Long Dungeon Poems
Long Dungeon Poems. Below are the most popular long Dungeon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dungeon poems by poem length and keyword.
Casanovas slipping into the red-light tangle;
Forbidden fruits, where temptations dangle.
A carousel sequelae of transient fun,
Shoving precious life through a darkened dungeon.
Herpes, a saboteur of life's quality;
Silent falsehoods, pernicious in totality.
Retrovirus tainting the filthy foray—
Courtesan's fate wrapped in tragic dismay.
The French disease, resurging like a dragon,
Greatest mimicker, its curse on the wagon.
An avalanche of despair, harrowing as the Holocaust;
Fleeting morale fulgurates, bruising life's bitter frost.
Relationships crumble, akin to a precarious card cascade—
An insidious monster of misery, lurking like a ticking grenade.
Dire repercussions of the aftermath,
Grueling the innocent's once-quiet path.
Serenading the cognizant wizard,
Salvaging thyself from a tumultuous blizzard.
In the dark opaque night within the space of solitude,
enfolding the languid landscape of my indolent life,
my forsaken journey’s pathway aimlessly meandered
in the gloomy labyrinth of endless agony.
In the live network of intricate unassailable design,
layer on layer, my latticed mind was stratified,
the spiritual strata of the innate awareness aligned
with the unique sagacious patterns of perception.
In my journey within as an introspective explorer,
I discerned the enlightened soul in the sanctuary of bliss,
suffusing me with the supreme essence of divinity,
liberating me from the dungeon of corporeal abyss.
Travelling unshackled in the depth of inner sanctum
I heard the voice of the intrinsic wisdom I acquired,
telling me, this journey has no meaningful end,
collect acumen in dark ambiguity in search of divine light.
I then let my soul shine with sequins of celestial radiance,
sharing the flaring brilliance of a thousand suns.
In my self-searching odyssey at the edge of eternity,
the inner galaxy turned me into a living light.
I was then the immutable hymn of the sanctified soul,
echoing through the melodic strata of consciousness.
The devout mantra I heard got intoned in my heart,
resonated with the symphony of the sacred spirit.
it hurts to flail you
on a hill
stood her foot
eyes of chill
hairs of soot
my wicked witch
befalls all
with her *****
and booty call
i was one
to face her gall
and dungeon
of nightly enthrall
she bound me
to ropes
and ecstasy
pills to cope
two whites
does tricks
cure of night
pokes and pricks
my back
whip lashed
attacked
and gashed
the blood
spurted out
every thud
i re-shouted
i cried
candle wax
that fried
wounds max
i cried
she kissed
i defied
her bliss
smitten
more whips
and bitten
with clips
i re-cried
more candle wax
that fried
more wounds max
she eyes
her prize
between thighs
as it rise
i cringe
her rough
fringe
of slough
as she rode
the train
so bold
without refrain
on top
she sang
no stop
from bang
that night
wore on
crying sight
eyes are gone
mindless
of pain
and her bliss
and gain
duet again
she shouted
in vain
as i pouted
when done
hurt and defiled
i was stunned
at how wild
she became
under surface
flailing her game
with purpose
connie pachecho
2/9/17
One mystic blue night in June
I will steal the silvery full moon,
break it into sharp-edged shards,
and sow them in the backyard
in the shadow of dark clouds at noon.
The dark devils will enter with lust
my anguished heart beating fast,
hit by the moonless night hard,
and make my boiling ancient blood
turn to thick and brown corrosive rust.
The dark brown blood of mine
the night will drink like wine,
losing the shining full moon
it will make a black one on its own,
even more dark than the dungeon.
When the wolves will be tearing
the neck of the stillness freezing,
the chilled air from the sky will alight,
the ominous bark will shred the night,
telling me it’s time for moon plucking
from the shadow of the devils lurking.
At the end of the year on a frosty night
the time will come when in bitter spite
I will turn the harvested new moon
into deadly ball of the firing cannon,
and hit hard those who lure romance
that skillfully wraps with mute trance
the innocent hearts trapped in love.
With the sickle moon’s sharp curve
I will tear open the deceitful throats,
and slash the sweet lips that gloat,
and in an instant cleverly ensnare
naive soft minds, attracted unaware.
One night in the wasteland dark,
where the starved wolves will bark
at the new moon’s harvest time,
and when the stars will be gleaming rhyme
as pure crystals in moonless sky I'll see,
the lurking imbeciles, I will bury
in the shattered moon’s ruins palpable,
for they say I am desperately despicable.
August, 14, 2017.
