Long Eternal light Poems
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Greeted by the multi-lit display
draped over the hedges
and the railing of our front porch,
the brilliant lit Christmas tree
winks at us, welcoming us home
from the Christmas Eve Mass.
You settle comfortably in your chair
as I walk into the dining room.
Sitting down, I light the lone candle
on the table and contemplate
its flame, dancing and whirling
in the darkened room.
The flame draws me
into its story.
Its bright yellow light
thinly framed in blue,
speaks to me about
many dark places
penetrated by its light:
caverns and street corners,
vast fields and mighty forests,
tall buildings and small homes,
and the darkest place of all
… the human heart.
The flame tells the story
of a long time ago,
of a world enveloped
in the darkest of nights.
Violence and cruelty,
poverty and pestilence
heaped upon a brutalized,
battered and lost humanity.
In a miserable stable,
its walls and floor painted
in manure and straw,
the dark dank smell of
wet hay, and its livestock denizens
filling the air, there lies
in a feed trough a light more brilliant
than the dancing flame.
The flame of that light
dances in the eyes
of his homeless parents,
his mother who birthed him,
and his proud, protective father.
The light is reflected
in the eyes of the animals
shuffling about in their stalls,
and in the eyes of the shepherds
and the travelers from afar.
My gaze, fixed on the flame,
widens as I detect
other shadowy shapes
around the table.
I sit in communion with
my father and my mother,
my sister and my brother,
their lives, like others,
lived in various degrees
of perfection and imperfection,
drawn to this light whilst alive,
and now in the life beyond,
join with me transfixed
by the light of the candle.
I smile to be once again
in their company, and,
with a nod and a parting glance
their shapes slip back
into the shadows of the room.
Once more alone with the light,
an image forms in my mind,
that eternal light birthed
in Bethlehem so long ago,
which danced in the eyes
of Mary and Joseph,
in the eyes and hearts
of many burdened by the weight
of scandal and shame,
poverty and despair,
which the world was unable
to crush and snuff out,
this light will always be there
to guide and to light me
through the dark corners
of my life yet to be,
to the eternal Christmas awaiting me.
The early morning hour should be dedicated to praise: do not the birds set us the example? ~ Charles Spurgeon
Words won’t come on those days
When light fades into the song, the longing
A silent ache, penetrating the stories
The feelings, the lasting praise who restores
A gentle joy, leading my soul to grace
Where I’ll learn to listen to the wonder,
The music of unending faith, eternal light…
Poured out on those who know His life,
His gift to all mankind…
Words won’t come on those days
When grief stills the blazing fires, wings
Smothered by a darkness, a gray
Melancholic trembling on the edge of winds
Shattering the stillness, the winsome beauty
Of a light who remembers who He is,
Why He came – why He is the answer
For every heart, every soul, every spirit
Who needs the beauty that comes to those
Who hear Him, feel Him, believe Him…
Life assured by the only One who can save
From the desperation of the past,
The sins that darken with their black,
The worries that find a way to dread,
The grief that feels so overcast with shame…
Words won’t come on those days
When His story remembers the ways
He silenced the mountains, built hope that lasts,
Told hearts of a moment when He would pass
From life to death – from death to life,
When love would restore hope and faith,
When love would shine its light, amazing grace!
Words won’t come on those days
When there is more reason to be thankful,
Than a heart can possibly uncover,
More reason to praise our precious Savior
Than we can possibly divulge…
He is worthy of all the love we can give,
All the gratitude that we can present,
All the music our souls can arrange,
All the praise that our hearts can comprise,
All the prayer that our spirits can compile,
All the love that comes to life…
Because He is the light, the love, the life
He is the One who made hearts right
Because He lived and because He died,
But especially because He came back to life,
To show the entire world that He’s the sacrifice,
The One who made a way for love to abide
Inside the heart who believes that He is…
Who He says He is…
The King of Kings, the Prince of Peace,
The Lord of Lords… the reason I can see…
Past the darkness – into the light,
Where He promises me that death is not the end,
But, instead, it’s the beginning of eternity with Him!
