Long Desperation Poems
Long Desperation Poems. Below are the most popular long Desperation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Desperation poems by poem length and keyword.
Sitting in the stillness
Of early morning light
Freed again from darkness
That bleeds on through the night
Leaves from summer rustling
As soft gentle breezes blow
Colored by cool autumn nights
As stately trees prepare for snow
Soft music fills the silence
That begins a brand new day
Sung by a warbling wanderer
Who chooses to waylay
The many days that ended
With their burden overdue
Are forgotten in this moment
As you try to start anew
Selfish dreams of secret passions
Born of restless sleep
Hide the emptiness and sorrow
And the reasons why you weep
As the quiet desperation
Slowly drains from every pore
You lift a troubled conscience
That lay crumpled on the floor
Peace floods your weary spirit
As your heart and soul agree
When yesterday and tomorrow
Strive to live in harmony
written ©10.26.2016
When the lights go out.
When the lights go out, desperation creeps in
Where am I, where am I going, where have I been?
When the lights go out, disorientation steps in
confidence wanes, confusion takes over it's victim.
In the pitch black darkness, depression sets in
knowing lights are off forever, future looking dim.
Living in the dark, is not easy, but the blind live this way
seeing the dark side of life, their normal is our blackest day.
For those with sight, we enjoy the beautiful colours in daylight
but the blind see no colour, only darkness of the night.
They need our compassion, they feel lost, feel lonely and scared
forsaken by the world, abandoned by friends, like no-one cares.
Next time the lights go out on you, and it happens unexpectedly
imagine how you would feel, living in the darkness permanently.
John Derek Hamilton
December 23,2015
They say action speaks louder than words.
Europe proved it.
America proved it.
Yet you still chase them
like lost children chasing shadows.
They told you Europe is Heaven.
A lie wrapped in steel and snow.
A dream sold to the desperate,
priced in humiliation.
You know the truth.
Africans are not wanted there.
They hide it in laws,
in borders,
in silence—
but the hatred is loud.
Do not blame the Europeans
for stealing your money
with their wicked tricks,
their non-refundable fees,
their daylight robbery.
Blame your desperation.
Your hunger for illusions.
Europe was built
on stolen resources.
On your gold.
Your labour.
Your broken backs.
Without Africa,
Europe is an empty museum
with cold hands and colder hearts.
Why do you worship them?
When it is you
who feeds them?
They hate you
because you hate yourselves.
Respect begins at home.
There is nothing divine about Europe.
You can build a Europe in Africa.
You can rise,
if you stop kneeling.
Their visa system is a scam.
A trap for the poor.
A tax on your dignity.
Theft disguised as process.
Policy soaked in contempt.
And you,
African leaders—
senseless, careless,
allowing your people
to run away
from the soil
that could feed them.
Europe is a time bomb.
A land cracking under its own sins.
Yet you flee toward it
as if salvation lives in winter.
Look within.
Love your continent.
Honour your soil.
When Africa awakens,
the slave becomes the master
in the blink of an eye.
They made you hate yourselves.
Because a broken spirit
builds nothing.
Creates nothing.
Demands nothing.
Remember—
Europe came to Africa uninvited.
Not for exploration,
but for survival.
Because poverty lived in their bones.
They come here easily.
But make it impossible
for you to go there.
Only a fool walks into a house
where he is not wanted.
Stay home.
Build home.
Rise at home.
And let Europe knock
for a change.
Only then
will they respect you.
Hustling keep moving
On my ground
Doing my thing
The day is hot
But I must eat
In the ghetto
Where life is so hard
But I got to do
What I have to do
To earn what it
Takes to survive
Hustling keep moving
I know you know
What it means to fight
Is not a child's play
The survival is the strongest
The weak is the looser
In an environment
Where all is so eager
People so worried
Kids play on sands with
An empty stomach
No one to help
Not even the politician man
Yet we keep hustling
Moving on
Hustling moving on
Boys can't date cos
Love is base on money
Unaffordable
Paparases keep rooting
Our leaders belly's keep improving
The poor still poorer
While the rich still richer
What else is to do?
But hustling
Keep moving
Hustling keep moving
In the streets where the people
Are use to poverty
Where dogs look like
An European female model
Every corner's full of dirty waste
Off curse we cares
The people keep pushing
Doing what ever it takes
Just to feed
It a love for day
And don't worry about
Tommorow life style
People so addicted to hard work
For low wages
What else is to do
But hustling
Keep moving
Hustling keep moving
Girls on the street waiting
For sugar daddies
Men on black
Keep raging and arresting
The people in the
Name of crime
Oh no
I have to keep hustling
Keep moving
Hustling keep moving
They say this and that
Is a crime
Is ovious they don't care
To understand the reason
Behind the crimes
They keep fighting
Only the poor for crimes
Brutally treating the innocent
Like the old
Blue, red, white, slaves,
Still the people keep
Moving on
Boys still hustling harder
And harder each day
Man must eat is the song
On the lips of every ghetto youth
Night and day
Hustling keep moving
In hunger the young men
Are frustrated to stealing cos
No job
In hunger and desperation
The young ladies are force
To prostitution
4square is final destination
Of the ghetto youth convicted
All like a Third World War
On the third world contries
Now I know why they say
We are from the down town
But I wonder if we are down
Or the town is down
The game is still on
The rules are so high
But the only way out is
Hustling keep moving
Under the illusion of a crimson sky
Demons devoured hot steak ale pie
The sky was blue, not crimson yet
What they discussed was a secret you’d bet
Skin pure pale and white
Seemingly staring at me what sight
Restrictions and rules like meanders in valleys
Sing deviously plotting their rallies
Sighs of desperation, disbelief and uncertain times
Hidden agendas of elite and their crimes.
