Long Demise Poems
Long Demise Poems. Below are the most popular long Demise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Demise poems by poem length and keyword.
I am standing on the dance floor
I don’t love you sincerely anymore
Change is a challenging chore
But, you and I will have faith, hope and cheer in store
I am walking on egg shells and ashes of back then in my lonesome shack
I don’t want you to puncture me like a needle in a haystack, in a haystack
Your sorrows of yesterday
Is a mere shadow that fades away…
My soul crashes upon the dance floor
You ricochet like a bullet to the core
You shot me down with frowns of negativity
Free me from your captivity, your cruelsome captivity
I am laying down on heavy blankets of bewilderment
Benevolence on my side, abiding by your side as well
Change is a challenging chore of encouragement
Beyond our own, beyond our own, beyond our own heaven and hell
I am walking on egg shells and ashes of back then in my lonesome shack
I don’t want you to puncture me like a needle in a haystack, in a haystack
Don’t stop me from dancing delightfully
Don’t stop me from embracing glistening glee
My soul crashes upon the dance floor
You ricochet like a bullet to the core
You shot me down with frowns of negativity
Free me from your captivity, your cruelsome captivity
I am walking on egg shells and ashes of back then in my lonesome shack
I don’t want you to puncture me like a needle in a haystack, in a haystack
My soul crashes upon the dance floor
You ricochet like a bullet to the core
You shot me down with frowns of negativity
Free me from your captivity, your cruelsome captivity
I don’t have room for your doomful, grief-stricken sorrow
I have so much space for His tranquility of true Tomorrow
Farewell, black rose as I seek my demise
I will rise, I will rise like sunset to sunrise
I am standing on the dance floor
I don’t love you sincerely anymore
the brain in my alluring skull cradles the blueprint of my own demise
my mind is a hallway with self-opening doors
echoes in cafeteria lunchrooms,
conversations spilling over each other,
some louder, some sharper,
all of them knowing me too well.
“why shouldn’t I trust them?” you ask..
they love me?
then why can’t I feel it?
why does affection ricochet off my bones
as if I’m made of something unholdable
love slips through me like water through a cracked vessel
I hold nothing, even when I’m full
the slow unraveling of my frontal cortex lengthens,
a frayed rope I keep pretending is strong.
nobody else sees the shadows on the wall
the ones that whisper in silhouettes
and grin when I stare too long.
their silhouettes stitch themselves into my peripherals
quiet seamstress of dread
I know this.
god, how I wish they could.
I wish my paranoia
my constant state of fear,
my absence of soft, warm empathy
could be explained without people flinching.
my thoughts overlap like radio stations fighting for the same frequencies
loneliness aches like a bruise
but it’s safer,
safer for them, not for me.
my heart can’t outspeak my mind,
and my mind can’t outspeak the things I want
the things I’m terrified to want.
I tell myself I will not break.
but will I?
some days my sanity hangs by a single trembling thread
And the scissors on my wall have names
Cafeteria Conversation #2 says yes
says I’m already splintering.
but #7 insists I’m brilliant,
audibly amazing,
something mythic.
am I the greatest human alive?
a deity in decay?
some days, I believe it.
yet the hollowness greets me anyway
I am a mosaic of selves, each one half born, half broken
a cake sliced into six perfect pieces
for one shaking person
at a table with six empty chairs.
only me. And maybe only me forever.
take the silencer pill, they say
trade color for quiet,
feel unalive but manageable
or stay bright, chaotic, laughing,
and suffer for every spark that dares to rise inside this skull of mine
they say clarity is mercy, but madness has its own lullabies
06/26/2026
Clarity Through Static
Edward Ibeh
and then death came upon him
under the cloak of the night
three more breaths and silence
an ending of suffering as a blessing
to comfort the pain and demise
the dashing man startling in his youth
had been reduced to cachexia
every last sip of water near torture
a few crumbs of food an unwanted event
the mouth of many a wisdom now quiet
eyes closed in peace and tranquility
when I have to go myself
I wish for a quicker journey
less prolonged agony
fewer moments of ‘I am almost there’
his last words to me were
there is Kai sitting in a corner
and spreading peace
and he now doubt overstated my presence
life is precious and so is death
a passing relief in a way
an event with no before and no after
so large is the trauma of being let go
Your on the inside looking out
You cannot see what normal us all about
Locked down In agony and caged by fear
Break your chains and keep your faith near
Open your heart and don’t succumb to strife
Don’t live in the dark shadows of your life
A cloud of unhappiness blinds your eyes
Without light it will quicken your demise
It seems always to rain down on your parade
Rely on yourself family and close friends that you’ve made
Open your heart and don’t succumb to strife
Don’t live in the dark shadows of your life
Your sun is black it hurts from within
Release your pain from under your sun
Gain strength from the lord above
Hold on close to the one you love
Open your heart and don’t succumb to strife
Don’t live in the dark shadows of your life
And so it begins … my crew will over treat
themselves to ample chocolate for I have just stuffed our
pantry sweetly-full again:
No one will know why the stocked, offered sweets, meant to last
about a week were otherwise offed before two full days passed;
All will be equally mute and dumb about sweet crumbs in play
room, den, beds, and chocolate lint-hit debris inside pockets;
No one will claim a food mess made and left to be discovered,
no, they will all blame pals, fictitious gerbils and each other;
When a sweet ingredient vanishes that I bought for a recipe,
no family peep will be able to describe or imagine its demise;
and, despite my threat of live yard burial, they steal my favorite,
small chocolate morsels to top off their bowls of cereal.