SUN-BLOCK
Your sunset-sanctioned skin ignite melody to boredom world
Your gently pearling smile charm the attention of morning sun.
Your charmed souls burn in nuclear passion
To absorb the bombardment of your ink
You are the unsolved mystery of existence
By pd
The sunrises 10 feet off the ground
This place carried the eternal light I need for my soul to soar.
Like the clouds every poet brush away my blues with one simple smile
Writing ignited my heartbeat to flicker like a candlewick non-stop.
I hold that piece of puzzle that makes my existence complete
Elegantly you walk, Venus-like
Printing glory-of-gods on excited earth
Holding hostage your admirers' eyes
With your Gabriel-censored attire
You are truly the mystery of existence
By pd
My eyes I keep holding on tight.
Gathering dangerous looks, from every poets eyes.
Striking like a speed of thunder bolt,
I fell weak like an addict to my admires streak of rays'
I'm the piece of puzzle that makes my own existence complete
Oh beautiful empress of poetry soup.
Wake thy muse and shake off the dust of block
Your fans are in inferno hunger of your welded words
Feed us again, your poetic meal that somersault the arrows of critic
For you are the unsolved mystery of existence
By pd
A great source to gather the best light here on the soup.
I found my heart beating like a rush~ spontaneous
Imaging every poem that helps me get lost in the moment
I wrote against and among the best to be like the rest
For I'm that unsolved piece of puzzle that makes my existence complete
You are kinder than nature, more hospitable than mother earth
Man and woman scramble for shelter in your cheerful hearts
For your contest, all thoughts erect pines of words
With rush of the sea storm
P.D. (( Linda )) is the unsolved mystery of existence
By pd
Losing myself to reality, this is not like me to fall into deep.
Times maybe hard, not even a simple song to poet my mind.
The truth is, the sun has blinded me with love, and I have no SUN-BLOCK
Until my instincts tells me otherwise, I will find my way back to all my fans * true or not
I (IRMA~LINDA) am responsible for the happiness of my mysterious existence.
BY : JOSEPH & LINDA
For Pd's collab with me contest
Beneath the twilight's veil, I ponder,
On the path of wisdom, not granted but discovered,
We traverse a labyrinth of silent nights,
Seeking light where shadows reign.
In the ethereal corridors of dreams, I wander,
Among the echoes of ancient stones and stars,
Where truths, like whispered secrets, dwell,
And shadows weave the complex fabric of the soul.
No guide can walk the winding path for us,
No hand can place wisdom in our hands,
It is a flame kindled from the depths of solitude,
Nurtured through the trials of personal experience.
Books of sages, their wisdom merely a spark,
A distant star in the vast cosmic darkness,
The journey to true understanding is solitary,
A path we walk alone in silent contemplation.
A lantern's light in the abyss,
Its fragile glow, a promise of dawn,
Each step, a fragment of truth revealed,
Each heartbeat, an echo of hidden understanding.
Memories, threads in the vast tapestry of life,
Weave joy and sorrow into unseen patterns,
In solitude, the true path emerges,
In the silence where wisdom quietly resides.
The river of existence flows unbroken,
Through deep chasms and peaks that touch the sky,
With each wave, reflections of eternal truths,
Of love, loss, and grace intertwined.
Petals of wisdom bloom at twilight's end,
In gardens where the sorrows of the past dissolve,
Each loss, a lesson, each fall, a rise,
In the sanctuary where the wise find peace.
We weave dreams through life's tapestry,
Sewing hopes into the fabric of existence,
Kindling warmth against the vast cold,
Lighting the way for souls through the immense darkness.
The world, a vast canvas of shadows and light,
Calls for dreams woven with threads of gold,
A path to understanding through the embrace of night,
A solitary journey, the sacred quest of each heart.
Through the starry veil, I perceive,
The mark of destiny on the paths we tread,
We traverse unknown and profound realms,
Only to discover that wisdom is a solitary journey.
