Long Ensnare Poems
Long Ensnare Poems. Below are the most popular long Ensnare by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ensnare poems by poem length and keyword.
Nestled under blankets,
the gentle whirring sound
soothes the savage beast
within mine body electric
of one generic, opportunistic,
and wholistic garden variety man.
Within blink of closed eye
yours truly transported
into the realm of deep sleep
benumbed to reality as unconscious guy
experiencing dynamic vivid dreams
courtesy Fluoxetine Hcl
(C17H18F3NO·HCl)
known as Selective
Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI),
especially prescribed to treat
depression, panic disorder,
and obsessive-compulsive disorder.
Holmes tower fan whooshing air
analogous to sonogram (ultrasound)
infiltrates slumbering snorer (me)
best not to awaken papa bear,
cuz he will roar loud and clear
disrupted sleep upends ability to function
no joking psyche riddled
with profound anxiety and despair
subsequent havoc wrought
on par whereby mailer daemons ensnare
co opting, conquering,
and compromising blissful state
deadened head reveling
within private webbed world
regarding unscripted drama deep inside
temporal lobe of brain,
the hippocampus might conjure
time traveling circa Renaissance faire
wordsmith metaphorically possessed
remonstrated by fire breathing dragon
evidenced fiery breathing
affect nostrils to snort and flare
awoke from necessary dreams,
I would angrily glare
frightfully enough to induce goosebumps,
and raise every small hair
along spine uncontrollable fury
communicating shattered functionality
essentially rude awakening would impair
ability to experience joie de vivre.
Debilitating panic attack invariably triggered
similar to Tonga underwater volcano
eruption January 15th, 2022
constituting physiological displeasures
chiefly vertigo, racing heart, nausea,
excessive perspiration, adrenaline
coursing thru body,
whereby Prozac (brand name regarding
aforementioned synthesized chemical)
ameliorated unbearable,
unmanageable, untenable...
earth-shaking, devastating,
and crushing manifestations
disabling, exhausting, hijacking,
jackknifing, sabotaging, and wrecking
life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.
Kickstarting psychological equilibrium
linkedin with savoring at least bajillion winks
else sixty plus shades of gray matter methinks
knotted courtesy cerebral gordian knotted kinks
yours truly feels discombobulated
teetering and tottering atop brinks
of figurative precipice.
In the world of deep shadows and lights torn by time,
where every thought and inspiration twirls in the silence of the abyss,
the creative being, a unique entity from the fragile weave of humanity,
detaches from the canvas of societal pressures that ensnare the others.
She, the eternal seeker of truth hidden in the folds of consciousness,
steps beyond the boundaries of conformity, questions what we accept without doubt,
for there, in the lights filtered by doubt, lie the roots of revelation.
In the silent hours of the morning, in the whirlwinds of nocturnal thoughts,
she feels liberated from the burden of uniformity.
embracing the misunderstood fragments of a world forgotten by the monotony of life.
The inner ocean of melancholy dances with enigmatic pleasure,
where every wave of inspiration travels without fear, without hindrances,
and there, in the depths of the soul, she finds the words bearing magic.
The others, caught in the routine of the common narrative,
cannot perceive the sacred fire burning in the heart of the creator.
He, the liberator of dreams and the unseen,
carves his path through the dense forest of preconceptions,
looking beyond the ramifications of the obvious, towards the roots of the universe.
Every passage through the darkness of the unknown
is a return to the pure essence of existence.
The rustle of the world and its turmoils become just a background song,
their charm disappearing in the echoes of a disenchanted mind.
Because in the heart of creation lies a vast universe
where every pulse, every breath, is a call to the infinite.
The whispers of truth sneak through the cracks of reality,
and the creative soul, open and vulnerable, becomes a portal of discovery.
He, the artist, the poet, the philosopher, embraces the shadows as old friends,
exploring the darkness not as an adversary, but as part of the journey.
