Long Descent Poems
Long Descent Poems. Below are the most popular long Descent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Descent poems by poem length and keyword.
Beginning of the end
This is the end of the beginning
And the beginning of the end...
I have no control over what comes out of my soul
And this poem was desperate to escape.
I try to keep my pain inside, but it hurts so I must let it go.
If only I could still feel something other than the pain;
Then maybe I could passionately write about hate…
I'm trying to build my own future, using my own hands;
But it isn't working without someone else,
To help me become all I can.
I need a divine muse and a Mr. Miyagi;
So this dream of fruition,
Can allow me to become all the things that I could be.
But this is the end of my hopes and dreams.
The dream is over; it has come to an end.
I try to break from the chains of a mind full of ghosts,
But they are real and not just make pretend.
I begin to tell you of my desire to be;
But eventually you will see, that all I can become, is the same old me.
Now is the time, the beginning of the end;
The end is just beginning and continuous…
And there is no release, from this descent.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Written: August 22, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Margarita Lillico
Quote: "We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid." Benjamin Franklin
*****************
Hidden in my heart, a hunter lies fallow,
A frost facade of fervent pride may hollow.
Shattering under its sheer, insane size,
No vacant void where guilt can seal its rise.
Below the confines, formless faces beam,
Brittle grins on my chest cut nerves with seams—
As the majestic sculpture cascades into falls,
Gracious tyrant glides by chest cracked walls.
Tides ditch, serenely, spurred under the sea,
A ship sank, its mission unknown at sea—
A descent into the sea unbending floor,
I hold the rocks but I long to hold the shore.
The true tormentor takes no tangible form,
No nefarious whispers wove evil harm—
It is the icon inspired by my unique mark,
This smothers self, savor its searing spark.
I became my own assassin in the night,
Barricaded windows against forgiving light.
Yet through the broken veneer of my mind,
Merciful patient, yet ruthless and kept behind.
To cracked shards, grief strips shroud away,
A warmth that wipes out the weariest gray—
Swiftly lost in a recurrent rush of raging swells,
The wall of my ego is thrown in deep wells.
World's false smiles fade without a sound—
They hold no power on this holy ground.
Wrapped in a love without horizon trend,
The wounded heart begins to mend.
Wreck is restored, and winter grip releases,
A stillness falls and calms all anxious pieces.
Freed and fruitful, I raise a freshly formed shell,
Embracing this extraordinary, unearned spell.
Torah: Black Fire on White Fire
Every Place, Every Space,
In Ink, 'Tween Signs, ‘Tween Lines,
Everywhere He, Where are we?
Ask, "Mi Hashem Aylai?"
Not, "What's in for me?"
Descent from Kedushah is "I"
Ego's swig, a "Drink Me" potion of Shrinkingness,
Causing "I" to be Mired in Pride,
My Hand; Plural World vs. Oneness
We are 'Taken In', pleasing "I",
Or Harvard or other Men,
What's the difference? Our Eye's Sty!
Live His Torah, is Zeroing Me Debris,
Our Chance to Be, Alive ‘n Doin’,
Here, Now! Waiting on Him is Freeing.
He gave us Myriad Mitzvot,
To glimpse Him, to Breathe ‘n Do,
To be in His Company True.
Life's not just other Men,
With Them to Hang Out, Them to Please,
Acquiring Clout, our Dodge Cop Out.
Men are Seen, He’s Hidden.
Pleasin’ Men counters Our Goal,
So, He smiles, if We’re Herein.
As He is Here, We don't Fear Scowling Faces.
Men make Noise, when Losin’ Stature,
Men are in Places, not 'Tween Spaces.
Drink In the One, Sip His Strength, to Stand Alone,
Be a Rolling Stone, Not just a Clone,
His Whisper is Choice, so Ignore Men's Noise.
It takes max strength Chutzpah,
Swim Agin' the Torrent, Yet be Current,
Carpe Diem, Be not a Puppet of Them.
Gematria, 301, means Fire equals Call,
Or Fire in Hearing 'Sounds of Silence': A Calling,
Horton Hears a Who, Choosing is Less than to Be Chosen.
Be Strong; You're Created to Be a Man,
Hashem's Eved, In touch with Your Maker,
Answer to Him, not some Faker.
© Chaim Ben Moshe 2018
Descent and ascent
Through vibration spectrum
May fan fires of feral sentiment
Enmeshing our soul in ego residuum
To feel fully by touch we enter trance
Leading to dreamy state of stupor
Indulgence in earthy dalliance
Makes endless our caper
Upon reaching exhaustion
We exit the thought form stream
The void of silence, desire cessation
Offers a chance to wake up from the dream
The underlying truth is right before our eyes
Space between us and myriad objects
If restless heart ceases it’s sighs
We see dream life’s defects
Unfocused gaze held thus
In boundless space all around
Resting desires that tend to nonplus
In but not of the world, we’re no longer bound
Mind-body and ego identity then an apparatus
We employ it as of need to navigate life
Playfully going where God takes us
Awake, aware and with joy rife
14-March-2022
Who's closest to the Source?
Why children of course,
The new force to evolve this course.
Uncorrupted and pure,
With a connection to who they once were,
Turning another page of their story,
Earning a set of new memories.
Advancing the degree of understanding,
Growing under controlling arms,
Learning not to harm another.
The other just a sister or brother,
Someone to smother with love.
Children rise above every challenge,
Until taught to be dependant,
Starting the descent,
Into asking for consent,
Bending the truth.
Our youth, the key to the future,
They come knowing who they were.
The cycle is closing,
More hearts are opening,
As moments bring us back together,
We remember living forever.
