Long Dissolve Poems
Long Dissolve Poems. Below are the most popular long Dissolve by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dissolve poems by poem length and keyword.
Tell me, my dear, do you have any idea of the pain I felt,
when I forced my hand into my chest, breaking my ribcage apart,
and tore my heart out, weeping crimson on my bare skin,
feeling its trembling pulse as I handed it to you with a smile.
I bled myself dry, emptying my life in an act of raw surrender,
and you rejected it, rejected my love as if it were a fleeting illusion,
and I felt hopes dissolve and dreams unravel in cold reality,
as your refusal turned my offering into an echoing, painful silence.
Yet with every drop of blood lost, I understand my love persists,
though rejected, it will not cease to exist, beating in the deep silence,
remaining a testament to vulnerability, and the courage to love
without restraint, even in the face of a ruthless and unyielding refusal.
Gridlock on I-75, it's raining heavy. Up ahead somewhere
a truck has jackknifed. We are down to one lane and not moving.
I switch off the engine and wipers watching the world
dissolve inside a waterfall. I'm not alone, there's a voice in the backseat;
only a deep male voice.
"Man I'm tired of travelling this same stretch of highway" It said clearly.
I stiffened; a cold sweat chilling my mind.
"When did it happen" I said, deducing the perhaps obvious.
"Time don't work the same around here," he replied. I'm in a repeating cycle
and I’ve been stuck here watching it all happening again".
I heard myself saying: "by 'it' I assume you’re watching your death?"
"It's time for me to move on, it said quickly, “traffics moving now,
horns are blasting and there's an oncoming 18 wheeler
hydroplaning behind you -
and you're not watching!”
I have to write so I want fight
Release with a pen paper takes to flight
Tight closed fist opened with might
Is it right?
I might just think might
Words speak louder when verbally not nice
Revised remember importance lights
Turn to burn down candle flames height
I have to write to pour out pitchers of despair
Whether or not who cares
But dare
Say something when they do not know
Arrows shoot but not without bows
Growth
Happens when chosen to receive
I may not be like you and you are most definitely not me
Let’s see how a riddle can be solved
Tea bags boil but they never seem to dissolve
That’s all I saying for today
I may metaphorically say
Days may seem they do end
But today is not a day to pretend
Like everything is going well
They run dry but writing always tell a tale
Nothing new in the electrochemistry
It no longer is a scientific mystery
Waves Beta, Alpha, Theta, Delta, Gamma & Epsilon
Descending from buoyant ecstasy to a persona forlorn
Zodiac signs & rainbow colours assigned to chakras renamed
Esoteric yogic techniques, exponents aplenty, all self-proclaimed
Fiery verbal duels, by many an argumentative eristic
Each it seems is the ultimate mystic
Leaving profundity to theorists whose verbosity we acknowledge
What matters is assimilated wisdom, not vicarious knowledge
So we go in within, alone, in meditational stillness, upon a virgin path
Each moment in the time continuum, a holy sabbath
What we seek is expansive consciousness & joy eternal
And what is eternal is obviously not embraceable in the ephemeral
So we chop off perishable egoistic attachments, fear & desire
And straightaway plunge our non-self into the divine fire
How? In unseeking stillness within ... deep within
Where at each moment we anew begin
No conflict, no violence
Effortless stillness, rippleless silence
No agenda, no seeker, no doer
We are still, yet there is a mover
The flow of the Universe within into which we dissolve
Emerging from which we automatically evolve
What do we gain & what do we lose?
Irrelevant, for we are not, yet desirelessly choose
What we lose is our sorrow generating gross contaminant
Gain being ineffable, exalted, joyous divine love enablement
There is no way; our choice itself is the way
Save unendingly effusing love, no rules to obey
Thoughts sublime, words kind, actions benign
Self, Soul & Spirit thus align
Trust the Universe, plunge into its loving stream
We need to wake up now, from our narrow dream
Upon lighting a candle, darkness is instantly expelled
Surrendering to the divine, ignorance is automatically dispelled
And that is all there is to it
Doable if we do & never ever quit
Simpler the truth, it seems the more elusive it is
So perplexed we are by life’s jigsaw quiz
01-November-2020
Matthew Scott Harris, whar art thou *****?