In this flow of consciousness, in the delicate weave of feeling,
he finds freedom, a lyrical dance between light and shadow.
And perhaps, one day, the others will look through his eyes,
and will understand that true magic lies not in conquering the world,
but in the profound exploration of one’s own self, liberated and authentic,
in a universe of limitless creation and an infinite inner landscape.
I'm locked up how is it even possible to go lock down? But like clock work or a slave in debt to a master I do. Not because I choice to, but because I have no choice. Either lock down or deal with the boot squad, which consist of twenty guards all built like they just step off of the set the hit movie 300 Rise of an Empire. This a few months back would have configured a difficult challenge for me, being I've always had authority issues, or been an issue for authority..... one or the other. Behind these evil walls the outside rules do not apply. For starters you can be who ever you want to be here, no one is going check your resume or say otherwise. I've never been in a place where approximately 80% of the population was professional MMA fighters. Not to mention we over crowded. So a population that was supposed to be 1500 was more like 2000, meaning people sleeping on floors. Yes Hundreds on a hard concrete floor. Still the here are different, so of course naturally no one cares, because to Them, Them being our keepers, we are just animals and so we are treated as such. We are told when to wake, when to sleep, when to feed. Dogs have more freedom, but its justified because we are behind theses evil walls and well the rules here are different. Here Them are Gods and we, the worthless animals, I'm sorry criminals are nothing, but mere, well Nothing. Behind these evil walls we are trained how to be worst then we are originally we are mixed in with the worst kinds of people in order to ensnare us into bonding and conspiring amongst one another only to caught once again and return to the place which in fact made us what we are at that very moment in time. But only the weak at Heart Fall for this ploy. Us who Never forgot who we were, or by some act of God somehow find ourselves behind these walls, we vow never to return, never to darken these stairwells again, but that's what probation and things like parole are for, to ensure that we do but THEM they know the ones they can break. Not me I hate these Walls. These walls are a constant reminder of everything I Hate about control and Authority. I will never return not even to visit, because every time you are there its like a relapse, the next time is so much easier.
Jaded Dragon
Beneath the silver glow of a liner gentle light,
A lone figure treads through
Whisperwood'endless night.
Through tangled vines and ancient trees he roams,
His footsteps hushed by nature's muffled drums.
When suddenly, a flash of jade catches sight,
Guiding him toward secrets cloaked in twilight.
His heart pounded fierce, primal dread unfurling wings within his breast, yet he paused, transfixed by emerald fire burning bright against the gloom. Those eyes-oh, those eyes!-held him enthralled, twin lanterns illuminating am ageless sorrow and untold mysteries swirling in their depths.
Against his will, he found himself ensnared,
Drawn to the dragon's gaze, a siren's glare.
Fear melted away, replaced by curiosity,
As he stepped closer, pulse racing wildly.
Emerald flames flickered in the moonlight pale,
Reflecting ages untold in those windows to her soul.
With scales like polished jade and eyes that pierce the night,
Thou dost command my feet to draw ever near.
Through wisdom bids me flee from thy sight,
I find myself ensnared, unable to retreat.
I am Draconis Harperantrix, last of my kind, banished long ago to dwell in shadowed realms,
"Many moons have passed since I last beheld the light of day, handsome stranger. Too long have I dwelled alone, haunted by memories of happier times turned to ashes."
"Why seekest thou my lair, bold mortal man?
Hast fate entwined our paths in ways unforeseen?
Or dost mine eyes ensnare thee, like a lure cast wide,
Drawing thee ever closer, to my side?"
"My heart doth yearn to trust in thine intent,
Yet fear doth grip me tight, lest 'tis mere fleeting bent.
Too often have I seen compassion turn to scorn,
When mortals learn the truth of my eternal morn."
But in thine eyes, I see a light unfeigned,
A pure compassion that doth make my spirit wane.
Perhaps 'tis destiny that hath brought us thus,
Two lost souls seeking solace, bound by an unseen thread.
