Long Detach Poems
Long Detach Poems. Below are the most popular long Detach by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Detach poems by poem length and keyword.
(April 7, 2025)
To new beginnings,
A moment in time where we have an opening to try and start anew
Every soul has dealt with yearning for a chance to redeem themselves
What better way than to start in the Spring,
How angelic it is when we see the leaves bloom and everything starts to look rich again.
I for one am looking for a new journey.
Something that sparks my dimmed fire.
I try my best to not be a victim to my sadness and the worries of my life but,
I ended up going into a pit of darkness that I let myself flow into.
Not having the discipline to keep going and take charge.
Days I spent crying and feeling useless, looking at myself and wondering why…
Why can't I just get up and keep going? Why do I have to sit in my self pity?
As I look at the oak leaves sprout, I find myself admiring the feeling of change;
Wanting to feel the exact same in my life.
How do plants feel when they try to wiggle their leaves out or
when a corn snake starts to feel their skin detach from their body.
As I finally caught the perfect timing to change, I will take that leap.
I will finally pick myself up and run towards the vision I want.
So let's have a toast… To new beginnings!
The Promised land. For a while, I thought that was an actual place where you could go if you had his grace. As the wilderness was this dry, hot, deserted place, where people walked with challenges upon challenges that they faced. The demonic giants came in a large, morphed shape, similar to real people who stood overlooking the golden gates. These places and things are just representations of the faith we have for our king. The promised land isn’t a physical place, it's the act of having faith. The wilderness is a depiction of dark days, for the past and future that we had and will face. These giants that stood past the tall, guarded gates were actually just evil spirits trying to take the faith away. Because the closer we get to becoming more like him, the more spirits start closing in. So, as you go through your day, and you get a thought that doesn’t feel like yours in a way, take a godly inventory for evil spirits are at play. It’s best to tell them you don’t believe their lies. So please detach your claws from my life. It’s not yours to play in. I will not snuff out my own light in the name of your bidding. I have a righteous and Devine king. Your darkness of deceitful lies will not now or ever be mine.
Pray For The Mistletoe
or
In My Church? Get “Outta” Here
By: Tom Wright
9/22/99
Some laity, crowd Churches,
affixing themselves to pews as Mistletoe to a tree.
Always there, but barely clinging to Spiritual life.
If fruit is borne, it is, as the Mistletoe's white berries --
small and poisonous.
As Mistletoe, they rely on others,
for the nourishment sought during this weekly feeding.
Let another preach, or teach, sing, and pray.
Being selfish, an appearance on their behalf,
is thought to be quite adequate.
During the week, as Mistletoe, they're content to "sort of hang around",
spiritually fasting until feeding time again.
While some, may quickly tire of the menu,
and feel "Led" to detach and find another Spiritual tree,
others remain, and watch their numbers grow.
Churches often become places for social gatherings,
and entertainment, rather than places to worship a risen Savior.
These churches become as Mistletoe inhabited trees in dead of winter,
cold, and frequently struggling to hold their own,
then later appearing void of any appreciable life.
Don't become a parasite in your Church,
stay active in your study, prayer, and stewardship.
Make daily quiet time to pray for your Pastor,
and oh yes, don't become as the Mistletoe!
I loved you from afar, under the shadows of silence that stretch like a veil,
Knowing that one day I would have to detach my soul from yours,
And now, as that moment approaches with heavy, leaden steps,
I sit with the weight of all emotions, asking myself why.
Why did I open my heart, knowing you were not mine to keep,
Why did I let you in when an ending was written in the stars?
I wish you knew how much I cared, how deeply I loved you,
How far I would have gone just to make you stay.
But I am afraid, afraid that in every world, in every written story,
You will never feel the same love that burns within me.
So I remain silent, hiding my heart behind a smile,
Loving you quietly until the quiet is all that remains.
I am a poet with broken wings, my words are whispers lost in the wind,
My integrity overwhelmed by desires that will never come true.
But even in the silence between us, my love remains, like an untold story,
One that continues to live in the mystery of every endless night.
A spent sun, sullied and bleeding,
starts to sink, defeated by Night.
And chameleon clouds blush pink,
absorbing drops of crimson light.
Vermillion inks the horizon,
like luminous carnival glass.
And a pitted, golden moon shines
like a sphere of unpolished brass.
The sky is cloaked in black velvet;
an ebony softness that flows.
And sleep's allowed to wander free;
to tend to fantasies and woes.
The sun rises like a phoenix
from the charcoal ashes of Night.
And sets the eastern skies afire;
ignited by Dawn's breaking light.
Peach, strawberry, and cinnamon;
tint, scattered clouds of misty grey.
And this mix of pastel colors
indicates that Sol's on His way.
Shifting shadows detach from black
when the sun chases Night away.