The following admission
honest to dogness haint no bunk
nobody, but yours truly
bore deeply and countersunk
his spontaneity satisfactorily
lightweight corporeal mein kampf,
didst more than baptise or dunk
cuff, which admirably aided to flunk,
(whereat no universal solvent,
could (kant) kelp dissolve barnacles
of sea sonned gunk),
asper thickly congealed
encasing this laughable
antithesis of hullo kit ting hue man
overweening tricky hunk,
which thought to attempt
skidding row bust humor
as a "FAKE" teetering drunk
ken-pro lit tarry overgrown punk
(riotously swinging balled fists
way of course), and mine
feeble insubstantial poetic jabs, where
teenage shadow boxer slunk
tis my harmless recourse to peddle
as sway to escape funk
seriously, Aesop hoes,
this personal mockery
wrote for no rhyme nor reason junk
bonded really gluten
free self deprecating
playfulness of course as chipper munk
makes any sense, neither kerplunk
emanating from atop me notch noggin
swishing with grade A klunk
emasculation par excellence, asper
out thee talking head of this lunk,
whose upcoming "talk therapy"
every other Monday
at 11:00 a.m. with preshrunk
kin shrink finds tarnished psyche resonating
analogous to reverberation while spelunk
king in an echo chamber futilely
questing, searching, rummaging...why I trunk
hated living when merely thirteen
courtesy Anorexia Nervosa
with spindle shank (chicken legs)
to attest as permanent stunted growth.
In the twilight of our consciousness, where shadows intertwine with subtle grace,
I wander through endless corridors, seeking truths in this forsaken place.
This world, the sole reality, with all its terror and tender embrace,
Demands our love, lest we lose ourselves in imaginary space.
Through the labyrinth of thoughts, where dreams and fears entwine,
I glimpse the dismal utopias, where false hopes align.
The politicians' empty promises, like stars that cease to shine,
And the futile whispers of reward, which the misled call divine.
How can we live in a realm where terror and beauty blend,
And not surrender our hearts to this paradox without end?
For if we scorn this earthly tether, where shadows and light amend,
We fall into self-deceit, where illusions grow and bend.
In the deep valleys of our souls, where echoes of existence ring,
We must find the courage to embrace this world, its horror and its spring.
To love it in its entirety, in every tear and triumph, to cling,
For in this acceptance lies our freedom, where only truth can bring.
The utopias of the misguided are but mirages on the sand,
Promises that dissolve in time, slipping through our hand.
We must root ourselves in the present, in this tangible land,
Where terror and wonder coexist, a realm we must understand.
The religion of the future, a whisper of comforting lies,
Attempts to mask the terror, but leads to our demise.
The imaginary world, an echo that never satisfies,
Dispels the fragrant beauty that in the present flies.
In this sacred waltz of thoughts, where consciousness aligns,
I strive to love this world, with all its dark and bright designs.
To see the terror as part of life, where beauty too refines,
A place where dreams and reality, in perfect balance, combine.
Through the misty veils of day and night, where dawn's first light appears,
I walk the path of acceptance, embracing hopes and fears.
For only in loving this world, with all its pain and cheers,
Can we find our truest selves, beyond the false veneers.
So let us cherish the terror, and the beauty that it brings,
And love this world in its entirety, to the rhythm of its wings.
For in this dance of reality, where every shadow sings,
We find the essence of our being, the truth in all things.
Melding with silence, formless soul presence feels,
soundless thunder, the sound of one hand clapping,
borne by bliss magnetism, touch divine that heals
each cell of form, be we awake or napping,
piercing veil of space, which light of Self conceals,
our heavenward return, gently so mapping.
Along with the thunder, comes rapture unbound,
breath by breath as we tip toe on holy ground.
