Long Endings Poems
Long Endings Poems. Below are the most popular long Endings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Endings poems by poem length and keyword.
she comes in the night
cloaked in frost and snow,
quiet as a breath held too long,
stripping the leaves from the trees
with the same tenderness as a lover’s goodbye,
painting the world in shades of blue
like an old memory that won't fade.
she is my handmaiden,
the messenger of cold,
harbinger of endings,
but i am not afraid.
i've learned to welcome her,
to feel her icy touch against my skin
as a reminder of everything that must pass.
with every caress,
a flower wilts,
a bird falls silent,
and people huddle close,
seeking warmth and comfort
in the flicker of firelight.
but in her cold, i find beauty—
a kind of peace that feels more real
than the warmth i seek.
in her breath, i hear stories
of things long lost,
of battles fought on frozen fields
where no one wins,
of lovers whose names time has erased.
her whispers hold them all.
as she moves through me,
leaving frost in her wake,
i am reminded
that nothing stays.
all things must end—
and so, i hold her close,
my handmaiden,
dancing through the night with her
until spring comes
to claim me once again.
PART 1: THE FREE VERSE (PENSIVE NARRATIVE STORYTELLING)
The clock is a slow pendulum
of dust,
chopping the midnight into
thin, useless slices.
I sit with a handful of
discarded beginnings,
watching the ink pool like oil
on water.
We spend our lives trying to
outrun the endings,
building scaffolds out of
syntax and breath,
hoping the spine of a book
will hold up the sky.
Outside my window, a single
streetlight cuts the fog,
illuminating nothing but its
own small circle of grit-
much like memory, I suppose.
We only ever see the parts
that hurt enough to glow.
I am searching for the exact
syllable,
that can carry the weight of
an old man's sigh,
when he realizes his children
have forgotten his voice.
But the page remains a stubborn
winter field,
and my pen is just a rusted
plow,
scraping against frozen
stones,
waiting for a thaw that might
never arrive.
PART 2: THE SONNET (REFLECTING ON THE NARRATIVE)
The old book lies upon the
table, torn,
A heavy sigh escapes the
fading night.
Through quiet rooms a lonely
ghost is born,
To watch the shadows
swallow up the light.
The pages turn to show a
forgotten past,
Where broken words remain
inside the ink.
We built a fortress made of
glass to last,
But stood too close to
danger on the brink.
Now silence falls across the
dusty floor,
The narrative is finished, line
by line.
No hand will come to knock
upon the door,
No golden sun will ever
choose to shine.
The final chapter ends
without a sound,
And heavy grief is buried in
the ground.
Sometimes I hate seeing pictures of myself when I was younger. Baby pictures, homecoming photos, the embarrassing high school Facebook selfies. The nostalgia is there, sure. But when I look at that girl, sometimes I don’t recognize her. I don’t feel any true connection to BEING her. But I do envy her. It’s not like I hadn’t experienced pain and heartbreak yet. I was born into trauma, so I’m not sure there was ever a time when heartbreak wasn’t my rain cloud. It’s always been there. No, I think I envy her because she’d experienced pain and tragedy but she didn’t fully understand it yet. She thought she did. But she also thought she’d dance again. She thought her first love would sweep her off her feet and never let her touch the ground again. She thought stars never burnt out and that there were always happy endings. She thought the sun always eventually came out from behind the clouds. She thought men respected the word “no” and mothers came home to their babies. She had naivety disguised in her heart as hope. Optimism. She saw the world in color. She never dreamt that she could lose that outlook on life. But she will. In just a few years, she’ll feel that hope fade. I wish I could go back and hold her. But I wouldn’t tell her. I wouldn’t tell her that her first love uses and abuses her. I wouldn’t tell her that addiction takes over her little brother too. The only person who truly understands her pain on a personal level. I wouldn’t tell her that her mind and body are hiding secrets from her to protect her from the trauma those memories will awaken. I wouldn’t tell her that mom doesn’t show up to do her hair for homecoming or even to see her graduate. I wouldn’t tell her that the burn from the trauma only gets worse. I wouldn’t tell her that the rainbow doesn’t always come after the storm. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t take that from her. I would let her keep that mirage of eternal optimism for as long as she could grasp it. I wouldn’t tell her that we don’t see the world in color anymore.
What can the heart do?
when one falls in love with someone?
Who can predict where
one would fall in love with someone?
The conventions of the world are like long fortified walls.
Oh.. nothing is in your hands julie, nor in mine.
Love is all around you,
Love is knocking on your door,
Love is sweet emotion,
Love is holding, love is feeling,
love is helping someone,
Love is healing, love is feeling you…
Just like rain clouds lean on mountains.
just like waves rise out of seas.
Such is the way a glance stops at a face.
Not even all the decrees of the world.
stop the eyes from meeting with each other.
Oh.. nothing is in your hands julie, nor in mine.
Come let me forget everybody in your memory.