And twinkling stars swiftly vanish,
washed away by the light of day.
another typical day, with feet on the ground
ordering the hedge to meet my image of trim
many measured bits fall before the cutting edge
casual thoughts detach, is there anybody in ?
then some mental inner disturbance jangles
with corresponding jig, nerves rip in deeper
following the run of a stalk, the hang of a sprig
so prune the untidy and unwelcome creeper
movement to the side of my eye is caught
something is scared, behind dense vegetation
the fast beating breast of a baby brown bird
frantic flutter flash, demented aggravation
descends to the pavement in fear driven escape
panic ruptures in flood from a half sliced-off wing
chest partly open, feathers flecked red with blood
cupped warm in my hand, young life does cling
grim realisation, fledgling with no hope
pressure leaking, ebbing from a dying heart
but then our eyes meet, answers it is seeking
where's my mum, when can my flying lessons start?'
the deed is now done, the light that shone has gone out
just the salt of my tears at this horrible juncture
the killing of one hundred and fifty million years
and this clumsy ape's evolutionary puncture
undiluted guilt, too much concentration to bear
to forgive and assuage, soothing rational thought
replacement anger and even more depressing rage
bombs target children when careless wars are fought
imagine that child, in screaming terrified terror
in mortal trouble, reduced to core instinct base
an external world has turned your home into rubble
where's my mum, why can't I see her familiar face?'
God, thank you for being healthy
For family and shelter
Because I have a purpose
in life Thank you again because it's not all rosy
And that they said they loved me, and now it's just the other way around
Otherwise I wouldn't have realized that I had to detach I
don't know why but at the moment all I'm doing is stagnating
I know I should get up and progress
But something binds me Frustrates me, I can't understand I
think it's time to stop being or look weak (To look weak)
I just want to get out with the music, not to fill the bag (Not to fill the bag)
External things won't change my inside'I
know I'm following, I don't care who's before'I've
got to discipline myself, it's not enough to make a motivational video I'm
not going to do anything for no rational
reason I'm looking around me, I don't see anything, I have a bitter taste You
can't heal something you don't recognize, that's clear
That's exactly what I'm trying to do
And stop complacent
To be even more focused
These phases I don't like I
feel like I've lost control
I have to move on to the next
level Only God is immortal
This is the tale of who? Let’s say for the moment,
the sake of mythology, it’s the story
of your shadow. Whether for you or me
begs the better question. It’s not a monument,
perhaps a confession; the embodiment
of false resurrection. How for you three,
my three lovely daughters, I stump by the tree
of stalled percussion, slow rising and hesitant,
quick to detach, quick mourning abandonment.
I was born by stand-still theology.
I prey without reason, worship instinctively.
My only real fear is one of imprisonment:
That you’ll understand the breath that deceives
sets fire to the forest of oxidized leaves.
Typically
When you first detach your legs from your waist
And plant them feet first
From the dock ladder into Torch Lake
There is a baptism scream back to those on shore
They know
As the cold cuts you in half
The June sun shall take her time
Reunifying toes to heart and body to mind
Mixing warm blood to schools of deep green minnows
A honeybee looks up from the oars of my elbows
Flattened on its back wet to Purgatory
I cup the froth in my hands
Pour the living being to the dock
Like a bead found from a broken necklace
That bee must be conceiving of God
I spare it our bond to randomness
Let the creature define divinity
Someone said to me
They were sure I’d want my ashes
To be spread here
But I said no
If you must know
I’d like the weight of me
To be buried in the solid ground back home
From where I truly lived
And as for this place?
Let it be the gift it was
And later
A Navajo gift for other strangers
But perhaps she will still remember me
At our passing moment
Cupping her hands
My mistress
Who visited with me from time to time
When all was fleeting and perfect.
Relationships are like ivy -
Growing;
Changing directions;
Clinging to the objects around them.
Sometimes, they enhance and beautify the host that they adorn.
Sometimes, they choke and completely devour the host in its entirety.
Each of us sprouts many vines over a lifetime.
Some that last forever;
Some for only a season or two;
Some of which never really take hold.
And, seldom do our vines stand alone.
Our vines get tangled amongst themselves and weave webs with vines from others.
It is often difficult to tell which vines are healthy,
which vines are sickly,
which vines are beneficial to the host, and
which vines are detrimental.
Some tangled vines live harmoniously;
while others struggle to co-exist.
Some tangled vines encourage growth of each other;
while others repel and seek other surroundings.
Take care of your tangled vines.
Identify those that are healthy and keep them so;
Recognize those that are sickly and assess whether or not they can be saved;
Detach yourself from those that are damaged and not worth the time to cultivate.
Too many vines require too much care at the expense of all.
Too few vines puts us at risk of being alone should the host perish.
Should our vines tangle, I hope that we can flourish together and in tandem help our host to improve with age and be a better being as a result of our synergies.
Relationships are like ivy. May yours always be beautiful and strong.
Written and posted on 7/15/2013