Hand out the dollars, dish out the pounds
Keep deaf ears falling on our resisting sounds.
Keep believing the lies of these clowns
While wearing on our foreheads constant frowns
The demons ate their steak ale pie
Under the illusion of the corruption and lie
The sky has turned crimson from brilliant blue
And the sheep led people do not have a clue.
write to me in wanderlust waves
of wakeful worship,
weave me a wish
with moon pearls and promises
as I bloom attached
to your aesthetic accent ~
amidst the soul’s pulse,
still questioning ~ quivering,
in need of a colorful
constellation of consolation
to erase the
fickleness of fading flames…
I know, love searches
for your name, breathing
into the warmth of my want,
like verses coursing through
the veins of irreversible ink,
and if, to feel you closer,
I must compose you a cosmos,
let me seize teardrop crystals
of champagne chandeliers
and light up your dusk
with deafening desire ~
recklessly awaiting the surrender
of your sky to my silhouette…
but what would soothsayers
know of the circumference
of a romance immeasurable,
unstudied and unknown
to fortune whisperers
forsaking fortitude and faith ~
yet preaching dissolution
and dissociation,
as if eagle-feathered ego feasts
on the nest that has no place
for the gossamer greed
of maggots,
manifesting mere moments
calculated through concave curves…
watch me waltz away from
the wickedness of bruised bluebirds
thirsting through cheap thrills,
seeking sunlight
beyond the barks of bravery ~
their tiny toes
perched in absolute desperation…
you are mine ~
O herald of hypnotic horizons,
wearing my poetry
perfumed with painless purity…
with you
the handles of heaven are nearer,
as the pilgrimage of you and I
is a visceral vision
of an unapologetic ambience ~
that no twisted tongue can tweak,
nor moulded monologue
can ever distort ~
the truth of tattooed fealty ~
a love letter left in the
arms of timeless flow…
SOULMATE
Some where some when somebody to expect
my soulmate to take care, share, love and protect.
I searched, searched prolong
to choose and select.
I prayed my earnest
on life- long quest
of heart-touching song
to resonate long
till heart- beats to rest.
Embroidering emerald emotion
Dreamy drowsy dormant desperation
spread to reflect.
I yearned for super perfect.
Soulmate! How to select.
My ardent ardor
met dismal dismay.
Destiny weaved life-pattern.
Tingling passion wept and slept.
05/02/17
The Creative Collective Analogy Series Contest by Geraldine Taylor
Sometimes late at night, I dream of you,
Your soft touch, how your love caressed me
until all the noise, all the uncertainty would vanish.
The slow thump of your heart would be all that I heard,
a holy rhythm that rocked me to safety.
As my voice falters into only a croak of desperation
I can still feel the way you would trace my arm.
From freckle to freckle you memorized me,
a cartographer of my smallest truths:
I furrow my brow in concentration,
I rub my feet together in anxiety.
I had spoken about my mother,
but you held my broken soul in your hands,
staring at it while everyone else just nodded.
As I lay here trapped inside these
stark walls that gleam sterile and cold,
I am not thinking about the memories
whose alcoholic scent would burn my nose.
I lay here thinking about you.
I lived a life of laughter and soft mornings,
the clinking of glasses, the rustle of turning pages,
the swell of music carrying me through every chapter.
I stitched joy into the seams of my days,
waking up to a child's carefree laughter,
or the bloom of spring's first daffodil.
Now I imagine the warmth of sunlit grass beneath my feet,
your calloused hand slowly tracing my thumb,
the smell of wild honey carried by a summer breeze,
talking about the way the trees tickle our souls.
For you are the only one who sees the way
the earth sighs when kissed by falling rain.
WHERE IS SHE NOW?
Born on the eve of Christmas, so they say
Although they can’t be absolutely sure.
The Parish Priest discovered me that day
Wrapped in a shawl outside the narthex door
“I’m sorry,” said the note tucked in the shawl,
“Somebody please take care of him for me.”
They searched but found no trace of her at all.
I think of her, wherever she may be.
How terrified she must have been that night
What desperation made her leave me there?
Sometimes I’m angry, knowing that I might
Have died there in the cold December air.
I wonder, does she think of me and grieve
When she recalls that ice cold Christmas Eve.
22nd May 2023
Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Sotto Poet
Most people aren’t blessed with all the zest
Of money, power and fame,
But live their lives in “quiet desperation,”
As Thoreau once famously claimed.
As for me I once believed
I was headed toward the stars,
But time has taught me well it seems,
I didn’t get too far.
For I didn’t climb the highest rungs
Up the ladder of success,
I missed the bar that shows how far
“I made it,” more or less.
No marquis lights or political fights
That history might resound,
No Guiness World Records or Olympic Gold Medals
Could I claim back then or now.
Nor did I unearth some treasure well worth
It’s place in future books,
No secrets revealed that may have concealed
How King Priam might have looked.
No pedigrees or higher degrees
Of learned education,
But a simple man who understands
Life’s more meaningful and deeper than one’s station.
With memories made in sun and shade
I wouldn’t trade for diamonds blue,
It’s been a good ride both in and outside
That’s made me both old and new…
Through this life I surrender to all that’s been rendered,
Striven or given to me,
The highs and lows, praises and blows,
Struggles and troubles between.
Miles of travels that left me baffled,
Befuddled, bewitched and besieged,
By moments uplifting, soul filling and gifting
As if this was all meant to be.
A plan in the making and all for the taking
For this nobody of renown,
Invisible me out wandering free
The best way I knew how.
Bereft of the greatness some others attained
Near empty of all but this:
The goodness shown by those I’ve known
And whose faces and souls I miss.
© Terrell Martin, 01/24/2025