Long Detaches Poems
Long Detaches Poems. Below are the most popular long Detaches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Detaches poems by poem length and keyword.
What can my lips say when thought falls silent?
Strings of disconnected thoughts run over my forehead,
Night gathers within me, it's later than I believe,
And each idea, a frailty, they are all strange and unexpected.
I confess, with the tremble of a leaf, my share of guilt,
Above me, the sky wears mourning, a saddened testimony,
When the path of life was opened to me, light from light,
From the cup of time I drank, the nectar, without tasting it all.
A voice shyly detaches itself from the fabric of the word,
To murmur poetry to me, an art both near and distant,
On the path of my fate, a procession of unfulfilled promises ensues,
Absent both the sharpness of pain and the soothing touch of joy, missed.
The night is a thread of magic until the premises of dawn make their way,
Time flows from dawn to dawn, it trickles subtly with a cruel smile,
All that we gather in time, in the order of life, slips away without care,
Departing without an owner, the treasures wander into the unknown.
In the ephemeral passage of existence, the voice of the echo dares not to rise,
It does not query why your heart throbs or why time mutters in vain.
Oh time, you hurry with the steps of the wind, counting the seconds of my life,
Leaving me with furrowed memories and years that carry autumn toward its setting.
In anticipation of an unfulfilled sleep, the altar of a new day opens,
A day that awakens with timid rays and kisses the pretending eyelids of night.
There still hang leaves of joy on branches, even on this mortal ground,
Let us raise from the walls born of pain, a monument to a love that never perishes.
Suspended Transcendental Meditative State...
Temporarily relieves, loosens,
and detaches worldly weight,
albeit bearing heavily straight
away upon well balanced,
awk credited miniature oblate
spheroid, sans cranial
dome to help alleviate
this principled capital one citizen banker,
whose penurious plight
seeks to make lightweight
oppressive burden clawing
(with razor sharp talons)
tete a tete upon pate
never to abate
pennilessness, which oppressive monetary
crisis could abbreviate
livingsocial, and spur me to abdicate
charade, facade minted "FAKE"
dog and pony Truman
kaput show, doth accelerate
velocity at which body
electric will demonstrate
how basket of deplorable
pauperism existence I abominate
past the tipping point to relish,
where being in the red
financially doth accentuate
swiftness yours truly will acclimate,
where among grave
mausoleums will accommodate
finding yours truly to acculturate
adjusting being housed
with grateful dead help facilitate
mine written posthumous decomposition
once Hades will activate
leverage - haggling with ferryman,
which latter might equivocate
par for the course, especially demise,
asper cessation circumlocution prone
fella never to tubby a freight
of becoming deceased
signifying no more flapping gums
asthma lovely bones disintegrate
into basic constituent matter
repurposed into essence, I cannot intimate.
I'm waking up and rubbing two blinded eyes,
The crispness of the sweet-scented air in whimpering July
Rapidly spreads by a benevolent wind that pleases,
It allows me to discover by intent a sublime reality,
Which is the morning's picturesque beauty:
Does strong belief interfere with a sense of great friability?
Nature can be brutal or pleasant, and yet it can fascinate
Us, when it suddenly embraces each sense to compensate
For the discontent left by a dreamless and unrestful night;
What we hear amid those eerie shadows is the cry of a cricket!
I distinctly revoke such repulsing and unenthralling nights
As I wash their macabre images off with cold, running water;
Is a better day coming, prompting actions that don't falter?
Harm is done when pain is accepted and tomorrow frightens.
In this morning's picturesque beauty, I could lose myself
And wish that dreaming vainly detaches me from grief,
not seeing any delusional mirage on the journey to happiness;
I've expelled the vile demons that made me spew lies!
Doctrine detaches your mind,
Away from rational thinking,
Makes you obstinate and rude,
Unable to be understood.
It proceeds your choices,
Causes insecurity and disgust,
About your normal feelings,
As it brings very low ceilings.
It does not free you to ponder,
On life's detours and skiffs,
On the real batters and drivers,
On real occurrences and odours.
It is never a positive theology,
But turns to a personality stern,
For life's precepts, principles,
For prison's rules and oracles.
Doctrine doesn’t listen to you,
But places you as insidious,
Because dogma is just dogma,
Without a beauteous panorama.
So don't ever listen to doctrine,
But place it as, that’s insidious,
Call it for what it is, dogma,
And see the whole panorama.
Whoever exults himself will be humbled
but whoever humbles himself will be exalted
Matthew 23:12
I’ve heard it said that the top three virtues needed to live the Christian life are humility
Humility
Humility
I hope that made you smile
Everyone can use more humility
the foundation of all virtues
Our society tends to exalt excessive selfishness and personal power
as well as pleasure
wealth
fame
fortune
No one is immune from such attractions
Yet humility’s power detaches us from what fails to satisfy
While humility sheds light on our vanities
mistakes-things God might be calling us to reform
Or repent of during Lent
It also empowers us with the good
The true and the beautiful
Only by ridding the excesses
Our sins
Our vices
Can we be empowered to do the things that bring God’s love
Redemption to our fallen world
In the tremble of the evening and the rustle of the unfinished letter,
My aged hand, shrouded in the mist of memories, writes the last farewell,
Under the blue cloak of celestial silence, waiting for the silent echo of your pride,
A proud oblivion that dares not gamble with lost words.
Seasons, stepping over us, corseted us in tombs of leaves and thoughts,
They have coiled in the whispers of our souls together and apart, in snowdrifts of indifference.
I see bleeding sunsets where each day concludes its aria, a somber procession
Beneath my eyes frozen forever gazing towards the sunset, in the waiting of a dawn I have lost.
