Long Dissimulation Poems
Long Dissimulation Poems. Below are the most popular long Dissimulation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dissimulation poems by poem length and keyword.
My paramour, try to understand me now.
You knew the shape of my heart in the course of our budding affair.
At the start, my face was not disfigured with dissimulation, and my mien has always been upright.
For, I am perplexed in the nature of monogamy.
You can not imprison my cripple heart.
There are no gentle terms of endearment that can cure me.
You stand before me with peeling eyes trying to reach the core of me.
Trying to understand me with all your weakness of a man from Mars.
My paramour, try to understand me now.
Although, I was jocund in all our congenial coitus and oftentimes you sent me flying.
My heart remains impervious.
My paramour, try to understand me now.
You are a virtuous man, soulful, cultured, and refine.
You are ambrosial for any woman.
Melt away my paramour from devotion, and make no more grievance pleas of the subject of our ephemeral romance for you see you are the conqueror of this affair.
Be in time with the fact that this is but a small breach, to your heart and ego.
(sigh)
As for me, I will fall back into a spiral of ephemeral love affairs.
copyright 2016 Looking At The Light From The Bottom of The Lake.
Inside each of us there are shades of ChAoS…at the very least intermittent negativity
Hypocritical thinking defines so many people
As they bask in their appearance of virtue.
Let us listen to the preacher because only a few can see the utter dissimulation within.
It is a compelling story that society has written…
To distort and extort our souls…
Angst…
We are innately the same, we haven’t gone anywhere new…
We’re just looking at things from a new perspective… Can we do this together…
Remember…inside is chaos, negativity and angst but there is also…
This…
Did you know…
Fear is a state of mind…
Life can feel encapsulated… trapped with anger and misery
How do we battle the angst…
I don’t know…
But there is always…
This…
Let’s start…
We should not recognize a life has ended….
Only recognize a life has lived…
Celebrate…
It is our right
There is power in ritual
Ritual to grieve
Wicked atrocity or not
There is…
This…
This can be a magnificent day if you choose…
This minute shall not be wasted
Simple, it is a beautiful life we can live…
Simpler, when one thing ends… another begins…
Ultimate simplicity…
This is this…
Fall is having something of a moment - in Paris - from what I hear.
Me? I’m enjoying some large-group foundational instruction, small-group clinical tutorials, and what they call ‘dense-coursework’ because endless memorization and scientific concept acquisition isn’t dense at all.
Peter’s in Paris for goods, Woot!
And lucky him, he’s adjusting to waking up
to ‘Betty (Get Money) by Yung Gravy,’
blasting from my Sonos One speaker at 6am
right after Charles and I finish our morning 5k.
I’m trying to be present for him, to atone for endless studies.
My diary charts my intentions, anyway, like satirical epistolaries.
Now that Peter’s in Paris, he seems “S” obsessed!
I didn’t tell him, “Wait, isn’t that what A.I. is for?”
No, I go to minimal lengths to discourage him,
for we’re each other’s raw materials, are we not?
Shakespeare, a man who obviously spent a lot of his time on the Internet. Wrote about that very specific, emotional-space and little else. He disguised it, of course, with sexual allusions, drunken sword fights, mistaken identities and sick-burns - but it’s all there.
Incest, gender-bending, sneaking around, and jesters spilling blunt truths about “appetites.”
But he presented it all as real, human and normal - signaling pleasures full of breathing, tasting, feeling, and the overt-expression of sexual actions - he was a man ahead of his time - made for social media.
Of course, you can’t trust what a poet writes of love.
Not because of dissimulation, but because love is so exciting
- that the happening is all-consuming - and in the after-pauses, much is forgotten.
.
.
Songs for this:
Betty (Get Money) by Yung Gravy [E]
Man I Need by Olivia Dean
Bad Dreams by Teddy Swims
.
Yung Gravy = uhh he’z SO g.d cute and funny.
talking to Peter “If I didn’t have you, I’d stalk him to prove my love.”
DEAR HEART
Dear Heart :
Majestic Heart,
Precious part of my pristine persona
in angelic arena.
You are famished hankering for love,
but you must try to curb.
With innate innocence
and earnest ebullience
You can neither differentiate
nor discriminate
between devotion
and dissimulation.
