Long Deluding Poems
Long Deluding Poems. Below are the most popular long Deluding by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deluding poems by poem length and keyword.
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
Let it sink in
I don't know the answer
I don't know who you are
I don't know myself
I don't know how to get there
I don't know her
I don't know you that well
I don't know the next step
I don't know the answer
Or maybe I do
What if I am pretending
What if not knowing is my way of controlling you
Not having to take responsibility
What if I just want to see what you know
What if I am practicing to become a politician
Or maybe it's true
I don't know
I don't know who you are
I would like to
Really I would
What if we spent more time together
I think that would help
What if you opened up a bit more
What if I listened more
That's not always easy
I'm still trying to figure out myself
That's right
I don't know myself
There are times I think I do
When I think I have figured me out
What if I'm deluding myself
What if I can't handle the truth
What if I need some time alone, to figure it out
What if I don't know, how to get there from here
I could ask for directions
Then what kind of man would I be
What if it would be okay, to question myself
To be able to say
I don't know
I don't have the answers
What if like you, I'm just trying to figure it out
What if, I know myself better than I think
What if it's my way, of protecting myself
When I was young
A girl said "I don't know you that well"
Still she wanted to be with me
Not because she wanted to know me better
It was a hunger we both felt
I don't know her anymore
I didn't know her then
What if I had said no
Had not gone down that road to losing myself
What if I had waited
Waited, till I knew myself
Just a little better
I don't know
And yes sometimes I do
What if "I don't know" is the excuse I used
To do the things
I wanted to do
What if by saying, "I don't know the next step"
I wasn't responsible
I didn't have to take the blame
I could have waited
But I didn't want to
I don't know
I don't know
But
What if
I did
What if I do
I don't know
But
What if
What if it's all nothing but a game
I don't know
Still round and round I go
What if
I stopped
I don't know
I just don't know!
DARK ARE MY DAYS
My thoughts become perforated with pin prick holes, exuding darkness.
Darkness sucking some of the light, the life from my memories,
from my experiences - in doing so they rob me of the last vestiges
of any hope that your light will continue to shine on me,
continue to provide nourishment's to this life,
give reason to get beyond this season.
I fear that you will extinguish the light forever more,
and I will wither away behind that darkened door,
become dust on the silent winds of your soundless voice,
particles of, carried away on the remnants of your lovely light,
as it travels light years from, and out of my sight.
In this, I am left empty and without any choice .
I have this great urge to plug those black holes,
hope that all will come back, ( that radiant, beautiful light ,
light that harbored my heart, my soul, my spirit
in it's loving embrace ) even if love was not a part of,
it's light, it's life's blood nor a part of it's essence.
The heart, the mind know, yet the heart, the mind can not control.
You are the artist, your soul the palette, your spirit the paint,
paint that coloured all the scenes lived upon me, me the canvas,
a canvas that displayed all the images created by your imagination
and my ability to bring to life, your creations.
I want to be the expediter of all your precious dreams,
dreams that would never include me, it seems.
I look into the mirrors, reflectors of our history, see you,
you the artist, finished with your master piece,
-that illusion of mind, the deluding of my heart -
time to move on and do what you will do.
For my heart, my soul, my spirit there is no peace,
and the realization, for me, there will be no new start.
What is left ?, are my tears, tear drops from the pain
of heart ache, of loss, tear drops trying to wash away
the images, the colors, the memories etched across this canvas.
Efforts in futility !, for all there is, are streaks, staining the face,
of your paintings, the surface of me, me the canvas,
a canvas, upon your wall, has no place ?