I have a good-sized, hidden, box stocked full of the best stuff.
Looking thru cleaning products would be conduct void of any
profit so I am confident my stash, by child or spouse, will never
be found.
I often hide in my closet to suck or chew my way to chocolate
heaven. When eat-hiding, I fuss about my kids lack of desire
raring to thread a needle of ambition to sew up some
consideration.
All of my offspring take after their dad; they are myopic and
episodic. They overeat, overly zoned out on electronics like lab
rats on narcotics.
Eaten By The World
I tried to eat the world
but it caused me stomach pains
The bones of the lost
are all that remains
It was flavored with deceit
with a coating of sweet honey
The rotisserie went round and round
it was powered by big money
I drank from the rivers
as they began to flood
Fish no longer lived there
the waters turned to blood
The grain from the fields
had long ago blown away
The once fertile soil
had turned to dust and clay
Fruit from all the trees
lay rotting on the ground
Fists upon my chest
I began to pound
We once had a garden
a paradise on earth
With greed we all destroyed it
we didn’t understand it's worth
So I took another bite
trying to get my share
empty tasteless promises
with no nourishment there
I watched the World bite back
Earthquakes our demise
Hurricanes and fires
As ocean waters rise
People seemed surprised
The changes came so fast
Sooner rather than later
We became part of the past
A planet without humans
Skies now crystal blue
The world she survived
By eating me and you
They call us *****sapiens which is Latin for wise man
but I don’t think we’re as wise as those who labeled us had planned..
If you look at the world we ‘wise’ men have created…
which is leading to our demise….
not only have we not acted human…
but we’ve been anything but wise.
So perhaps the time of the wise man is over.
Perhaps there are better times ahead
if we retire the term *****sapiens
and use Sapiens Mulier instead…
I think we’ve given the wise man his chance…
It’s time to bid his reign adieu…
It’s now time for the wise woman
to show what she can do.
*****sapiens…we did our best
But we set the bar too low…
Sapiens Mulier…it’s your turn
to see how high that bar can go.
Oh, God, spare me the bloodied, thorny, rose
call it naught by the color of its shame
promises of loves unending future
masking the silent scent of love’s demise.
Glory not the crimson of its passing
nor weep as crying petals hit the floor
hold tight to thorn stung stem - a bloodied lust
at rest upon the stillness of her breast.
Oh, God, spare me the sodden, teardrop rose
too late the touch of kindness comes again
to kiss the dwindled cheek – a faded passion
a coldness that defiles the touch of death.
Oh God, forgive the rose its indiscretions
for beauty is the bauble of the weak.
©8/6/2018
for Brian Strand - August 2018 Premiere poetry contest
What we build that we don't tear down inside
A soul hating in content like pleasure of life
Each one their own behind false eyes,
portrait watercolor stains earthly decor
Heart's blood like fire while you grin
Where we place man but to destroy image,
knife jab deeply for your own greed
Evil among depths daylight no longer hides
We slaughter in words in aim destroy dignity
Party of unity divide two skin colors, black, white,
elephant or jackass we shout adoration
While we cut your throat in blood run river
Is it society you scream silent lungs of death,
burying your own; concept you've not grasp
Reality to life; death be certain, fight of good and evil
It's radical mathematical complex human since dawn
What you promote good is racist influence to negativity
Good needs not promoted, heart tells the story
Your destruction your own demise be met
Insane, your own fascist need you play
People's promote, are they really who they portray
or evil that walks daylight shine
Since advent of *****sapiens
objection overruled against immortality
all across millenniums humans
generated, amplified, and
idly reverberated (Billy me) rebel yell,
when finality 'twixt consciousness
eternal existence doth die as well
grievous news laudable hospice staff did tell
us (meaning yours truly plus
his deux darling siblings), I
in addition to older and younger sister,
thru passionate love making
intercourse did propel
seeds of life embarking
upon parent trap role
til sands of time did runneth out, and
for whom (him) the death knell
bell tolled, now funereal shroud covers dell.
Born April 9th, 1929 - Hebrew
ancestry papa never witnessed affection,
whereby his father - a liberal Jew
(mine paternal grandfather)
purportedly gave nary a blues clue
about welfare regarding youngest son
christened Boyce Brandon Harris,
who harbored quashed feelings
glommed like figurative ague
nsync with chowing down
into his esophageal flue
peristalsis allowing, enabling,
and providing gurgling goo
gull faintly sounding
to (my lard) Doctor Seuss
eerily similar to Horton hears a hoo
after milk (deciduous) teeth
gave way to papa's adult choppers
(by George), whereby
he could thoroughly chew
heavily saturated high caloric ethnic cuisine
(albeit American, Chinese,
and eats of ethnic Jew),
which high cholesterol comestibles
probably contributed to congestive heart failure,
now plaguing papa on his deathbed - loo
zing his tenuous grip on life,
where rigor mortis will find his body
chilled courtesy cold storage queue.
I feel sad today (September 29th, 2020)
and inconsolably weep,
cuz the man who helped beget me
after coroner pronounces
lovely bones lifeless heap
immediate fate most likely cremated
versus buried six feet deep
despite absence of his presence
cherished memories of his value,
yours truly will keep
plus recalling mine boyhood
chuck of full of bliss
particularly driving, fending, staving... off
bogeyman or any other menacing creep.