A comet streaks through the boundless night,
Its fiery trail, a metaphor of understanding,
A guide against the eternal darkness,
The beacon of life, born from our solitude.
In solitude, the soul sails forth,
Through fierce storms and calms of peace,
To discover the pure and eternal light of wisdom,
In the silent and eternal night of the heart.
In a realm where shadows dance, the world will be but a howl of pain and ecstasy,
Where the purest among men, in their quest for sanctuary,
Shall find themselves teetering on the brink of weariness,
Facing a choice that echoes with the agony of despair and its emptiness.
The skies painted with hues of sorrow, the earth a canvas of tears,
In this melancholic landscape, the heart battles its fears.
The whispers of the wind carry secrets from ancient legends,
Tales of souls who wandered, seeking something more.
Among the ruins of dreams, where hope once proudly stood,
The echoes of laughter now drowned in a somber flood.
Those with pure hearts, in their silent vigil, watch the world crumble,
Clinging to fragments of light, as dusk turns endlessly gray.
In the labyrinth of thoughts, where consciousness flows like rivers,
The mind wrestles with torment, the body shivers.
Metaphors dance in the twilight, weaving ancient tapestries,
Stories of agony and ecstasy, in whispers, they are told.
The choice of agony, an open path where shadows tread,
Where the soul's lament is a song of the dead.
Yet, in the heart of darkness, where despair seems to reign,
There lies a flicker of hope, a respite from the pain.
For in weariness, there is a surrender, a silent plea,
To find solace in the void, where the spirit can be free.
The purest among men, with hearts heavy and worn,
Seek refuge in weariness, a sanctuary from the storm.
The howl of the world, a symphony of sadness and delight,
A paradox of existence, where day merges with night.
In this magical journey, where consciousness flows unbound,
The soul seeks meaning in the melancholic sound.
The choice of agony, a testament to human suffering,
Where weariness becomes a beacon, a guiding light.
For in the depths of despair, there lies a hidden grace,
A promise of redemption, in life's intricate maze.
The purest among men, in their silent contemplation,
Find strength in weariness, a profound revelation.
The howl of the world, a reminder of the fragility of being,
A call to embrace the pain, to find the true meaning.
In the heart of this melancholy, where shadows intertwine,
The soul discovers its essence, in the esoteric divine.
The choice of agony, a journey through the soul's night,
Where weariness reveals the path to the eternal light.
Women, secret priestesses of the soul and undying dream,
Whispering ancestral secrets woven in the threads of destiny,
Knowing men like parchments deciphered under the full moon’s glow,
Understanding every hidden longing, each impenetrable dream, and every unspoken whisper.
They weave knowledge from the deep, dark, and luminous recesses of their hearts,
Sensing all that men can become, like storms rising from deep waters or gentle hills,
All they desire, their wishes sculpted in the shadows of unspoken dreams,
All they are, faces shaped from rock and waves, willows swayed by the wind.
Women are architects of destinies shrouded in mystery,
Creating worlds from the butterflies of the soul, laying out landscapes from the beats of our hearts,
Reading us like unwritten verses in ancient psalms,
Dancing their magic around us, crafting cloaks of pure love.
They are those undeciphered enigmas, where each smile is a spell,
Every gesture, a stanza from an archaic poetry, every touch, a sacred incantation,
They know when to lift us up and when to bring us back to earthly realms,
With a love that carries depth and gentleness untold through eternities.
Women are falling stars weaving their light into the horizon,
Reading our dreams and fears like silent constellations,
Nothing escapes them, neither wind, nor storm, nor hidden desire,
They are the poets of life, whose verse is the secret of the universe itself.
In their eyes reflects the entire cosmos, like in azure crystal mirrors,
They extend their soul like a bridge between the temporal and the eternal,
Always knowing what we can become, as they feel our destiny in the silence of infinity,
Becoming our muses and guides, showing us the path beneath starry skies.
Women are those eternal stories, flowing through time like sacred rivers,
Enchanting us with their songs, embracing us with warm thoughts,
Knowing that, in their absence,
We would be wanderers in the night without a beacon, lost in a boundless dream.