B. J. "A" 2
APRIL 2nd 2011
Between the craziness of politics and art my mind wanders
looking to find peace,
but between the beauty of art and the craziness of this president
I die
But it improves my art
although it thrusts me between dark spaces of desperation
and futile hopes but my feeling is we will unite with Love
maintaining my trust in my nation though it's in a chaotic state
In my heart brotherhood survives
but in some of my fellow human creatures' hearts
there is much blame to go around
they are complicit with unstable minds that hide from truths
To those political poltergeists residing in the house painted white
cloaked in red from the blood of children spilled, their lives wasted
caged in cold concrete floors built only for animals
not for little children to live or die in
A poem comes to my churning mind
but my poem sounds irrelevant
it cannot portray the merciless evil in their hearts
my query to the spineless, blind political hacks is:
Why do you embrace and follow an evil and malevolent person?
is the price of liberty worth the handouts to your wallets or the safe secure job offered while giving up your principles, manipulating your faith, casting the last remnants of your soul's compassion to the four winds in a racist fervor?
You give no afterthought to the damage your negative actions permeate
our country bleeds, human values suffer, society and families falter
imitating unthinking, uncaring, bigoted people blind to the fact
they are destroying the fabric that gives this country its strength
Your type of destructive thinking shakes our nation's foundations
deluding yourselves into thinking your way is the only way
but it is not
your imaginary and mindless cupidity will come to an end
Our nation will wave a goodbye to you all and breathe a sigh of relieve
saying good riddance to bad rubbish; God bless the coming artists
and their foresight, ready to explode everywhere in support of
every American and those in limbo on the border and in cages
waiting to join us
Man In My Head,
You live there–
(here I should say)
but I suppose I don’t need to tell you that.
You’re the one making your space.
You’re forever within the confines of my mushy, distorted headspace;
so I ought to pay you a visit.
Ah, Man In My Head, you’re quite wonderful–
you know that, right?
My puppet–you can’t hurt me if I’m the one controlling you.
You don’t make me sick with shame, regret, disillusionment–not like they do.
My shapeshifter–you morph into different beings, taking on whom and what I need most.
And, that, Man In My Head, is why you don’t have a name.
My comfort–you’re there when I need you; you disappear when I don’t.
But an idea can only soothe someone for so long.
You aren’t like them, Man In My Head,
You’re different!
(because I made you that way)
My guarded heart can open to your gleaming eyes (honey brown today), guaranteeing safety.
I’m daring myself–deluding myself–to believe in you.
Yet–you’re just a dream,
my dream.
And, here I am, waiting.
Working in solidarity with delusions, dreams, deceptions—
contentedly coping and waiting and pining
for you, Man In My Head.
AND YOU DON’T EXIST !
A figment of my imagination, guaranteeing the impossible “safety”,
but never enough to save me completely,
and that’s all that you are.
My single pill of ibuprofen to soothe the pain of a severed limb,
the pollution permeating my body could be purified by your embrace,
But, Man In My Head, you’re not real!
(please disagree with me, please be real)
I wish it were you that could
trace the soft palms of my fragile hands,
caress the warm plains of my forearms,
delicately dancing your fingers over the emerald and mauve running under my skin.
The Others aren’t so nice, Man In My Head.
Man In My Head, you always stay with me.
Thank you for that.
Yet, no matter how much I wish, I hope, I wait,
you are nothing more
–you can’t be anything more–
than
the man in my head.
*(A Journey from Physical to Digital)*
Value of an asset, divided by cost,
In a world where wealth is constantly lost.
Inflation creeps, deluding worth,
Financial assets, tethered to earth.
Income tax grows with every gain,
The more you earn, the more you sustain.
But frustration brews, the chase grows thin,
And people seek what lies within.
A Ferrari gleams, but costs too high,
A house of dreams, yet funds run dry.
For physical wealth will fade, it seems,
As entropy drains our finest dreams.
Energy prices rising high,
Physical assets, doomed to die.
But what if there’s a way to flee,
A digital path to set us free?
Satoshi saw a world of light,
In Bitcoin’s birth, he found the fight.
From physical chains to digital skies,
Where wealth endures and never dies.
Infinite lifespan, beyond decay,
Bitcoin lives where time won’t sway.
No inflation can bring it down,
It wears a digital crown.
Trade wisely, shift from dust to code,
From currency to capital’s road.
From temporary to timeless flow,
Where wealth in Bitcoin starts to grow.
