Long Each Poems
Long Each Poems. Below are the most popular long Each by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Each poems by poem length and keyword.
It was a beautiful story,
I wish it was my own.
It makes me think of you,
so every now and then
I turn it on.
Was the first song we danced to,
it made us fall in love.
Now every time it plays
I see your face,
you’re all I think of.
Why does it seem true loves
are always kept apart?
Is it cruel fate,
a form of bait
that’s used to crush the heart?
Or is God to blame
for all this pain,
or maybe we’re just blind.
Well, I don’t really know...
I’m just missing you tonight.
But I still see you in my dreams,
and I still hold you in my arms.
Each time the little things bring
you back in my mind,
I find you’re still inside my heart.
So, I don’t care how long time goes on,
I’ll sit and wait til time stands still.
Where nothing ever can keep
us apart again.
If I have to wait until forever...
then I will.
Journey Journal Page
JUST WHERE?
By Leon Enriquez
Words in stern cryptic code
Rouse odd map of strange mode
Ink piques dense mother lode
Taste deep allusions here
Ere exile feel endears
Reap sad touch that chokes cheer
Feel the sure glimpse sans time
Opt conflict that rips rhyme
Urge confronts awkward chimes
Reach beyond what sustains
Quest blooms bitter-sweet pain
Use abuse in disdain
Appease sorrow sans loss
Rowdy ripples thus toss
Turmoil torments lost cause
Exult in tragic change
Taste that hollow feel strange
Stillness stays subtle range
Trust well deep feel that knows
Heap more in lavish flow
Opt new meaning that grows
Meet each broken dream well
Art and science predict tell
See what you see that dwells
Spice that mellow sure scream
Thrill in certain pipe dream
Echo sharp surge that streams
Art formats the pattern
Ripe textures boost concern
Next accord troops discern
See now that you can’t see
Etch metaphors calmly
Less piques more profoundly
In brief review forge state
Old thoughts moot clash of fate
Truth sans expiry date
Prompt the airy wind chimes
Odd yet true our lost rhymes
End and start grip odd times
Trick or treat flavours each
Ink stains in cosmic reach
Close and open old glitch
Explore the sensuous nerves
eXit the rowdy swerves
Indulge the hollow serves
Live and love and laugh more
Eat and drink and thus store
Tensile strength from deep core
Rest thus on curious shores
Invest as yet before
Peace floods the vain blank core
Niche that narrow way back
Odd and even types stack
Weave the winding way track
Leon Enriquez
09 January 2023
Singapore
The heart is pass'e
it's the brain that wins the day
All knowledge and thought beckons
as the noodle in your head reckons
The heart beats our blood in time
the brain is who we are defined
The heart now can be replaced
without our brain we are erased
Every triumph that man evolved
each problem and crisis solved
It was the brain that saved the day
by thinking our troubles away
Yet the heart feels for love
reasons cannot be found
the joy the pain of love
within our heart is profound
The brain can become dense
for love makes no sense
Reasons cannot explain
the hearts desires so vain
Yes the brain is a marvel to behold
In our hearts resides our soul.
Veil of midnight, shroud of ache,
A hollow heart begins to wake,
Unfed, unwhole, in shadow curled,
Craving life within this world.
A wraith unseen yet bound to thirst,
The agony—a wicked curse,
Flesh untouched but essence bled,
Hungering for what is shed.
Through trembling dark and frigid moan,
I grasp at souls, yet stand alone,
Each stolen breath a fleeting glow,
Still starving deep in depths below.
Ravishing grimness, wretched plight,
A suffering that breeds delight,
To drink, to drain, to taste the soul,
To feel—then lose—control.
In tortured pangs, my hollow cries,
A thirst that burns, that never dies,
No blood will sate, no flesh repair,
Only whispers in the air.
The void consumes, yet I remain,
Bound by hunger, wracked with pain,
A phantom lost, unseen, yet near,
Feeding off your trembling fear.
And when the night betrays the dawn,
Another voice—another gone,
A feast of echoes, dimly bright,
Devoured whole before the light.
In the game of life, there are no set
players in our team,
Sometimes someone joins, and
sometimes someone leaves,
Each player plays a part in fulfilling
our needs, wants and dreams,
To me, this is how it seems.
Through trials and fears, we continue,
in life’s run,
And in our triumphs, we forget the tears
and pain and celebrate the victory,
having fun,
Each voice singing together, each word
turns into a sweet song,
Together in unity, giving a sense that
we belong.
In the Spirit of Team, there’s togetherness.
So, raise a toast to all those who
were and are still on our side,
With Faith’s gentle hand,
In the Spirit of Team, let’s continue to
grow and explore the land,
Together like the flowers we will bloom,
Each displaying our uniqueness,
beauty and colour in the garden
of the Living.
Like in the multicoloured garden of the
blooms, there’s beauty.
In the multicoloured garden of the Living,
there’s Beauty too.
by Zyrool
Old man hands, rope-bitten, tough as reef—
Cast out hope with each line’s heave.