So let's seize thus chance, this slender thread of hope,
To heal our shattered halves and lay our burden down.
"For in each other's presence, we shall find,
A balm for wounds time left upon us.
So let us dare unfold thus story,
Hand in hand, face whatever lies beyond compare."
Beauty is in the keen eyes,
Not in the clear blue skies;
Clouds that twirl in shape,
Or forest greens that drape;
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
The flowers of colours rare
Will make the sights ensnare
You in their fragrant embrace
Of soft petals and curly face
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it
Men are blind, how to cherish beauty,
Even if everything they own is pretty;
Nothing will be there to see, or enjoy
Leading to happiness, delight, or joy;
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
The melodious nightingale singing
And the insects, in dusk, chirping;
Together, give us music so unique,
An atmosphere infinitely mystique;
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
We see, but in essence, we are blind,
The little things that we seldom find;
Better it is that we close our eyes,
To open our mind, and fully realise;
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
Gone are the golden days of yore,
We had time to enjoy to the core;
To look at sights, watch, and gaze,
At things that spontaneously amaze;
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
The human intellect is unquestionable,
But, never our character that is fallible;
We love destroying the things we have,
In irrational quest for what we don’t have;
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
Nothing ever seems to be right,
Except the times when we fight;
What more have we turned into,
With an eye on political power too;
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
Can we become humans again,
To work for humanity, not gain;
To make this world a better society,
To maintain peace, and our sanity;
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
To live a worthy life, fear not ignoble death,
When the time is near, cling not to wealth
We entered this world sans a stitch on us
We shall leave it amidst things worthless
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
Men who spread evil, hatred on Earth,
Never will find solace a penny’s worth;
Those who scheme to spread dissent,
Will, however fail, in the end repent;
Life is beautiful, if only we have the eyes for it.
mbfarookh
Wings flutter
off in the distance
as I shuffle through these stones,
tasting the energy trapped in each,
scouring my lands
for my lost crystal,
that which can mend
what I’ve torn asunder.
In frustration
I abandon my quest,
deciding to find
my feathery deity,
the wind carries her scent to me
and I head Northeast,
diving through brush
and dodging trees
like only a Lycan may.
She must have picked up on my intentions
for I sense her
heading towards me
so I veer more northward,
there’s a place I know.
As I draw near
you can hear water
cascading off rocks,
when I arrive the moon is up,
clouds curled beneath it
as if it were a white pearl
resting on gray cushions,
to the right
the beginnings of a river
being fed by the waterfall,
about 80’ tall
careening off the three
stone outcroppings
and filling the air in the clearing
with a fine mist,
the left is ringed
by long needled pines
which have supplied the ground
with a soft cushion.
My winged beauty
lands on the third outcropping
whipping her hair back
under the waterfall’s edge.
I sprint to the water’s shore
and leap to the first,
as my claws connect
bound to the second,
paws touching
then legs thrust me
to the third
where I bring myself erect,
better to ensnare my love
within my arms.
As I bring her close to me
she raises her left hand up
and caresses my muzzle and cheek
with her claws,
I bend downward
and gently
sink my teeth
into the side of her neck,
she springs off the precipice ,
me entwined,
and glides down to the pine needle bed.
As we land
she pushes herself up,
drags her right claw
down my chest
and leans in to drink.
I drag one nail along
each shoulder blade
and let her blood
drip down on me
while I lick my claws clean.
After hours
she crashes down
into my chest,
exhaustion settling in.
I cup my hand around the back of her head,
hair entwined
in my fingers
and as she uses her wings
to blanket us
we drift off
into a pleasant slumber
while the stars blink at us
and the night creatures
serenade us with their calls.
I've always yearned to be free,
Free in my mind,
Free in my soul,
Free in my heart,
Just free.
I remember a moment in Venice,
Strolling along,
Sun setting,
In the distance, people dancing,
Music playing,
Those people were free.