Women, wise in silences and dreams, know everything about us,
Like an aurora discovered in a night of secrets,
They read our hearts in the pulse of the universe and the whispers of stellar tranquility,
And thus, through them, we become endless travelers in the eternal light of destiny.
The pen is mightier than the sword, but our power of speech comes from The Lord
W.O.R.D.S = S.W.O.R.D.
Words are my existence, they take me to where I need to go
carefully chosen, because from my heart they must surely flow
wanting to express my inner self, requiring a very special tone
hoping for an opportunity, to move those with hearts of stone
Just how to break down those walls, and convince minds so secure
that to reach the truth of a matter, preconceptions they must ignore
a reality exists, yet unforeseen, and by closing your eyes you will see
how this beautiful world awaits, to be everything you want it to be
My words are from another world, a hidden part of me from down inside
this key that I hold is mine to share, or maybe choosing never to confide
bringing you to my inner world, poses a risk that I might be willing to take
sometimes overcome by fear, causes me to hesitate, lest it be a mistake
Preferring to maintain my anonymity, I keep a safe distance and out of site
residing at a humble station in this world, my heart yearns to remain contrite
the breath of life that G-d has given me, a power to freely speak these words
yet I know that all that I speak is captured, returning to G-d as a flock of birds
As words are weighed and investigated, indicating how we spent our existence
nothing remains hidden before our Creator, in whose hands rests any deliverance
whether gaining passage to eternal light, or leading us to our ultimate retribution
everything depends on the noble act of repentance, this the only viable solution
How to repair the pain and tears having caused others, if we were only willing to pay
since nothing stands in the way of a person's will, "where there's a will there's a way"
the power of words is well known, some have used them to create, others to destroy
but since we have been given free will, we’ll be judged by those we chose to employ
As is clay in the hand of the sculptor, so too is the wonderous power given to create
but so many are blind to this fact, only realizing what they lost after it's much too late
words are our final destination, an eternal foundation we ourselves have forged below
rewarded by a meticulous divine calculation, basking in the Almighty's heavenly glow
In a world of shadows and echoes, where every step is a caress of silence,
There is no sweeter release from the claws of reality than through art; and man,
This seeker of hidden meanings, can form no more certain a bond with it than through art.
This release of knowledge from the bondage of will, this self-forgetting and disregard for material interests,
This elevation of the mind toward the contemplation of truth without will, is the function of art.
In the flow of my consciousness, I lose myself in a landscape of colors and sounds, where every note is a star,
Every brushstroke, a story told in whispers of light and shadow.
I feel my soul breaking free from the heavy chains of the everyday,
And it floats freely, dancing on the wings of an ancient melody, lost in the wind of time.
People, these dreamers clad in flesh and bone, find in art a window to infinity,
Where desires and fears melt, becoming simple reflections of an eternal light.
In the depths of every creation, a universe of unspoken thoughts hides,
A cosmos of emotions that transcend the boundaries of reality and transform into the pure essence of beauty.
Art, this magical portal, allows us to forget ourselves, to lose ourselves in pure contemplation,
Where every sculpture, every verse, becomes a mirror of our immortal soul.
We free ourselves from the burden of will, from the weight of material interests,
And we rise, like birds of light, toward the silent wisdom of the universe.
I wonder, in the flow of my thoughts, if perhaps art is the key to supreme freedom,
A sacred refuge where time and space lose their significance,
And where we can finally find that inner peace, that fragile and perfect balance.
In every painting, in every symphony, I discover a fragment of a cosmic story,
A narrative of humanity that stretches beyond the stars and is lost in infinity.
So we lose ourselves in art, in this eternal quest for truth and beauty,
Because, in the end, art is more than a mere creation; it is the very essence of humanity,
A bridge that connects us to the ether, to our deepest dreams and to the cosmic silence.
And thus, in every work of art, we find that release, that self-forgetting,
For indeed, there is no sweeter release from the claws of reality than through art.