Never to repeat the mistakes,
That take away the treasure,
Of the pleasure life was meant to be.
Children can already see,
Until we train them to be 3D,
Shoving them into a broken Society.
We are all gods family,
And the children are the key,
They come with a plan already.
A glass of bubbly champagne,
filled with natural sciences,
can make you drunk
on false knowledge—
the certainty of fools
rooted in the visible world.
If you survive the hangover,
the splitting pressure of illusion,
and the heavy load of matter
does not crush you,
then the deeper view
through the bubbles
of the material world
will suddenly pull you
into a slow, luminous sinking
toward the bottom of the glass,
where yesterday’s champagne
once shimmered with illusion—
mountain tops, Milky Way,
lavish ravines, canyons, tundra.
The world you had seen
in all its magnificent glory
was just a passing mirage
that stood before you,
behind the closed doors
that have now swung open.
The bottomless glass
has its own secret path.
It draws you inward,
spiraling downward,
past the glitter of matter,
past the veil of perception,
into an unknown realm
where light dissolves into silence
and silence becomes the door.
The threshold is dark.
Its ancient force
may pull you back—
that trembling moment
before surrender.
Yet the unknowable world
unfurls behind the veil—
a soft, infinite darkness
and subdued light
you tasted only briefly
when the bubbles burst
and the surface broke.
There, at the bottom
of what feels like an abyss,
God sits quietly—
He is not waiting,
only being,
pure stillness,
as if He has always been
the very center
toward which the descent leads.
He does not call your name.
He does not reach His hand.
He simply remains,
radiant in the darkness,
a presence so vast
it can only be found
by falling far enough
to shed the last veil
of the visible world.
Delicate heaped glowing lights at new moon,
scales, wagons, golden dishes and bend tablespoon.
Silver lining stretching to seeming retired quite,
glomming dust of curtains and midnight charm recite.
Lustrous sichel gleam and conducting dream,
bright stars aware in time to serenade in that scheme.
Other sparkle in lone splendor far aloft the night,
pure notes from beyond earth shore in sight.
The sacred flow within and blessing of strive,
creates perfect balance and eternal reality into life.
Innermost sense of purpose and steps of praise,
mirrored play of notes humming our names.
Healing sympathies by elegant magnificent,
oneness to proclaim and allowing to descent.
Gentle turning display of coming destinies,
the living force in spectrums of harmonies.
The blending shades and backdrop of light,
the sky that holds it all in might.
Mother of change and nurturer as we grow,
planted the dream to illuminate all that we know.
Drizzling webs, wanderer’s shelter
Asylum to the nocturnal,
Warring, nomadic spirits, rambling
On gossamer threads, strands so silken
Trembling with soundless lessons….
Sprinkling buds, costly shadows
Silhouettes of bruised flowers, eclipsed,
By the plethora of rain, flowing,
Gentle like the voice of mourning sun,
Pledging to erase the silence of stardust moon…
Showering oaks, walnuts and pine trees
In affectionate kisses, wet like a river,
Risking each tender glance,
Graceful as the Sunday morning hymns,
More psalm than proverb, so still and cool…
Raining droplets of liquid faith, prayers
Prayed by souls who listen,
To the descent of yesterday’s praises,
Whispering through the mist,
Blessing each heart with flavors of melting kisses.
Bearing fatherly integrity’s good stature
My Dad, regarded with great pleasure
Ascended as clan’s patriarchal figure
Anchored upon tribal culture’s procedure.
Showing kindness and sharing his bounty
Not on his elevated platform, but from his heart’s generosity
He was sought-after for his counseling authority
As he offered gems of truth along functional practicality.
Afflicted with cardio-vascular illness
He was seen descending the staircase of health’s wellness
Yet, never did he stoop down from his helping business
While cleaving to God for His graciousness.
Midst aging pressure, he fought sickness’ pain
Clinging with faith to His Healer for strength’s gain
Surely, he struggled against medical strain
Though slain with physical debility, his spirit of courage did reign.
Beholding him descending lifeless … but triumphant*
We whom he’s touched felt gratefully jubilant
Having a tenacious leader who’s likewise a meek servant
Leaving us a legacy of how to make someone’s life radiant.
Vividly, I witnessed Dad’s physique succumb to mortality’s light
He, with joyous countenance, left his body toward heavenly flight
Coming down the stairs of his existence with noble example in sight
The Lord be praised for his decent descent of godly character might.
*2Corinthians 2:14 Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every place.
October 16, 2019
Honorable Mention, "STRAND SPECIAL..." Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 12/10/2019.
You have dissolved into the infinite-leaving faint traces along a shadowed riverbank, where time lingers, buried in the depths of fading echoes.
A mist-drenched dawn, with its frail crimson glow upon the horizon, whispers your name-a voiceless summons drifting through the wind.
The fallen leaves remember the forgotten chronicles of vanished seasons; within their gentle descent rests the weariness of days left forever unspoken.
From the ashes of a body merged with earth, an unwritten life begins to bloom; silent roots stretch outward, toward an unvoiced resurrection.
Now the stars keep you company. Upon the tips of grass, within the folds of dew, your existence finds its true translation.
You have left an empty space, where words refuse to be born and remain forever folded in quietude.
The thoughts you never uttered settled in the hidden chambers of the soul; unheard, they continue to echo through the unseen inner world.
I lose myself within this transition, crossing horizons into another realm, where memory and the present dissolve into the same shade.
I remember your face-like an indescribable light that lingers, deep within the darkness of my eyes.
At every turning of life, within every fracture, it is you I seek-as though only in losing can one truly find.
Perhaps there, the roads that never return still awaken in the name of coming home.