Long Entombs Poems
Long Entombs Poems. Below are the most popular long Entombs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Entombs poems by poem length and keyword.
Annihilated by a Poet who uses the Extreme Metaphorical Weapons for diabolical Destruction.
Pulverized by the Flow Of It, a Beam that's Historical, Deafens your motor skills so you are no longer able to articulate and correctly Function.
My mastery is Malevolent, my Intentions become Clear as I Recite my words, while whispering Incantations Directly into your Ear.
I cast onto thee a Remnant, words Mentions sinisterly Fear, I'll Ignite mysteries of Damnations Correctly and immensely Clear.
As so the Horrors of the Abhorrent Consumes every Thought, every Sensation Becomes horrifying and Utterly Unbearable.
Covered in Sores, Torrents Entombs this Plot, the Invasion Benumbs adorning Stuttering that you find absolutely Terrible.
releasing me - of minutes, hours, days - of being bored,
as age creeps into my bed, and what is left, is in my head
- providing nourishment for my soul – my spirit being fed
by looking glass images, images that slip through the crack
in my day dreams, my nightmares as my brain, I rack
for images, memories, experiences - that lay dormant in a stack
upon stacks - waiting to escape the boarded up shack
that has been the villages claim to justify its existence.
The grounds, the foundations, reasons to take a stance
and say yes, yes there where days when I knew romance
and as ever the fool, no one around to kick me in the pants
as all has become history, – fourteen thousand pages – turn a leaf
and you will find that this one’s life is far to empty, far to brief.
In it – between the covers of seventy-eight – can there be any relief
from all that has been laid before you ?, can there be belief ?,
in what is before your eyes, as you look into what is laid before
you, as I reach in, grab at, touch that slow closing door
with hope that it will be possible to get a glimpse of more
before my soul, my spirit, my essence takes wing, begins to soar
beyond this plane, all the pain I have known before.
In here – these lines – I feel the loss.
Upon this stone – know – I see no moss,
for on here, I offer no direction,
just many hours of histories reflection.
Empty- I feel in this alone place.
Emptiness - I see in this aged drooping face.
Where is ?, that I might seek to go ?,
to gain wisdom, to learn what I do not know
of a world of spirit, of soul, of a fine mind.
It seems to me, little hope to find
- among humanity – the true essence of woman kind
as she entombs all- such waste – leaving all behind.
Oh !, if only the fickle hand of fate
could lay upon these drooping shoulders, in these arms, a mate
that in ones darkest hours, a soft glowing light, shine
upon this old soul and in the light of day be mine
that would share on a world , not to compare
with anything like my world of despair.
The hour has passed, the rest are in decline.
The minutes that remain – with stain, are mine.
There is little I see, that will make life fine,
for the ephemeral time left to me, little will shine
through as I look into the black, storm cloud ahead
that rage, stage battles, assassinate instead
I'm lost in an unforgiving jungle!
The trail I'm following is sporadic and confusing
and as the undergrowth closes in, it's suffocating;
making it nearly impossible to breathe.
The high humidity leaves me drenched in sweat:
the heat is unbearable, my every muscle screams.
Panic is spreading!
Chills creep up my spine,
and I taste fear's bitter dregs on my tongue:
as its pungent odor wafts from every pore.
Like a mantra, I keep repeating a desperate prayer:
"Please, God, save me."
The ground under my feet feels spongy,
and I hear the rustle of hidden terrors in the leaf debris.
Whatever possessed me to attempt this hike?
As darkness descends, the dense canopy entombs me.
My face is a scarlet mask of scratches:
and acid tears burn my cheeks!
The pounding beat of my heart is overpowering:
and I collapse into a sobbing heap.
Fear stalks my dreams in an exhaustive sleep;
unsure if I'll ever awaken:
or even wish to.
young people all across this country
(The United States Of America),
this middle aged papa doth adore
stand arm against
pervasive arms that didst bore
un-necessary slain school students
robbing society of core
as unwitting targets,
sans vibrant youths
forever snatched to enter door
of homes, where loving
kith and kin no longer behold
a cherished biological product
lowered six feet under into cold
terra firmae, where Mother Earth
entombs the fruits
(ripened to their prime), now...en fold
did taken down by random bullets, which gold
din precious person murdered,
where maniacal gunman didst hold
down the trigger, which high powered weapon
loosed asper indiscriminate aim
mass destruction
of sons and/or daughters killed fired,
whence slug didst claim
another abhorrent statistic
from easy access snatching a darling dame
or handsome lad, while soundless horror
many a countenance
doth non verbally exclaim
the profound sadness,
now murdered offspring
solely enshrined within picture frame
where sorry lost life haint no board game
yet, random dice throw
courtesy of second amendment
fuels American's passion
asper right to bear arms, particularly re: cent
spate of wanton mounting killed
(within storied halls of academia)
spurred many well organized national event
reached a tipping point,
where lock, stock and barrel deadly age gent
brought together this day
(March 24 th, 2018), an immense crowd
staged across America within major metropolitan areas
(from sea to shining sea) with actions loud
her than words,
suffusing this older dada to feel proud
unsure if thine eldest progeny joined
the Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
swell organized protests, which wowed!