Thus Born, A Light, A Blessing Of Inspiration
And he from the mountaintop knelt to shout
To the magnificent creatures below
As if pouring Life-water from a spout
He in his sorrows cried in the snow,
O' God have this, thine sweet mercy on me
He that in his youth walked dead and blind
For now thy light hath set him free
Sending life, love, hope - clarity of mind.
Wherein truth and light are sent to prevail.
Those once chained- no longer need fear Hell.
Once a beast seeking dark ravenous meals
He that savored bad, the forbidden
Caring not for love, or how others feel
Built he walls to keep his sorrows hidden,
Allowing darkness all his joy to steal
Traversing twixt pale light and black of night
Ignoring those evil wounds love could heal
Never seeing the path cast by true light.
Wherein truth and light are sent to prevail.
Those once chained- no longer need fear Hell.
From the highest heavens, a voice then came
Sounding in true harmony and soft glee
I am the giver, creator- hear my name
Tis I that now speaks to the soul in thee,
Rise thee from that whitecapped mountain peak
Live again amongst life and mortal men
Accept these words, live not so lost and weak
Give due praise and thus walk thee true again.
Wherein truth and light are sent to prevail.
Those once chained- no longer need fear Hell.
Rising as the Sun its golden rays cast
He obeyed, starting his life anew
Knowing divine sent redemption must last
He praised life and the bright sky so blue,
With blessings of God and eternal light
Love entered his soul, his heart awoke
What was once such an impossible fight
Then became merely a cast off dark yoke.
Wherein truth and light are sent to prevail.
Those once chained- no longer need fear Hell.
Robert J. Lindley, 12-19, 2020
Rhyme,
( Born from aching sky- a vision , a light- a blessing )
Dedicated to my friend- Greg Barden….
Note: This poem composed this morn was
inspired by my having read Greg Barden's
fine new poem titled----- ""Aching Sky""
to his magnificent rhyming creation--
I found inspiration to create this new piece.
As tribute to that which gave such inspiration,
and the God given blessing of poetry set within
this old soul's heart. -RJL
Under the canopy of stars, each a distant echo of an unfulfilled dream,
I walk, my footsteps barely touching the earth, as if Terra herself fears the weight of my contemplation.
I am the seeker of immortal dreams, the weaver of fragile hopes,
In this sacred dance of light and shadow, where the soul meets its reflection.
Oh, how we chase the mirage of eternal glory, grasping at ephemeral threads of dignity,
Building castles in the air, grand illusions that shimmer and fade.
We wear the masks of heroes, hiding the trembling heart beneath,
Denying the whispers of mortality that flow like a quiet river through our veins.
In the quest for self-esteem, we plant seeds of darkness,
Watered by the tears of unspoken fears, growing into forests of despair.
Why do we flee from the gentle embrace of our finite nature,
Turning beauty into ashes in our frantic struggle for meaning?
The mirror of the soul is cracked, reflecting a thousand faces,
Each a fragment of our desperate longing to be seen, to be remembered.
We climb the mountains of ambition, seeking to touch the sun,
Unaware that the higher we ascend, the deeper our shadows grow.
In this labyrinth of desires, I am lost yet found,
A wanderer in the eternal night, searching for dawn in the depths of my being.
For in the acceptance of our fleeting existence lies a strange, melancholic magic,
A whisper of beauty in the surrender to life's transient dance.
Infinite dreams swirl around me in a cosmic ballet,
Where stars fall like tears, and the moon sings lullabies to forgotten fears.
I walk the path where the sacred and the profane intertwine,
Where the heart's true valor is not in conquering death, but in embracing its gentle sorrow.
This is the tale of human striving, a song of melancholic contradiction,
The root of all grandeur and desolation.
We are both creators and destroyers, in our need for eternal light,
Yet it is in the shadows that we find the essence of our fragile, beautiful transience.
And so, under the melancholic gaze of the stars, we dance our imperfect dance,
A symphony of dreams and disillusionments,
A tapestry of love and loss, woven with threads of light and shadow,
In this melancholic and eternal magic we call life.