To search for God’s bliss spark is our life’s mission,
His inner sound current pulsating within,
effervescence eternal, love’s emission,
seeking our embrace, so we simply plunge in,
fearless and vibrant, needing no permission,
to dissolve in the hum that erases sin.
Along with the thunder, wisdom is imbibed,
in the cave of our heart, by God’s hand inscribed.
A tea bag in the ocean,
small, fragile, trembling in vastness,
its string a whisper,
its paper skin thin against the tide.
It carries a world of fragrance within,
spices and leaves gathered from distant hills,
yet when cast into infinity
its essence bleeds gently, unseen,
lost to the salt and surge.
The ocean does not change—
its roar unmoved, its deep unshaken—
but the tea bag, emptied of itself,
becomes a ghost of what it was.
And still, there is a quiet beauty:
the courage of the small
meeting the enormity of the endless,
the offering of all it holds,
though the waves may never taste it.
To give, even if unnoticed,
to dissolve, even if forgotten,
to color a sea that cannot be colored,
and yet still try,
is to become a living sacrifice,
holy and acceptable
to
God
Greys, Part III
Temerity, the crux of the Human Way -
We dominate what we can,
Deride the rest -
But the heart speaks in terms the tongue cannot frame,
Suggesting the worst is a part of our best
The ashen taste behind the use of insignificant powers
Tempers our pride in the midst of triumphant hours.
Beneath the greening of the summerwarmed Earth
Corruption proceeds in its slow work
Feeding the living on the fruits of its breakage
Of the form and substance of the dead.
The cold rain slanting down from leaden clouds
Softens and enlivens roots deep in the loam,
The desiccated pulp of yesterday's life
Many voices speak
In the pattering tears of the sky:
Many voices, not understood by the educated mind,
Not grasped by refined understandings:
Heard, interpreted in the dark chambers
At the center of the soul,
Where the meanings of things old as this world
Quietly abide,
Resting in the silent center -
The fertile graveyard of our primal thoughts.
The rain calls to us through its wall of grey
Addressing our Pride
Mixing truths forgotten with truths regained
The rain speaks, saying, among other things -
What are the monuments of Men
The works of their timid day?
The mountains that this Earth brought forth
In fevered fury, long ages ago
Have long outlasted the whole of your race.
These are Her monuments, and yet
For all their strength and glory,
I -
The humble soft rain,
I -
Have washed away whole chains of them;
For I persist,
Returning and returning,
Ages but moments to me.
We can watch our glories dissolve
Stone upon stone, great edifices rise
To crumble and fall again
Forgotten and fractured, always being replaced
By other stones upon stones
Which will decay in their due turn.
Impermanence is the standard
Of human affairs
The common complaint in which everyone shares
Consider with me those things that do last,
Thoughts and emotions which fade not with the past.
Beneath the diaphanous vault where shadow and humanity dissolve,
The fabric of nature unravels into an inscrutable residue of secrets,
Far from the world’s gaze, in the salt of the wilderness, a different essence is born,
Even bare sterility embraces the enigma that deceives and soothes us.
From the illusion of light-years, a whiff of earth mixed with saffron,
Nature caught in the dance of an eternal flame, inscribes upon the planes of existence,
Odes to the wind, where meadows bow to reveal a hidden-lost utopia,
The delicate sign of the sky bears ethereal symbols, home of the precious wild clover.
Deep down, at the root, where the echo of initiation throbs and writhes,
The whispers of a partial eclipse weave a complicit veil over myrrh footprints,
Nestled in the maple leaf, the wave of blood becomes intimately red,
Rustle of life in our spread, a solitary armchair beneath blue draperies.
Thus, I begin to merge with the threshold of mystery of beginning and end,
To immerse myself in the enigma of the opulent soul, the scent of ash and quake,
Outrunning the saintly stride, seeking the heart as a celestial sanctuary,
Stepping into the labyrinth called love, a portal to the heart named eternal.