Contest : Hello Darkness My Old Friend
Sponsor :Anthony Biaanco
i sit lonely. the crowded restaurant is thick with sound. i pick away at it moving back into the stagnant silence of my own comfort. the air is nasty here telepathically abusing my thought patterns. still a far cry better then the loud hum of food making its way to the vacant crowd surrounds me. a decorated plate joins me at my table. immediately striking a conversation with the cutlery who had waited too long for her arrival. there is no call from the governor much to the dismay of various ethnic leaves now being executed. many bites later at my request a paper plane flies in ahead of schedule. a swipe of my plastic card makes quick work of bills demands and i exit seemingly too quick for the human eye to catch. i hate this part. i parley my journey to a few twists and turns all the while staring done at a concrete maze never making eye contact with a single soul. i do that. i always do that -keep the entrance of my being away from those who would stare me down and attempt to engage me in conversation with a desire to lock eyes. if they looked in they would burn and i would be held responsible. finally i reach my own personal mecca the only environment i feel safe in. my therapist will be proud almost an hour today. my progress will be staggering to her assuming i see her again. i am covered in my own dew. my breathing is sporadic. i line up an array of pills like good soldiers as i commence my attempt to survive another day. it will take hours to regain my sanity all the while questioning the purpose of assimilating back into the dungeon with the general public. it behooves me to find one positive reason i would want to join the rank and file again. to plug back in to that horrendous grid i escaped oh so long ago. i grow weary of my own thoughts. ignoring those voices slowly i regain my footing. having resumed my pleasant demeanour i plant roots hoping they’ll take hold. i attempt to return back into the vacuum of my existence. i fail and much to my displeasure exist as i always have. i sit lonely.
Written by
Armand Hamouth
aka Maurice Yvonne
Are you following some ancient path
to a schizophrenic's neverland
are you trying to teach me
your sophisticated alphabet
did you just fly from someone's
dungeon dream
into the minaret of mine
are you dancing with fairies
or just a stumbling sky drunkard
maybe you're just an erotic dancer
flashing your neurotic wares for
jigging of forever nectar
whatever the case may be
I will forever cherish your
no touch lap
dances
There was a ring at the dungeon door
Canary raced across the floor
Pulling a hammy while nursing his soars
Appearing was a seagull that once was poor
“My friend the Canary
Spent the morning sailing over on the ferry
Sipping my AM sherry
Very relaxed not in a hurry
But many thoughts I do carry
You should not worry
Since I got a goal
Decided not to fold
So I tell my dear Canary
Things right now may seem scary
If you go down to the other league
You may be a champion I do decree
Honestly, I must get back to the beach
Hope you learned from what I teach”
Later in the day
Royals wanted to play
“Let’s chase the foxes around
How does that sound?”
But after the hunt took a brake
That both sides did take
Protecting their own field
Foxes knew the deal
By putting one up on them
Now he Royals really needed to defend
When another one hit the board
Royal’s weekend ride turned into a chore
Asking for extra time
Foxes replied, ‘not on my dime’
Sending one home not being declined
A group nicknamed the Red Devils
Needed comfort they were at a certain level
Invitations went out from Old Stafford
Heated pitch fork staff holding back the laughter
Mr. Bourne took the message in stride
Showed up and truly did try
With one that went in
Mr. Bourne’s mouth was smiling
This did not stop the satanic crew
Since they were not through
Cherries were lured into a fight
Victory the demons right
Frustrated and in trouble
Mr. Bourne returned to his bubble
Mouth now tied shut
Red Devils saying, “so what”
“For a Prisoner, coming to freedom from the dank and dark dungeon of captivity is like coming into the radiant rays of dawn’s early light”- by Poet
Breaking open the tightly barred prison gates
Shattering the close fitted iron shackles
His mind flew into freedom’s alpine heights
To his beloved home where love nestles
What thrill to be united with his folks
They would dance in delight to see him back
How the day would be spent in lively talks
His children would dash down to kiss his cheek
From his beloved’s eye, tears would roll down
Saline drops of joy, so hard to control
The house then in great merriment would drown
Love’s sweet embrace would soothe his famished soul
Alas! He knew it was just a reverie
Yet he flew on wings of such revelry
March.18.2022
Freedom Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Robert James Liguori
Silence is deafening
Like a dungeon dark hallway.
Door after close door of bounding
Moans and groans, and painful
Yelling gasping for air.
I sit in this cold
Dark cell shivering with my
Blacken thoughts.
Am I the only sane one?
Am I the only healthy one?
They come in and out
At all hours to poke and prob.
I, a human, a pin cushion
Ready for use.
Trying someplace else to delve
Madden hunger for More pain.
In isolation with no touch for comfort.
They in hazmat suits
Because they cannot breathe my breath
Or touch my tainted skin.
Claustrophobic in these four walls
Lord, please save me
From this darkness and pain;
Meet my exhausted lids to rest.
All I see are the haunting eyes
Of the ghost that had passed
Veiled in fear white sheets of snow.
12/15/2020
How it feels when love took a wrong turn
Like spice was turned up high and burned
Like you were promised a piece of pie
But instead got a plate full of worms
Feelings that fill your head with heartburn
Worse than what happens eating the wrong food
Knowing it taste so good but is bad for you
Same thing applies to a toxic lover who
Shattered heart you are apart
but still feel connected to
Heart farts that try to save face
Despite being full of black tears
Holding on to memories of good days
Despite the dingy dungeon bad years
Forgiving loving love despite not receiving
Losing yourself in someone else
Especially one so cunning and deceiving
Finding one single sunny spot in it all
Knowing now not to look down
For life is forward thinking stand tall
Knowing that this may have went bad
But to love someone is always good
You are one person closer to happiness that
Will be warm and charmed as blessings should