Dear Heart:
Humble Heart,
You dedicate your ardent ardour
floating in fervent fervour
cascading desired dreams
in opulent stream
to dry up in silent scream.
Dear Heart:
Delicate Heart,
Restrain yourself.
Don't allow to escape
Your yearnings to soar high
tempting for free fly
to get trapped with wounded weary wings
carrying contorted dishonored feelings.
Poor Heart:
You are hurt.
Dear Heart:
Holy Heart,
Your preserved pleasures
and reserved treasures
are destined to be left on dirt,
on path of life ending in dust.
01/30/23
Dear Heart
Eighth place
Premiere Contest by Mystic Rose Rose.
Contest by Brian Strand
Romans Chapter 12:9-10 Let love be without dissimulation. Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good. 10 Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another;
Bursting into the still cool of Wednesday,
Blessing away the hours,
In silent waves of hesitating light,
Healing Tuesday with gentle music, fulfilling
Even the shadow’s worth is lifted
Rhythms of hope, poured out on the memory,
Trembling with a peace that only the sunset
Can remember…
Pride, Vanity, Narcissism
Fade like trinkets, bound for destruction,
Overcome by the seeds of your purpose,
Born to become, born to overcome,
In sighs of faith, she whispers,
Bordering the gates of forever, the hereafter,
Abiding inside the promises,
Real healing, forgiveness, love so restful,
Speaking of the moment before He revealed
The truth, He is the everlasting peace,
He is the blending of hope and grace, He is…
Everything to me!
Speaking of Jesus – Speak to Jesus
He is the reason I can sing, praise, pray
With the assurance that life has this season
For my heart and soul, so that I might know
The wonder of a love that is beyond my control,
A love that began when He arose,
Inviting each one to the life that commenced,
When He hung from that cross – saving what was lost,
Saving us all from the darkest dark – saving us all…
We were freed by His love, His light, His life –
Laid down so we could become children of God!
He is everything and more – He is the love and hope.
He is the way to change from wrong to right,
From bad to good, from dark to light, from lost to saved,
From the past to the promise – because He was raised
From the silence of a grave, to give us the joy of His grace!
Thanks to Jesus, I’m truly saved!!!!
L-et it all hang out,
O-ne chance to be sincere;
L-et the false happiness turn
I-nto a real drop of
T-ear.
R-eveal your true feelings,
O-ne opportunity to be honest;
D-ay thirty in sunny May,
R-esolve the emotional test.
I-nside and out say it clear,
G-rief and sadness you show;
U-nder untrue appearance,
E-vade hiding fear of nothing or
Z-ero.
D-eny not the exact score,
U-sing your facial expression;
L-et the words voice out,
P-lacing you in right position.
I-n your mind, heart and soul,
N-ever hesitate nor doubt;
A-ct without dissimulation, just let it all hang out.
If you are silent about your pain, they will kill you and say you enjoyed it.
In the garden of silence, where words are unblossomed flowers and sighs, invisible dew,
We grow, we trees with deep roots in the soil of mute suffering,
With branches stretching towards a deaf sky, imploring a touch of understanding.
Pain, this captive bird in the cage of our chest, beats its wings against the bars of silence,
And we, magicians of dissimulation, transform tears into smiles and wounds into ornaments,
While the executioners of fabricated happiness dance on the graves of our unspoken voices.
Oh, how silence wraps around us, a venomous snake that tightens its grip ever more,
Until breath becomes a whisper, and the whisper transforms into shadow,
And the shadow melts into the void of a denied, unrecognized, unheard existence.
They, these sculptors of alternative reality, carve statues of ecstasy from our silence,
Paint canvases of imaginary happiness on our muteness,
And compose symphonies of joy from our deafening silence.
But deep within our being, a volcano of truth boils, grows, rebels,
The magma of pain struggles to erupt, to break the crust of indifference and denial,
For each unspoken syllable is a seed of revolution planted in the soil of consciousness.
So let us break the chains of silence, open the gates to the sound of our pain,
Let the cry fly like a phoenix reborn from the ashes of muteness,
For only in the roar of our truth will we find the freedom to be truly alive and heard.
For if we remain silent in the face of our own suffering,
We will become accomplices to our own execution,
And they will dance on our graves, proclaiming that we died happy.