I found myself drifting away,
Towards the crowd,
And I joined,
Arms open, dancing,
Just dancing,
Eyes closed,
Moving my body in pure freedom.
I was free,
Soaring higher into the sky,
With the birds,
Lost within myself,
Carefree,
Just free.
I want to be free,
I want my mind to explore the unknown,
I don't want to sink into a comatose state,
But that's what they expect,
Quiet,
Calm,
Afraid of my thoughts,
Afraid of my freedom,
What are they afraid of?
The fear of being free,
I'm trapped.
I find myself craving solitude,
My words don't connect,
I'm confused,
My dreams are vivid,
They wake me at night, and I fear sleep,
My dreams trouble me,
What's their purpose?
Who am I?
I'm asking myself that question again,
Who am I?
I am Paul,
Or at least, a different version of myself,
I hover somewhere, searching for myself,
Striving to be the free, peaceful person I once was,
My thoughts are draining me,
I want to soar again.
It's been nearly six years,
I went from riches to rags,
I had everything I ever wanted,
Now, I want something else,
But what is it?
How do I find it?
By returning to the world of men?
I don't want that,
I need to get lost once more,
I want to find myself,
But I'm married,
And I have responsibilities to others,
But what about my responsibility to me?
I come first,
But if I put myself first, others are upset,
I have to please everyone,
I have to wear a smile when I'm sad,
I have to be happy when I'm not,
I have to shower when I want to retreat within myself,
I need to be free,
Something to free my mind.
But now I have to work,
More responsibilities I don't desire,
I want to take care of only myself,
Am I selfish?
Sometimes I am, and I believe it's okay,
Why wouldn't it be?
The essence of life is freedom,
Freedom from the trappings of mankind,
Freedom from people,
I want to be alone,
Without the drugs that ensnare me
~ Pauly G
In Dickensian time
Upon sunset hour
Overshadowing Thames
Is London Tower
Blackened cobble streets
Shimmer in the rain
Big Ben at Westminster
Chimes an eight bells refrain
At Euston Station
A passenger alights
On Platform 3
And enters the caff
for a nice cup of tea
At the local tavern
Behind steamy windows
The opportunists sit
Gleaning local gossip
Ever watchful to ensnare
Any hapless stranger
come wandering there
Covent Garden
still well lit
As lamplighters
carry out their remit
Striding with ladders
about old London town
With a cheery wave
and a purposeful frown
Patrolling policemen
in forbidding places
Echoing footfalls
as boots make paces
A courting couple shelters
under the arches
Oblivious to passerby's
and dray cart horses
A hackney driver cracks his whip
As high stepping hooves
on cobbles clip
From Westminster
stove pipe hatted M.P.s from
parliament sitting
enter a members club
to continue their
political discourses
unremitting
Mudlark urchins ankle deep
in moonshine glow
watch chugging steam boats
along the Thames flow
Billingsgate Market's
straw boated and
stripe aproned men
are found sluicing
with brooms in hand
the blood drenched ground
Along the West End thoroughfares
Come wealthy patrons
in open carriages with lantern flares
wearing evening attire
Bejewelled ladies in fanciful frocks
And around bare shoulders
Stoles of mink and silver fox
They ascend the red carpeted stairs
And look towards the royal box
A pretty young street seller
of violets and roses
with straw basket on hip
proffers up the scented poses
A peasouper fog blankets from
Thames to chimney tops
As a trader hooks his shutters down
Outside his haberdashery shop
Across London Bridge the East End rabble
Trail homeward to Hackney, Bethnal Green
and Whitechapel
From an open pub door
streams a music hall tune
played on an accordion
in a crowded tap room
Wending amongst the walkers
in the Strand
run beggarly children
with outstretched hand.
And......
Charles Dickens
walks the streets
at night
taking note
of every sight.
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring morin 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring mor'n 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.