I, remaining immovable as you knew me, just a little more hunched by words unspoken,
The eternal white blizzard has blossomed in my hair, a winter poet with a heart clad in ice armors.
And here's how shades of gray weave their bed in the canvas of the soul's dusk,
Coloring darkness over the love that bleeds, a flame that extinguishes in the horizon that forsakes me.
The star of my eyes is extinguished, and the sky only illuminates me in hues of longing,
It is a portrait, an old and cracked painting, that even time refuses to touch,
Hidden in the sweet kiss of things no longer, I find my solace in the dust on abandoned furniture,
And feel how without your presence, life slowly melts away, like a candle in the wind.
The snow of indifference has buried our whispers, and blizzards of despair blow us towards separate fates,
We will always remain the same figures, like two timeless clocks, the man of the sunset and the woman of the dawn.
Somewhere, in our story, that unravels and falls, we remain two strangers to the world and to ourselves,
Lost, you in the red light of the evening, me, a residue of a star flickering in a forgotten corner of the sky.
And when these lines will fall away, just as the shadow detaches from the body at dusk,
I will navigate in silence among galaxies, an anonymous cartographer of the way with stars and memories,
A mute bard, stripped of the sale of sentiments, severely ill with the euphoria lying in my chest,
A last page, a last verse, woven from longing, of your odyssey, admirably sad, divinely beautiful.
When you call upon fate to be your dance around the fires of stars,
Do not do so with half a soul, or better not do it at all.
Risk the entire universe or leave the dice in the crossroad of the night.
If you plunge into the battle with destiny, plunge to the end of the world,
It may cost you the love of your life or your ancestral home,
You may find yourself wandering through wastelands of oblivion,
When the mind detaches like a leaf deceiving the autumn wind.
Face everything, with your chest open to the fierce arrows,
You may become the starving shadow haunting under the clear moon,
You may shiver, frozen, in the steel song of an abandoned park,
You might find shelter in the cold dungeon of the world,
To endure the mockery of seeds that refuse to bloom,
Isolation, the ice flower, but also the gift bestowed upon you,
All are steps towards the altar where doubt is sacrificed,
To test how vast is the longing for ascension within you,
And you will continue to climb, even when you feel you can no longer,
Even when the herd of stars seems to waver and fall.
If you gather the courage to fall into the abyss to learn how to fly,
Do it with everything, there is no ecstasy like that,
You will be in the sacred solitude where gods bow their knees,
And nights will blaze in a carnival of divine flames.
Dare to be, to be endless, in all your splendor,
Dare to be whole, without resignation and with all your longing intact,
For you will navigate through pure existence towards an endless laughter,
And that, oh that, will be the only battle that will bring you peace.
WALLS
The wall divides
the inside from the
outside...
On one side
the wrong,
on the other side
crooked ...
Who that builds walls,
thinks only he is doing well ...
Thinks he is isolating
black from white,
Is he capable ?
There are walls that apart
love things ... and hate.
Wall that detaches
things from thoughts
segregates lives
out of fear,
isolates people
for not loving ...
The wall divides
life in two
parts:
the side of the hiding place
and the danger side ...
the side of the refuge
and the free side of the street ...
One side of the wall
one thinks it right,
the other side
also...
None knows which side
is adequate...
If no one is sure,
every one doubt
what is right...?
The truth is
all we have
walls ... wall
built inside
us ...!
we need to overthrow
this wall so that
we will not leave our
private jail ...!
In the garden of silence, where shadows weave stories on the canvas of time,
The flower detaches from the branch of life, a silent tear of destiny,
Without tears and without resistance, lost in the ocean of misunderstood love,
A silent witness of a feeling that remains a hidden mystery in the soul.
Wrapped in the mantle of words of love, uprooted from its roots,
It embarks on a journey from one foreign hand to another, a wandering star,
Without finding a place to rest its dark dreams,
A soil of its own in which to anchor the desires that stir its heart.
In the desire to melt into the immortal fragrance of your love,
It leaves the warm embrace of the soil that gave it life and hope,
Dreaming of an eternity in your arms, calm, without fears,
But the treacherous winds steal its breath, thieves of dreams hidden in shadows.
When the night lays its dark velvet mantle over the world,
The flower remains just a withered tale, a whisper lost in time,
An echo of promised love but never fulfilled, a shattered dream,
At the edge of dawn that brings a new day, without the memory of its fragrance.
"The Green Bruise of Daylight"
A person can die for love
one sees red
the other sees blue
purple bruises
one sees red
alarm lights siren
purple bruises
detach into the grey
alarm lights siren
there is no more singing
detaches into the grey
courts fuelled by pocketsful of lies
rocks and gavels
for the weighting
ocean deep confetti
bottomless drowning
the other sees blue
detaches into the grey
purple bruises
fade away
purple bruises
wrapped in
white paper sentences
stain the mind
words black peppered
crushed mulberry memories
flock like seagulls
their call haunting
hungry scavengers feeding
messages clipped
around their ankles
carrier pigeons in steel cages
jail birds wait the day anticipating
windows watch
windows the colour
of deep forests turn and
walk away
murders of crows
wings rise and fall
towards the green
bruise of daylight
stain the mind mottled
lights along a road
flood the dark spots
driven the long way home
behind straight lines
boundaries marked
contained within fences
broken prisons min min jackets
keys thrown far away
golden chords harpooned
in the heart
of a lost cherub
in safe harbour
another calling see
waves wash the
grave dirt away
windows watch windows
the colour of deep forests turning
towards dark night, the missing
archangel walks away
spilling blood
like poetry
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
A Halloween Story
hints of pantoum
photographic art, Max Dupain/Australian.
Music. "High Above a Green Grey Sea", Colin Stetson.