Long Desists Poems
Long Desists Poems. Below are the most popular long Desists by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Desists poems by poem length and keyword.
Frozen in my memory like the last frost of winter
I find out sadly how a red rose can give a splinter
When the chapped lips of love lose their honey,
there is no one there to make December sunny
Dozens of red roses appearing in loom, hindsight
from the one who has grown them without lament
From a woman ignited by passion, claiming right
To an existent gasp of daylight, his love's indent
Woven in golden threads, it was a life well spent
my heart blooms every day with sweet roses red
life was good as a garden grew beneath our tent
until winter arrived, then everything went dead
Thawing in my memory is a rose that didn't die
it harbors still the kiss, of a virgin's piercing cry
Blistering winds arrive, when a gardener desists,
A once pure red rose without Him, cannot exist .
Dec 12, 2021
Sweet surrenderI amparalyzedwith dazzling joy – feeling lively.
Sweet surrenderI ammergedwith transparency; purity of faith.
Simplicity of Two fusion heartsuncovering the sinking thirst, pain, and blind spotsshapingus a Cozy oysterOn the way to our exponentialcourtship into the eleventh dimension.
Enamored of intellectuality, warmhearted caress, gravitational intensityTime desists whenholding each other organicallyoncampus
Listen! One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousandI heara home port in his heart for me
Sweet surrenderIrresistible, longest surprising, consciously evolvingchampion plannerDevoted blue eyes shining froth
He welcomes me –home
Sweet surrender
Love burns deep in this ember where jewels are a mere reflection upon the stars
Mere mortals as we live but with this love we divide even the infinite
Options are of dull few words
For who can will or wield such power that no being can comprehend
This deed is foreign to our analogy and inconspicuous to the logical
Defying even the strongest will of man such as that of survival
What is this that consumes me,
Infuses in me the traits of a stranger
Who is this stranger deep within my members
How does one rid this atomical abomination to my design
If words fail me and logic desists within me how can i mold this clay into a pot
The days are still, peace is wraught
Certainty has becomne an illusion of permanance, a dimension not found but seen
These days to try and live wreaks hardship at the gate
Will i rid myself this burden, even in death?
Can this load be no more?
A digit grazes the scarred timber,
Rain hammers cadences no soul can limber,
A dog yawns, ventral flanks agleam, blood-warmed,
The rhythm coils beneath decrepit chairs,
It lingers where audacity desists.
Vapor spirals from a fissured chalice rim,
A glance cleaves rooms, precise, austere, and grim,
Footfalls arrest mid-stride, corridors dim,
The rhythm throbs within suspended hush,
And fractures silence into crush.
Sun shatters vitreous panes to glittering shards,
Shadows bow like cadavers, beneath guards,
Leaves tremble, winged ordnance of belief,
A bee alights, ponderous, rupturing bloom,
The rhythm burrows, roots in tenebrous gloom.
Children’s shoes percuss the stone—floorboards scream,
Laughter fractures, denting tongue and tooth and dream,
Wind lacerates a scarf—a violent gleam,
The rhythm enumerates the bruises latent,
It reckons the weight unbidden, corrodent.
Respiration escalates, arrests, then cascades with iron grace,
Ink bleeds, veins across the open page’s face,
RHYTHM pulsates inside the unclaimed void of space,
It excavates body, mind, and skeletal frame alike,
And leaves us denuded where all pulses strike.
Even silence convulses.
for Tabitha
The sun wanders westward
towards the old frontier,
dragging its heft across plateaus
of New Mexico. Along Route
66, a quick toe-dip in Tahoe sets
Reno aglow. Quicker than that,
Nevada bucks, bankrupt and
rusted. The Hindenburg above
Wyoming, the sun gasps helium
and flame, desists in the ether
and disappears, leaving the
world, simultaneously teeming
with visionaries and traffickers,
to moonlit Pacific quandaries.
And so, it makes sense, Tabitha,
your winter scarf worn in
summer, frayed by the dull
gleam of lost pioneers latched to
your lips at their corner, wearing
you down with heavy freight.
But even then, I smile to see
your sadness, the way
you stack dark onto darkness.
Because, in all the years I’ve
known this street on which you
and I are talking, no one has left
me quite as you: facing due east,
chasing a vision towards where
tomorrows emerge from
obsidian snare…and you sleep.
I choose no religion,
Unlike you the legion,
I do not know which is right,
That is why I have to write,
God is not a Muslim,
Neither does he subscribe to Judaism,
I do not know much about desists,
But I know something good about jainists,
I will never be an atheist,
I'll rather be an agnotist,
I do not pledge to any of these,
I'm certain God is not concerned with this,
The day of reckoning is about to come,
Call me to yours and I will come,
I do not know hows it's going to be,
Something will happen to the human being
I have heard much in Christianity,
They advocate spirituality and purity,
Some of them do not drink in the open,
But they sing and dance to the gospel,
@Tha Formidable Cheru.
#themonk.
The Brick Sayer
Tim is painting outside since it’s raining inside
Stroke upon cuddle one step at unfolding time
One inch brush gently on 10 squares of façade
The wannabee Buddhist thing when life is no race
Brightening enlightening mud bricks with caress
Whitewashing if that may still be said in South Africa
Tom Sawyer comes to mind as he glosses the fence
Sells the privilege for an apple core and a toad but
Political correctness has long banned the Twain
Now he moves the artist bristles for fine edges
Bordering on the insane he chooses to not employ
masking tape as that could cheat mask and disclosure
The paint ceases to flow as Tim seizes his furthering day
Watching it dry is the hard part of soft meditation so he
Desists and refrains but insists that some wall has vanished
25th July 2018