Dawn broke red over Gulf Stream bone,
The sea, she whispered, leave it alone.
Tug. A jerk. Then nothing but weight—
Like pulling on the edge of fate.
It ran deep, godless, cold and true,
A thing too big for a world this blue.
Reel sang like a drunk in pain,
Salt in my eyes, sun on my brain.
The boat spun slow in its quiet fight,
While silence grew from a vanished bite.
I lost it—yes. Not just a fish.
It took something a man can’t wish.
A piece of soul with silver scales,
Gone where the dark tide never tells.
I lit a smoke. I let it go.
You can see, yet you do not see
A hole, where a heart should be
You can hear, but do not heed
The screams and cries of those that bleed
Can speak, but are strangely quiet
Oblivious to the disquiet
You can clearly see the discrimination
But are programed by the oppressors narration
Your humanity has turned to stone
Your hatred of the oppressed way overblown
“They are a different faith. Their colour isn’t right.
They are the enemy we have to fight”
You’re taught they are evil, your side is always right
Is it right? That people are harmed?
The child, the father, the mother, sister or brother
Who these tyrants say are bad, so they kill and smother
Beleaguered and desperate, they had arisen
Millions now sealed in an dilapidated prison
and still their homes and land being forcibly stolen
These unfortunate wretched people
The world has left alone and broken
Your logic, “the invaded should sit and take it,
We are justified to kill and maim as we see fit,
Slay all who oppose us, scare them straight,
How dare they fight for liberty,
They should just accept their fate,
If to the occupation they don’t submit,
Stamp them into the ground, defiance we can’t permit”
The women, the children, the men, and the old
All a viable target, a fictional tale can later be told”
What can be done? Pause. Let go of hate, Just a fraction
Give peace a chance, stop the territorial expansion
Split the land and each to his own
Let go of the loathing, leave each other alone
Just stop the killing, every life is dear
Better to live in peace than in fear
(just my thoughts, your free to disagree)
HUNGER DOES NOT KNOCK: THE BLIND SILENCE OF LIFE WE SHARE
The raga muffins,
invisibly stood there;
lone tears wrapping
themselves around
his frail heart:-
Blue skies had lost
their luster—gone dark—
like clothes of those who
who had to mourn the blessed
children they had borne and lost:-
You see, hunger does not knock—
just bellies in—whirling through empty spaces
like winds leaching cracks in an abandoned barn
of rotting crops from barren fields no lower sown:-
Yes, many try to imprison themselves in sleep
to delay the storming hunger pangs—
seeing that dark abysmal realm—to fill
their vacuous, abdominal-plowed rows:-
No, old hunger does not knock—
through the cracks of life—it seeps in
like sun rays through poorly shaded panes:-
Hey, for hunger, each day is an audacious dare;
knowing that its life grows invisible to those
who say they really care and want to help.
In awareness, hunger
does not knock;
just boldly creeps
right in, and demand
its agonistic share:-
Within its soul, life
and death still struggle;
aware that suicide
is one of the greatest sins—
Only the Master
must decide who and when:-
In this blessed, reaping land
of the plenty that God has given us,
starvation must not be treated
as if it were a sin of hungry souls:
Minds, bodies, and spirits, withering:
Many cleaning fridges of wasted food:-
All seasons are healthful,
but we can succumb
of so much love before
summer heat...
We can let ourselves be contaminated
by the discouragement of autumn and
become tired of idyll...
But we can gather bones
and feelings to warm up
the winter cold...
We must not exhaust ourselves
by the immeasurable pleasures
of spring...
We can live in luxury
all seasons...
We can preserve the gift
of each and do
the balance...
It's the ultimate in life
that we should learn... !
You see the ones obsessed with race,
these days they’re as common as fleas,
convincing themselves that pigment
makes you all that you’ll ever be.
That something as dumb as color
defines the person you become,
that your morals are due to skin,
determines good and evil ones,
that color A is oppressive,
should feel bad because they exist,
while B and C cannot be wrong,
seriously, how racist is this?
They do the same things Jim Crow did,
wanting separate spots for each ‘race,’
this cult brought back segregation,
just swapping who is in what place,
the evil still remains the same,
and when their racism is called
they claim that you’re the racist one
for wanting one standard for all!
Point out that culture and worldview
are what truly affect a man,
they’ll claim culture is tied to race,
then revel in claiming they’re damned.
Point out that eye or hair color
does not determine what’s within,
they’ll ignore the clear parallel,
insist that it’s different with skin.
Point out there’s no such thing as race,
that most black people are part white,
that they’re own damned criteria
does not hold up at merest sight,
and they’ll bring back the One-Drop Rule
to put you where they want you to be,
then assign sin based on that fact
as if you don’t have will that’s free.
All to hide from their own failings,
racism seems less difficult,
they spit on Martin Luther King,
this execrable C.R.T. cult.
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.