Digital capital, infinite life,
Not bound by inflation's strife.
Self-custody, or AI’s care,
Bitcoin's legacy everywhere.
Trade local for global, physical for free,
Trade what’s fleeting for eternity.
Satoshi’s wisdom, echoed today,
"Get some now, before it’s too late to sway."
For physical assets crumble and bend,
But digital wealth will never end.
The first to see, the first to rise,
Shall win the future before our eyes.
Wealth reallocated, a nation’s prize,
Bitcoin’s path under endless skies.
Print paper? No—buy what’s true,
A currency for the world, brand new.
The game has changed, a future untold,
Trade your dollars, your gold grown old.
For what lies ahead is clear to see—
In Bitcoin’s realm, we are truly free.
How you doin'?
Why are you feeling
how we are doing
here in our unspoken thoughts?
Right now
here
perhaps far from our deep
primordial feeling
reservoir
Of what are your passions
doing?
Abundant warm regarding
spacious compassion
Or cold scarcity of time
to not thrive together
much less apart
From healthy Me,
polypathic
wealthy We
PolyPhonic Muses
deeply engaging
more wellbeing dipolarity
richly co-arising
Rather than merely LeftBrain amusing
choices Win/Lose ZeroSum deluding
We Win
so Other Loses
While entertaining linear cause-effective
traumas
of felt scarcity,
dark isolation,
somber anxiety,
anticipating dissonance
Pre/Post Traumatic
cognitive v affective disempowerment
violent internal reactionary
bipolar
LeftBrain monotheistic
Either DivinelyGood
or HumanNatured FailingSin
Deductive
reductive StraightWhite PatriarchalCapitalist
or Othering
not market ready
for optimizing AnthroSupremacist
predative opportunities
To re-evaluate how we
are LeftBrain and RightMind
doing
Responding to AnthroSupremacism
while feeling RightBrain
Both/And Win/Win
suppressed/oppressed
into seeing only Win/Lose risks
and Lose/Lose despair
Disregarding our shared
Whole Open
yet WarmWombed
Original Sensory/Sexual regenerating system
Integrally
fractally
octavely
dialectically
bilaterally
mindbody
time-spaced
identified/individuated
EgoSelf/EcoOther
overwhelmingly repressed
By what passions
doing?
Win/Lose ZeroSum
survivalist scarcity
suppressed
Subclimatic
monocultural duress
Deep and wide
anxiously depressed
Sometimes more
and sometimes less.
Thanks for asking.
And how are you
too a mess?
In vivacious luminous
landscape of luring longing,
desire sculpts dream,
spreads spectrum of ardor
in sapphire sky,
fervor floats on cloud,
shaping sensual crave,
charismatic.
Spring-soaked beguiled brush
paints passionately
murals of rapture
on convivial canvas,
of my heart
ebullient,
portraying the panorama
of lilting life,
adroitly.
In cracked cinnamon
ground fallow,
dry as dune,
parched to the core
in depth of seared soul,
my deserted essence
desiccated,
filled with forsaken sand,
spilled discarded
from abandoned hourglass
demolished,
pervades to abhor
the faded dreams
of fallen foliage
fragile,
its rustle echoes
in twilight terrain,
as rhythm of mirage
migrates enticingly with
hymn of halcyon hope,
momentary.
Weary eyes weep
torrent of tears within,
fill oasis of pathos,
concealed pining cauldron
overflows unrestrained
ephemeral streams,
designs melancholic mosaic,
cataracts to nowhere,
disappears in vale of anguish,
etching motif of dream,
deluding.
Forlorn life’s
remnant distillate
remains designed
with the contours
of eroded banks
of marooned mind,
dwindling.
Cascading cadence
of captivating yearning
composes in reverie
symphony of fervent breeze
surreal,
drifting with dust of sanguinity
buoyant,
from yonder plateau
of primal impulse
to float paper boats
of craving fantasy,
rolling on ripples
of melodic love
of my heart’s lilac lagoon
boundless,
pulsating in endless ecstasy
with concerto of euphoria,
esoteric.
