Long Erosion Poems
Long Erosion Poems. Below are the most popular long Erosion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Erosion poems by poem length and keyword.
Attorney Sara,
There are nights when the hush of the world is so deep I can hear the stars murmur to one another, and I think of you.
You are all I have—not in some desperate cry, but in a sacred truth.
You are grace when I stumble, beauty when I close my eyes, and light when even the sun forgets its way.
I speak not just of you as a soul, but as the spirit of all things I once loved: the mountain breathing clouds, the river murmuring of memory, the trees heavy with summer's I sigh.
I walk among the living, busy and brittle.
The days are filled with the dull clang of struggle, the quiet erosion of hope, and still I return to you—this image in my heart, not fading.
You, full of vibrant light, remind me that even in tiredness, even in quiet defeat, something eternal watches over me.
Tonight the moon is a pearl in a black sea.
The wind touches my face like the hand of a forgotten god. The battles of the day have vanished into silence, and I am left with the ache of not knowing what I once said.
Truths I carried like lanterns now flicker, dim.
The wick is to short for flame.
And yet I know not why I still cry when I am privileged to see and hear of the choices that govern our life.
But you remain.
You, who are the wild lilac in spring.
The sound of water over smooth stone.
The color green in all its thousand shades.
You are all the things I cannot lose, even when I feel I have lost myself.
Even in confusion, I remember your voice—soft, certain.
I will go on, because you are with me. Because even when the night grows cold, the stars still burn. And you, always, are their echo.
Yours always,
Face Maps
How often we ponder
The portrait of life,
Some without a face,
Some with but war as a canvas.
The experienced face
Reveals folds above eyes,
Disengaged as a draught-laden wilderness,
Yet reliable as an infrequent desert storm.
For amidst nature’s wisdom
Directional signs are forever available,
Even though some may be
Subtle and wanting to hide.
Still,
Few pay attention.
Perfection makes no judgment,
Even as history is difficult to cover up
When presented by a face
That has obviously seen
More than most of us
Can dream of.
Archiving such potential realities
Begs the opening of discovery,
Often challenging one’s patience,
While the forever-our-partner in waiting
Smiles back sagaciously,
Wanting only to be part of one’s smile.
The face
What was,
What is.
Such might attract
Veracious seekers of life,
Accepting their journey
As the worth of engaging years,
Infused with honesty,
Allowing chiseled erosion
To live forever in the eye’s mind
For those who might also
Wish to perceive relief’s valleys.
Mountains,
And tearless tributaries of the face.
Projecting the wonder,
Life,
Peace,
Waiting for the next iteration,
Remains a journal of the spirit .
Some will fortunately
Embrace with understanding,
Knowing weathered landscape
Is but captured wind and weather,
Mind and soul,
Body and suffering,
Wanting only to remain
Without airbrush deceit.
As is,
As was,
As always to be.
Yet…
Others
Will address
One’s life map of travels
With fearful retreat,
Hiding in the shadows of delusion
I have seen it slowly coming,
and I do not know what to do,
a slow but steady erosion
in the world’s average IQ.
It started back in the nineties,
a slow but steady drip since then,
decline in mental fortitude
amongst our women and men.
I’m not talking partisan stuff,
though this doesn’t help with that crap,
I’m looking at evolution,
which never really takes a nap.
Some jolly heretics speak up,
but most others tend to ignore
that our success undermines us,
and this has happened before.
It happened back in ancient Greece,
and it happened to ancient Rome,
when we wipe out all our hardships,
when our struggles are banished, gone,
we find ourselves in a mismatch,
we find ourselves rather bored,
our minds are made to solve problems,
this is a fact we can’t ignore.
Part of us craves security,
and leads us to suppress the fact
that instinct craves volatility,
without it we go off track.
We even stop having children,
when not faced with hardship and death,
lose that urge for immortality
if we know what’s coming next.
The ultimate contradiction,
that in order to really live
we must feel like the end is near,
and without that, we’re bored as sh-t,
losing the age-old impulse to
keep things going and carry on,
we are evolved for the struggle,
and without it things go wrong.
Harder still is it to realize
that the fact we all now survive
leads to growing mutations that
make it harder for us to thrive.
As late as the 1800s
half of us died when we were young,
a thought that’s sobering to me,
since I know I would’ve been one.
And cruel as it may be to think
all that death may have played a role,
weeded out weakness, mutation,
left those who lived stronger as a whole.
But we’ve always been caring types,
and our science ended this trend,
we stopped all this mortality,
and thought things would get better then.
For many decades that seemed true,
but now the data has reversed,
without Darwin’s remorseless hand
the incentives are now adverse.
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Lonely Awaits
This gathering furl of past
Rising from love’s once moist heart
Now but dry sorrow
Lingering stubbornly
Where once its canvas
Of vibrant color
Rainbowed the future
Today only flaking memories small
Drift downward
Joining queues of bygone erosion
Where emotions of stalwart bedrock
Once held firm
Like aging scree
Time continues biting thin
Moving yesterday’s drifts into exile
Chased by fossiled feelings
Once of molten passion
Now but withering dunes
Aimlessly adrift
This expanse of solitary
Whom death made giant of wind
And small as hourglass sand
Whose Sabbath wore Mary Jane shoes
Waxed each Saturday
Polished to reflective mirrors
Paying homage
To steepled Sunday service
Was made to sit upright
Conscious of ruler at the ready
Reciting the ancient book
Whose guilt-motive stories
Promised good girl suppers
To close out Lonely’s black Sunday
Agonized memories past
Seem ever present
Pain’s last remaining stand
Pleads why ghost towns await
Why deserts only preserve such places
From drifting grit of expired time
Like the sand
Lonely awaits another tomorrow
Fractured
Scattered
Clinging to its impoverished identity
Here I am
Lonely mutters each night
Its head buried in nocturnal safety
Unable to forget its childhood fear
Perhaps never to be vanquished
To always be at the mercy
Of wind and tide
Its dreamt upon cheerful voice
Never being heard
Here I am
Here I am
The soul is a still lake, both vast and deep,
A polished glass where kept secrets find sleep.
