Long Doubt Poems
Long Doubt Poems. Below are the most popular long Doubt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doubt poems by poem length and keyword.
In the labyrinth of the evening, I invite you to lose ourselves in the scent of tea.
Today, love, you are my queen, and I - your humble procession,
Here, a throne made of dreams' foam is laid out for you,
Come, step out from the dream and allow love to bloom into reality.
Let the tea dance with the moonlight, providing us with playful joy,
Let us be two, wrapped in a symphony of stars and longing,
I implore you, don't delay when this silvered world is calling you,
Add your laughter as an echo to the depths of my darkened heart.
Slip through memories, to harvest droplets of days,
If you find no sweetness, come with the illusion of one who hopes,
Let's give the tea that taste of mystery and ancient tale,
That wishes to pledge two souls, in hymns of shared breath.
Glide, my love, among shadows, may fortune smile upon you,
The stars beckon us to be the light in the enveloping night,
Beneath their clarity, we shall lose ourselves in an everlasting dream,
And we’ll slice from love pieces of heaven to share with a dreaming world.
Gates ajar in the labyrinth of eternity, search along the path,
Find a moment of hope, bring it untouched by the dust of doubt,
Whether it's just a kernel or a shooting star casting brightness,
Let it sweeten our gazes that have aged in wait.
And in the mist of fate, perhaps you’ll discover, a breeze of joy,
A flake of pure gold lost on the last ray of the sun,
Don't count them, don't weigh them, just gather them with love,
For the coming day, let us two be the never-setting evening star.
Come, love, to stand upon my threshold,
The tea is my pilgrimage, and you are the destiny of its questions,
Come, fill the void, let's get lost in alchemy and in vow,
Under the silk of the sky and in the pulse of our hearts, bound.
Pride says I am right
Humility follows the light
Pride says I’m meant to win
Humility cries because of sin
Pride says I am a star
Humility plays a modest guitar
Pride says I should have it all
Humility sees that we are so small
Pride says I have what it takes
Humility knows a love that never forsakes
Pride says I know all I need to know
Humility feels the wonder of love’s flow
Pride says I don’t need to follow rules
Humility believes that doubt is for fools
Pride says I don’t need to pray
Humility prays before life can betray
Pride is living inside a selfish soul
Humility knows it’s Jesus who makes hearts whole
She's as sick of me
As I am sick of her
And of this disease
I hope there is no cure
She is all I need
Inside of my world
Never has there been a doubt
That I love this girl
In fact I am so sick
It brought me to my knees
Where it is that I proposed
Asking her hand please
Pledging her my love
From that moment out
Being this love sick
Is nothing to sneeze about
Yes her love is
What I am sick with
Hoping that I never
Do get over this
With a temperature
As high as 102
I've got myself a hardened case
The best of the love flu
I'm as sick of her
As she is sick of me
Not looking for the cure
To this love disease
If you doubt there’s real evil in the world
try gluten-free pizza - it’s a super low-value experience
imagine something criminal, like pizza on a cracker.
Which highlights the problematic nature of live-forever nutrition.
Who’d want to live forever - if that’s what you had to eat?
Ok let’s wax poetic..
Our night of Friday unfolded against a black background
for the thinning wind-moon was a coin already spent.
Oh, it still hung sharp in orbit and still called to obedient waters,
and, when it could, it patterned the trees and hills with a pale spectral light,
but lovers, who unwisely looked to it as a heavenly witness of their love - mere hours ago - had to admit that the unearthly lampion, was unshapely shrinking behind the silver edged clouds.
Ask not for the night to answer for day or even ever-constant stay
for the moon is but a brief pulse, an intermittent flashlight on night’s black velvet.
Wax off…
Peter and I reserve Friday nights for getting stupid. We’re developing regular urban nightlife haunts - like the Gate club and Palais Maillot.
But if you go, book ahead and plan on paying extra for a VIP zone or the mezzanines, otherwise - god - you’ll end up in the thrashing mob - and you can order-in food in VIP areas.
This will sound crazy - and I don’t know why - but jammed, swirling-lazer-lit clubs make me think of human trafficking - I’d never go to a club alone.
.
.
A song for this:
Daft Punk Is Playing at My House by LCD Soundsystem
The Moon Cave (feat. Asha Puthli) by Gorillaz
mangetout (The Dare remix) by Wet Leg
There are some things, we will never forget
....
the sound of a phone call, still rings in my ears
squeezing my chest.....squeezing my chest...
A sun sinking low, into the west
along with my heart
under a blood-crested sky
as we drove into the wedge of dusk
on the edge of our seats
in a frozen state
on that icy slope
I was holding my breath in the liquid silence
coping........not coping
engaging in warfare
of knowing, without really knowing
how to hope, ...or what to hope for
but deep down
already knowing, the war was over...
my torso was rocking
without my control......forward and backwards
a life of it's own
a balm for raw nerves, I couldn't calm down
something to do, something to do
knowing, but not knowing
be hopeful, or be resigned?
coping? not well
...knowing, but not knowing
yet, somehow fearing
the war was over....