Bleeding behind a crimson-colored cloud,
a scarlet sun tints Dusk; cerise and pink.
And burgundy, entombs Sol like a shroud,
while a dying sun slowly starts to sink
into an abyss of ebony ink:
and the last vestiges of daylight shrink.
Luna, donning a gilded golden crown,
ascends into a vast, star-studded sky.
And diamonds and rubies adorn Her gown
when Mercury, Mars, and Venus rise: high
above the flashing lights of a firefly,
and the shifting shadows scurrying by.
Dawn spills color, inking black-sable skies;
vermillion, purple, indigo, and blue.
And like molten gold, Sol begins to rise;
reflecting pastel shades of every hue
into crystal droplets of morning dew:
while once more, a brand-new day starts anew.
And spun spider webs add a silver sheen:
beautifying Nature's canvas of green.
Autumn shears my weary garden
Yet industrious summer doth pardon
Summer's residual, dusts with frothy mist
My annual saplings fruitful labors desist
Late season gratuities doth slight
Yet graciously freezes rancid blight
My well-manicured plot
Frozen mounds do clot
Branching tendrils secede
Anon, bracketing weeds recede
Each ballasting furrow
Into the ground doth burrow
All the burgeoning blooms
With callous frost entombs
Leaves that did with fertile juices flow
Now lie on shriveled vines sallow
The green, neon afterglow
With a tarnishing brown doth bestow
My ripening fruit once pungent and mellow
With a rotting stench doth bellow
Swarms of flies infest teary eyes,
the untouchables have no worth.
And live and die in the gutters,
shunned by society since birth.
The sick occupy the shadows,
where death entombs these castaways.
For faceless crowds take no notice,
how the lowest-caste end their days.
A woman with a giant heart
felt India's poor were in pain.
And brought them medicine and hope
to shelter them from heat and rain.
She found joy in loving the poor
and shared that joy with all she met.
And lectured that these souls of God,
more than prayers, need our time and sweat.
Mother Teresa begged the rich,
let God touch others through you.
And this angel became a Saint,
to those whose dreams she helped come true.
(Quatrain)
2/18/2017
I am the tundra barren cold and numb
A frozen wasteland where no light can reach
Between these poles, my insatiate self-succumbs.
In icy silence where no whimpers humb
My thoughts like glaciers grind, erode, and breach
I am the tundra, barren, cold, and numb.
The Amazon within once vital thrumb
Of life and hope now withers out of reach
Between these poles my insatiate self-succumbs.
Anxiety a howling blizzard's sumb
Entombs me deep a creature bleached of speech.
I am the tundra, barren, cold, and numb.
Depression creeps permafrost of my slumb
While echoes of lost joy my soul beseech
Between these poles, my insatiate self-succumbs.
Yet in this waste, where all seems overcome
A seed of strength cracks ice defies the leech
I am the tundra, barren, cold, and numb.
Between these poles, my insatiate self-succumbs.
This sudden urge I've come to feel is
rapture at my gate
Not more on sudden than is subtle but
weary of this spate
Thoughts of dreams, realities obscene
and too depraved
Quite more on nightmares than dwelt
dreams yet dark and highly craved
Consumes my mind on vulture plains
devouring to ensnare
Despising law and hearts thereof
perpetuating air
Loosed in my twisted reasoning twisted
as in psycho strange
To understand this feeling you need feel
as do the crazed.
Constituting heart is a melody of nature
but as I hear it playing is my symphony in
gesture
As the organ sounds flows the flood of
tainted scarlet.
Leaving all but dense perfume and a taste
of cupcake velvet.
This wretched place I know is my bound
while I am bleeding
Not much bleeding as in breathing but
nonetheless demeaning
This occupation begs by night, entombs
me and enslaves
Preoccupying binding shadows, darkness
is my subtle crave
In my nightly tryst upon my bed
in dreams cupids arrow takes its flight
with the chilling visions in my head
memories long ago with in the night
Of nights where I dwell in marbled halls
and ancient ornate rugs bedeck the floors
and tapestries do cover all the walls
and molding gilded gold upon her doors
Upon the stairs in running I take flight
and fear is chiseled upon my mortal bones
men have entered with weapons in the night
and behind I hear the screams and groans
Or nights I float through homes of glass
and beneath I watch the waters silvery flows
overhead the clouds of copper pass
and in the greenhouse fruit aplenty grows
Or dwell I in a home thats not my own
and out step I to see the vanishing sun
a maleviolent cloud proceeds to its dome
and clothed in black becomes our earthly home
Or wearing robes of white I cast my crown
laying prostrate with my face to ground
knowing I am not worthy of the gown
or the love within that I have found
In vision I see the man I love
and yet the book of truth unwrapped
though his fit is like a glove
I run as always I'm feeling strapped
within the dreams is cast our loves and fears
and the toil of thought we daily task
entombs the memories of our years
and the wine within it's earthly flask
Job 7:14 & 33:14-19 Ecc. 5:3 Daniel 2:19-23
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller