Written: by Miracle Man
6/5/2020
Protesters brandish signs which decry stop hate,
yet loot and burn until the hour grows late.
As intolerance is tested, many become agitated,
but the hate in man’s heart can’t be legislated.
Beyond our sight are those intent on causing trouble,
whose aim is to destroy, leaving livelihoods in rubble.
They don’t burn buildings based on pigment of skin,
but loot and leave graffiti and have no chagrin.
In pandering to voices because they’ve grown loud,
police give more oxygen to a match lighting crowd.
All lives matter not just those causing the affray,
we must move forth together as we seek a new day.
On Christmas day, shines the star of Bethlehem!
Search not for this lustre in the sky,
For within our core, glows God’s gem,
Revealed when narrow ego cravings we decry,
Kissing erst fears and desires a final goodbye.
Recall the three wise men, who brought gifts;
Frankincense, myrrh and gold,
Foretelling how Jesus uplifts,
The pure of heart, who His love and light behold,
As tales of miracles and resurrection are retold.
Forged in flesh and blood, Jesus walked among us;
He was and is, the son of God.
Like Him, let’s board the love bus,
Mindfully gentling our touch and giving love a nod,
Tiptoeing prayerfully into our glowing heart unshod.
Let Christmas day then be the inspiration to begin,
Melding head with our heart,
By cessation, erasing erst sin,
In thought rested silence, by adding love to cart.
Christ consciousness dawns, no sooner we start!
02-December-2022
A Christmas Special Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
The last time someone I cared for
shut me out this quickly and this much,
was the last time they closed that door,
leaving me aught but the broken handle to clutch.
They say I shouldn't feel this way in two weeks,
should not yet get this hurt;
I wish so, but solace my heart seeks,
when one so open turns so curt.
It's been raining these few days,
which always suits me just fine.
It fits being lost in this maze
of worries and doubts of mine.
The dreaded Friday the 13th comes by
and brings with it the cliff I feared,
the vague ending I always decry,
the goodbye with no answers, ardor bleared.
It's by no means the end of my world,
indeed just an example of how it's always been.
So back to that road I am freshly hurled,
tonight sighing once again.
dults we stand for time has passed us by
our childish ways have bloomed into a blight
the roots we set, now gnarled, so pained decry,
the visages of springtime love's delight.
Upon foul winds you've flown, you've left
a thief without the strength to be forthright.
A fallen limb, a rotting bough bereft,
am I to lay alone, as winter comes,
as you bloom again within a riper cleft?
Is this your wish, and how your pledge succumbs?
Never had I dreamed I'd be so harshly left
for a younger bloom with naught but dried crumbs.
By sins of the flesh, we've been undone.
I will not forgive what you've become.
Written: September 24, 2023
____________________________________________________________
In a world so frigid, where trust is truant
A tale of verity and tea is confluent
As the winds of autumn dance unaware,
A poet's pen weaves words with care.
Sipping the brew in the essence of truth,
Unaware of the winds, I decry my youth.
The aroma of tea brims the midnight air,
As I pour my muse, venting it, from my lair.
On paper, I spill my heart's hidden tale,
A cascade of words, a poetic trail.
Rather than a poem, it becomes a confession,
A midnight release, a poisonous obsession.
Honesty comes, staring from the void,
A force that cannot be ignored.
In a world of drudge and deceit,
Honest people often slighted a rare feat.
But here, in the realm of tea and truth,
Morality becomes a choice, a moral sleuth.
With each sip, the brew becomes a meal,
Nourishing the soul, revealing what's real.
In a day booked with lies and deceit,
The amiable ones are acute to meet.
But the tea knows it sees through the lies,
Unveiling the truth, no need to disguise.
In the hidden brew of honesty,
A tool to be in this dotty world, you foresee.
Justified or not, the truth will prevail,
In this frigid place, where lies often assail.
So let us gather, dear friends, around this cup
And let the truth flow, never giving up.
With every sip, let us toast to trust,
To find solace in a world unjust.
For in the depths of this hidden brew,
Lies the power to amend, to start anew.
Let us embrace the honesty it brings,
And let it guide us, akin to angelic wings.
One do not seek what brightness cannot reach
And one do not speak what words cannot preach
And not a class of his own has rights of one's speech
So shall rightness be gain to each of his own beseech.
To be of innocent reasoning, a soulful cannot deny
What words of heart and deeds of rights can comply
And so to one's joy of cry, to another a tearful decry
And to what it may seem, many have tried but gone awry.
So to say forth, a character shall never do
To seek of matters where it shan't be accrue
A forsaken wisdom we livings threw
And what to not hold is a challenge to not redo.
Written: October 09, 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There are no blooms to snuggle in the twilight
No promise that it will ever reach the zenith.
Either the sky is clear or a cyclone is brewing
Unpredictable, akin to the whims of fate.
Life sheds its brimful aura and amorphous shells
No longer a folk-waltzing performance,
But an aphonic and agrestal appendices
Shifts sustain, the skin splits and slides,
Revealing the vulnerability beneath,
A skin split that resonates in the heart
Where forlornness resides, tearing at the seams
In this ever-changing world, seasons shift.
Some souls only shine once a year.
Or twice, if they're lucky, reaching even higher.
When you least expect it, or in the spring,
They decry what bestows them delight,
Appreciating the winding road of life,
Finding beauty in the midst of anguish
There are no blooms to snuggle in the twilight.