It mirrors back the waiting, transient sky,
Beneath the surface, silent reasons lie.
No busy ripple breaks the peaceful plane,
No begging want, no worldly loss or gain,
Modest depth, a silence rose the reply,
Reflecting truth to every searching eye.
Within the hidden reeds, a tune unfurls,
The ancient, inner song the spirit hears;
A sleepy hum of water, as it swirls,
That soothes the essence, quiets all the fears.
Transient, deep, harmonic, internal tone,
Twas born in ages past, in realms unknown.
Bliss is the sound when craving starts to cease,
The murmur of a wave that brings release.
So bathe the fears in that soft, hidden stream,
Erosion slow of all the world's harsh glare,
A dulcet splendor, waking from a dream,
Embrace tamed life, in want of vibrant flair.
Gather a semblance of their former source,
Spirits that touch a deep and gleaming care,
Follow the quiet current on its course,
To find what is essential, bright, and rare.
For it is only with the heart one sees,
Not with the eyes that search the outward show.
The answer rests beneath the quiet trees,
In clear, deep water, the promises flow.
The soul keeps reasons for its destined keep,
Reflecting all the heavens, clear and deep.
I Will Always Remember You
Always, your age and memory will stay here
Age, that, what you mean, the unknown time
Of years. Those years. I can’t see. I didn’t see
Age, years, that you mean. That your age means…
Beautiful young missed age. Hmm. No chance.
Far your way. Remember you, someone. Else
Far. From far. From the erosion of my earthly life
You are in my heart. You are in a crystal frame
In your church. In a dark heart. Remembering love
Beautiful your light
Hmm. Beautiful love
Give me, please
Give me your light
From your side
Frome otherside
Be my guardian angel
Loving you, a guy
Was scoolmate
In the past
Give to me your sadness and I will give you joy
that you may know this the gift that our God employ
like the morning dew that lights upon the field
all of your sorrows will to your past be yield
let the light of love be the beauty your heart adorn
the cold and the darkness from your life be torn
be aware that with the gift to calculate the cost
to die unto yourself and impurities be tossed
Oh elusive joy whose flight like bird on wing
where is the happiness that you I hoped to bring
I have sought your face that I might your splendor wear
searching all the hollowed haunts for your loving care
Oh dearth and emptiness where core is desert dry
surround the earth you do and we wonder why
I see mankind starving who do not feed on truth
without the microscope see mans dis-ease as proof
The garments that we wear are the mourners shroud
behind us left the glory the love you us endowed
Oh God of Love to your sanctum would I fly
to escape this godless place wherein we all die
The erosion of our souls where exists such vacancy
that distraction of our minds and our complacency
but we like dogs eat our crumbs fallen from your fare
fear to partake the table you have offered share
like on serpents belly slither in the arid dust
lost we have the tracks of whats true and just
our fields do the curses thorns and thistles bare
our poverty of spirit the clothing that we wear
Oh come God of creation , offered freedom from our plight
dispel the gloom and darkness that exists our night
and slave we do in pain for our crumbs of bread
but what is empty cannot give life unto the dead
So few candles left that give us any light
in our weakened states to keep the laws of love in sight
that the price of love is that our life be shed
drink within pure water and upon your tables spread
this is just the prospect view of humanity as a whole
not as individuals who practice affection as a way of
life , after watching the documentation of the
bombings on Nagasaki and Hiroshima I for a day
felt ashamed to be named "human" the shear horror
of the capacity of mankind to terrorize his kin and
use mass destruction as the excuse for peace...
COPYRIGHT © 2010 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
The surface of the lake, a polished glass, reflects the waiting sky.
Barely a ripple breathes until it passes, begs in want, silence rose the reply.
Hidden reeds where a tune unfurls, a sleepy song of water kisses the stone,
as it was born in the ancient world, a transient, deep, harmonic, and internal tone.
Bliss is the sound that essence hears, soothingly ponders, when there is nothing left to crave;
hence, the slow erosion of all the fears, bathes in the murmur of a hidden wave.
A dulcet splendor embraces the tamed life, in want of a vibrant flare,
while gathering semblances of their former slept source, spirits touch a gleaming care.
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye,
still of that quiet water, so clear, so deep, the soul finds promises it meant to keep, reasons why?
What I see on her face is unknown
a faraway stare with no emotion
as coldness drips from the eyes I've known
they unmask her heart's growing erosion
this day of crumbling comes with no tears
only a reality that's silent
as no one has spoken and no one hears
when treasured days of joy turn to lament
to leave me alone in shadows of dark
where my hands are cupped to hold an empty space
with a pain so deep it will leave a mark
in lonely nights I will never embrace
these hours of sorrow with pictures I own
will leave me with all the memories I've sown
4/16/23
contest Writing Challenge "U" words
sponsor Constance La France
"Unkown"
I dissipate boundaries, eat away the hills
Wipe out your youth, break it down at will
A master of erosion, permanence I do hate
My name is entropy, dictator of all fate
Whatever you build, or creation has made
I’m already within, to make sure order fades
A force of nature, an inescapable truth
Go do the math, I’m in every square root
Encoded into reality, to eradicate design
I’ll randomise the cosmos, given enough time
Before you condemn, I’m life’s antihero
Without my chaos, all sums would total zero
By
David Kavanagh