Remake the world in your beautiful pious image.
Would show you the insides of my heart if i could.
Your love rushes within me,runs with the blood in every vein…
Oh.. nothing is in your hands julie, nor in mine.
What can the heart do
when one falls in love with someone?
Who can predict where one would fall in love with someone?
Distance means nothing when someone means everything.
True love is selfless.
True love stories never have endings. If you promise to be mine,I will wait here for you all my life And holds your hands till the last breath of my real life being as an everlasting true life partners.
By Miss Aliza Kashmala Kiran.
From the mothers womb
She fell like a bomb
A child of love
Yet her mother would run
Alone in the world
No tit to suckle
No warmth to give her tears a hug
A babies sadness, death at birth
A world with no sound
A world with no taste
Is an infant’s world with no love
Abandoned to the fate of cold hearts
Growing, with no warmth of love
The mind grows strong
The heart longs for such strength
Lonely roads with sad endings
Her music is only of desires
Her desires are empty dreams
Her dreams bring tears
No solace to be found
She wanders to the lakes edge
Staring into her future
With such calmness
She walks, submerged in coldness
A cold cold heart
Sitting silently here
and listening to you
thinking to myself
what I wish you knew
of how different your life
could actually be
if you would only
listen to me!
When I tell you
what I wish you knew
how much better you'd feel
if I could break through
But you're caught in a cycle
you keep spinning 'round
and I'm trying to pull you out
before you drown
in all your emotions
all this guilt not your own
exaggerated, dramatic
and over-blown
You are used like a puppet
like a toy on their strings
so abused and exploited
for their own selfish things
that it feels overwhelming
too complicated to comprehend-
and you're much too frustrated
too exhausted to pretend
that you believe anymore
in those fairy tale endings
holding on to your sadness
depression defending
What I wish you knew
what I wish you could see
How I was like you
how I came to be free...
How I stopped taking blame
for another one's shame
How I firmly took hold
of the things I control
How I recognized the difference
and let the rest go!
I wait for the rain,
So it may express what I never could.
—And when it falls, I want it to pour relentlessly,
To match the depth of my devastation.
Though it can't last forever—
Somehow I want my devastation to fade away;
Like rain sometimes does.
I want my heartache to change like seasons do,
I need to know what—spring, summer, autumn, and winter feel like.
I want spring to express how my heart blooms like a flower.
—Summer to reflect my sunshiny life
And Autumn to embody my life crises crumbling piece-by-piece, like dead leaves.
At last, winter to express the quiet beauty of endings—cold, silent, yet breathtaking in its stillness.
—Beloved
—What a tragedy, My life has never been as beautiful as all these seasons~
Updraft
by Odin Roark
He sees the journey endless
Yet knows well of endings
He senses the other side of heart
That way station of life
Where respite or more challenge
Follows getting beyond
Yesterday’s beauty and pleasure
Perplexed with what to do
He rejects conceding as not enough
After all
Who will hear the melodies
Blood’s ebb and tide ripples
See rainbow vibrations
Atop a sparrow’s whistling breeze
Smell the freedom of flowers
Opening by dawn’s fraternal light
Taste longevity’s savory consciousness
Touch anxious brush-strokes of dreams
Still seeking canvas?
Restless
Aware the final movement
Of life’s symphony inexorable
His spirit soars above the clouds
Not yet willing to embrace
Dead air’s finality
Patience smiles
Another updraft rises
Here’s to each other and our fathers and mothers,
Children, family and friends;
All those among us and others departed
Whom we all hope to meet someday again.
Here’s to our homes and places we’ve roamed
And memories we’ve made ’long the way;
To our losses and gains, joys and pains
And the dawn of each new coming day.
Here’s to our faith in God above
Whose mercy and love prevails;
In stardust and light and dreams in the night
And the wind that billows soft sails.
To our different conceptions, thoughts and reflections
On religion, faith and war;
Apologies for sins of past mistakes
And the hope for good things that endure.
To me and you, sky azure blue
And stars beyond our reach;
To oceans wide and trains we ride
Holding babies fast asleep.
Here’s to football, laughter and smiles
And love like a fairytale dream;
A full moon shining in a summer night sky
Walking barefoot in the sand by the sea.
And lastly, to tomorrow and forgetting old sorrows
And making new ties that last;
The transition of endings to new beginnings
And all that we learn from the past.
Confronting a cacophony of lies,
thoughts of love are silently laid to rest.
And buried in a tomb of quietus,
wrapped in a shroud of tears, at Hope's request.
Within a mute rhapsody of silence,
a mournful sigh escapes my lonely heart.
And an eternity of teardrops fall;
tethered to dreams drifting slowly apart.
At the bottom of a self-pity pit,
faint traces of trust slowly fade away.
But love is a never-ending story,
and happy endings play out every day.
I'll never stop searching for my soulmate;
knowing my soulmate is searching for me.
For I believe, soulmates are eternal,
and time will always find both lock and key.