-
on that night that would change all...
he clung to the wheel......I clung to the seat
we clung to our prayers, but what was done, will be done...
what is gone.....will be gone
as we drove into the wedge of night
watching the moon replace the sun without remorse
we stayed on course, without a word between us said
but a slither of light on the horizon
filling my head with visions of birds on the wing
flying into the clouds
like a sign
as a shroud
taking my eyes
taking my hope
taking the doubt
taking instead
my own resistance
to what I already knew
it all
meant
what was done....will be done
what is gone....will be gone
losing hope....is losing hope
the war was over...
what is left
we must accept
_________________________________
An unwatered seed is simply a dream undreamt
Quench the seed's thirst, and a dream will sprout
Water the soil, lest your dream rots in the dirt
An unwatered seed is simply a dream undreamt
Turn on the garden hose and let the water spurt
Plant and feed your goals, never leave em' in doubt
An unwatered seed is simply a dream undreamt
Quench the seed's thirst, and a dream will sprout
Submitted for...
Strand Select H, Any Theme, Any Form Poetry Contest (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 02/09/2020
Date written and posted: 06/23/2018
But if you try sometimes...
“I saw her today at the reception”
My eyes filled with changing emotions
In satin gown and fire brand hair
A china doll beyond the display case
Happiness was breathing the air
“In her glass was a bleeding man”
A shadow of someone on the platform
I could see his face wracked in pain
Scars of here and prior altercations
Acid falling in the guise of rain
“She was practiced at the art of deception”
Behind that sequined mask she stood hiding
A smile painted in pastel red
Pretending a friendship is more than just golden
Wishing the other were endlessly dead
“Well I could tell by her blood-stained hands”
Pointing fingers dripping in excess waste
Smearing the drapes of lipstick poetry
Planting a seed of doubt deep within
Smirking as she said these words to me
“You can’t always get what you want”
Written with the help of the Rolling Stones classic - "You can't always get what you want" The italicized lines are lyrics from the song.
She spoke a Tale of Her yougth abot
a man and woman who wished to marry
they sought refuse at a camp. There the
deacons and nuns feed the hungry and
performed the task of marrage. They had
traveled mere miles to be there: there
they would trade there Torquise for the
things they needed. While there they married
and honeymooned. They then would
travel back to where they were
orignally from. The trip would be by frigget
the woman feared a storm would come along
or a great sea creature would swallow them whole.
To calm there fears a man sat down with them
and ask them to help him write a song in there
honor:one he would keep as a keepsake until the time
he would travel to the same area where the
newly weds were going. They sat down a wrote these words.
At points I ponder
the roaring sea
to speak of how
I honor thee
oh God guide
these Seafearing men
when in doubt
please take there hand
guide my steps oh God jehovah
calm the shores
and raging seas
reassure our doubts
and strenghten us from fearing
what what we can't see
Thou wilted orchids
lift they voice
to repraise
thy kings and lords
might we dry by
the raging sun
to sleep at night
till: ah new day's begun
Might the billows
guide our way
for us to
speak these glorious days
the silvermoon
to light the night
the romances of lovers
clear bright nights
we should dock
on the shore
to be on land
and fear no more
One day the younger son decided that it was time he went on his own
Yes, on himself he so prided feeling as though he was completely grown
So much good stuff out there to do as he asked for his inherited share
Basically saying Father I don't need you and for this life I don't care
And so he took his share of money and was really having a ball
Yes everyday seemed to be sunny as now he could finally have it all
But then his Fathers money ran low until one day when it all ran out
Those "friends" where did they all go as now he began to have doubt
He tried to feed himself but it was so hard to even find a job
And now in deteriorating health how his dignity, life would now rob
For after he finished feeding the swine he could then eat what was there
Oh how in his mind he would often opine as the flies landed in his hair
Perhaps I could return to my Fathers place even to be just a servant
For my Father I could not face and not having even a penny to pay rent
But as he came over that distant plain his Father forever waiting for this day
His sheer joy He could never even feign as He ran to meet his son on his way
Oh how the Lord is waiting to meet you His best Cloak in His Hand
Just believe this is true and like the son you too will come to understand
Jesus is the One who told this story in explaining His Fathers love for You
If You only knew of His Amazing Glory you would head back home too
Luke 15:11-32
It was August 1st,
Army Day in China—
when I was escorted through concrete arteries
deep beneath the pulse of the city.
No cameras. No phones.
Just retinal scans, encrypted codes,
and a silence that pressed
like gravity.
They called it:
Project Wraith.
Rows of suits—no ordinary armor—
but fabrics interlaced with nano-carbon filaments,
reactive polymers,
and strands of bio-electric mesh
that shift molecular frequency
on command.
These were not soldiers.
They were phantoms,
encased in electrostatic cloaks,
their AI cores learning faster
than human instinct could fire.
Their bodies phased—
in and out of visibility,
through steel, through matter,
through perception itself.
One passed through me.
I felt nothing
but a drop in temperature,
like history brushing against the skin.
“We’ve weaponized light,” said the scientist beside me,
his voice cold, brilliant—
like an algorithm made flesh.
“Quantum-threaded suits sync with the cerebrum.
Cognitive field maps adjust in microseconds.
They think at the speed of war.
No lag. No doubt. No conscience.”
They spoke of field modulation,
time-split optics,
phase states.
Displacement theory had reached
deployment.
And in their brilliance,
I saw the fall—
the eclipse of soul by signal.
How far have we come?
We’ve bypassed sight,
rewritten space,
coded war into silence.
But who decides when the unseen strikes?
When the ghosts we built
turn on the living?
I left that tunnel changed.
The light above looked artificial,
the air too honest.
We have crossed into a war
without sound,
without shadow,
without warning.
And somewhere in the distance,
the last cry of humanity
echoed without echo—
heard only by
those still
fully human.