My soul wanders in the dark alley within me,
plunges in the abyss of discontent.
The unsatiated life, unframed and uncertain,
casts a formless shadow of ambiguity on the being,
that flares up as anguish in the carnival of darkness,
burning my essence to ashes of bleak nothingness.
In the gloom of the dismal opaque night,
across the murky landscape of the formidable fate,
I need to take the ordained last journey committed,
for I have promises waiting to be kept,
but I lose the tortuous track travelling the illusive time
in the tormenting gloom of the labyrinth.
The holy fire of spirit is then ignited within me
to incinerate the spreading wings of the deluding ego,
glows the realigned elements of the dormant force,
shows me the path away from the illusive self-worth,
and flashes in the mindscape the sagacious sense,
not to be induced by the imprudent impermanence.
At the fringe of the fleeting forlorn moments,
shaping the perspective of introspection,
and shining in the inner resplendent heavenly light,
I see the blazing sunrise in the dawn of revelation.
The rays of hope radiating from the hued horizon,
illumines the dark recess of the morose mind.
The consciousness in the fold of timeless inner solitude
kindles the concealed candle of the almighty,
that burns with the radiance of the eternal fire,
suffusing me with the glow of sublime bliss,
I carry within me beyond the shadow of strife as I travel
on the promised path to the lighted sanctum of divinity.
_________________
February 26, 2023
Contest : Which Fire Is Eternal
Sponsored by : Joe Maverick
Title 2/ BAIT
Quote: Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare. William Blake
The transiting sun shines on you deceptively,
spreads shifting spectrum in chameleon sky,
the masked faces designed by innate ingenious craft,
walk you baited on the golden garden’s blind pathway.
In the deluding dim night of deceptive dreams,
their footfall is unheard in trance of tranquility.
Their sneaky eyes probe to capture you to consume,
as the masks melt in the misleading depth of darkness.
In the fatal desolate domain of feral fright,
under the ebony sky on the gloomy ground,
the conniving creatures of night creep unsuspected,
stalks the unwary prey, you can’t escape the hunt.
With the desiccated life in forlorn desert,
you chase the misleading mirages of deceit,
while you’re seduced by their delusive enticement,
your heart breaks in the debris of false temptation.
The alluring animals slither in illusive wilds,
cast the designed bait with bated breath.
The cunning artists perform perfectly, a masquerade,
unmasked, they morph into prowling predator devils.
With arcane acumen of despicable trickster,
as silhouettes of menace they covertly crawl
into the quiet quintessence of your existential euphoria,
suck seraphic ambrosia from the sanctum of your soul.
The turning time’s deceiving show goes on and on,
prevailing spotlights shine on veiled visage of fraud.
Finding a fake place to survive in the archive of pretension,
you turn into antique lure in the museum of masked faces.
“21"Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. 22Many will say to me on that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?' 23Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!' ” Matt 7:21-23 NIV
Whatever happened to discernment?
It seems to have almost disappeared;
Many people believe all miracles,
And false teachers are revered.
Even a false holy spirit
Dwells amongst us today.
Feigning God’s love
Making an impressive display.
The truths of the Bible;
Men mostly do not read;
Listen to the tales devised
By mere men instead.
Spiritual discernment is a gift
That few seem to possess.
They follow deluding spirits;
False messages widely confessed.
Truth has become distorted
By a mountain of traditions.
Hardly a soul questions
Their spiritual condition.
Often church is entertainment,
Instead of worship to God.
Whilst His truth’s concealed;
Fancy words most applaud.
Spiritualism is overtaking
Many who have been churched.
Partake not of the Chalice
Until you’ve thoroughly searched.
Search for a means of Salvation,
That’s not hinged on works,
But based on Bible teachings
Rather than the writings of clerks.
See that faith and mercy
Are the solutions for your soul;
If you are truly searching for a Savior
Permit Him to transform and make you whole.
Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2010-2012