Long Fabric Poems
Long Fabric Poems. Below are the most popular long Fabric by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fabric poems by poem length and keyword.
Beneath the evening's astral embroidery, the kiss was born timidly,
A spark of hope, golden and gentle, in the fabric of the ephemeral.
A celestial arch, lips slowly bend towards the sea, aspiring to eternity,
And they withdraw serenely, to the measure of the waves, in a whisper of dance and twilight.
They gaze hidden, enveloped in coronas of smoke from memories,
A mysterious echo of calm that embraces the lake, the mirror of those unspoken words.
Hands unbound, through a labyrinth of dreams swayed by the wind,
Like the birds that, in relentless flight, get lost in the blue of the high skies.
And we, in the duet of fates, embrace silences, to us, they seem endless crystals,
Where the candors of smiles now get lost in a shoal of ice, as inheritance.
With locked doors, our souls paint, in the tableau of the bygone days,
While the tears of celestial altars crystallize in the air, rise the sign of the invisible shadowing.
A massive wall rises from the horizon, the hours separate with embedded pins,
Our field of love, now arid steppes, thirsty for the rains of falling stars,
Our chambers, once vibrant alcoves, now await in emptiness,
With the patience of a statue watching, longing for the brilliance of magic that brings love in mystical rebirth.
And there will come an interlude, somewhere, I do not know when, flash-stricken by the reborn lights,
The hidden play of the divine shard and the mystery unfolds before us,
When the maelstrom of love that lay in suspicions and questions,
Leaving behind only two solitary souls, regal in their peace,
Wrapped in a cocoon, where nocturnal butterflies wait to metamorphose into a new flight.
In the west any woman
can invite a man to bed,
but do that stuff in Iran
and they’ll huck rocks ’till she’s dead.
In the west any Christian
can get with like folk to pray,
try doing that in China
and they might just lock you away.
In the west any person can
criticize religious figures,
do the same in the Middle East
and they kill you with great vigor.
In the west we own up to
mistake made against Indians,
to this day Turkey denies what
it did to the Armenians.
In the west our women take part
in public like and politics,
in Saudi lands the women are
shrouded up in tent fabric!
In the west we’re open to
music of every kind,
in the Muslim world music is
often evil in God’s eyes.
In the west if a man steals
he’s gotta do time in the slam,
in Arabia they would rather
publically chop of your hands??!!
In the west we long ago
fought to free those who were enslaved,
but in Libya and Sudan
you can still buy them to this day.
In the west our poor people
often suffer from being fat,
how many North Korean poor
wish they could ‘suffer’ like that?
In the west we always expect
rule-of-law to serve us well,
in Mexico half the police
are working for the drug cartels.
In the west natural rights
are recognized the greatest good,
superseding even culture,
as your freedoms always should.
But in so much of this planet
naught but tyranny persists,
with cultures that deny the fact
that your rights even exist.
Professors say we’re all the same,
aren’t they supposed to be smart?
Results alone speak for themselves,
tear their rantings all apart.
Look at the ideas that have doomed
the once rich Venezuela,
ask how many people are now
desperately swimming to Cuba?
They all come here seeking success,
of that there is little doubt,
our ideas are so appealing
we build fences to keep them out!
Despite our past imperfections,
the cold hard fast can’t be missed.
when it comes to self-improvement,
the west’s running away with it.
Our history and our results
so very clearly can attest,
the cultures, they are not the same,
and the west really is the best.
We dress our souls with masks of words, as if covering our bodies with fine garments,
Every morning, we choose masks from the closet of the heart, full of unspoken stories,
Words are embroideries stitched onto the fabric of life, hiding the fragility that lies within us,
We place the masks upon our hearts like veils that filter the light of truth and shadows,
We are artists of appearances, painting on the canvas of the soul with shades of deep silence,
Beneath the masks of words, the face of truth is a broken mirror, hidden in silent gazes,
We fear being bare, stripping our souls of the garments of words that enwrap us,
Yet beneath the layers, we harbor a universe of dreams and desires, a cosmos of unrest,
Truth is a song that resonates muted within us, smothered by the masks that stifle our whispers,
We learn to dance between the light of sincerity and the shadow of pretense that defines us,
In the end, remains the desire to reveal ourselves as we truly are, letting the masks fall,
And perhaps, we will dare to be honest with ourselves, gazing into the mirror of the soul.
The death penalty, a practice rooted in antiquity, continues to evoke controversy and ethical dilemmas in modern society. Despite its purported role in deterring crime and administering justice, the death penalty stands on shaky moral ground and should be abolished for several compelling reasons.
Firstly, the irreversible nature of the death penalty is inherently flawed. In a justice system prone to human error, the risk of executing an innocent person is ever-present. Numerous cases worldwide have revealed wrongful convictions, highlighting the fallibility of judicial proceedings. Once a life is taken, there is no recourse for rectifying such a grievous mistake, perpetuating an irreversible injustice that stains the fabric of society.
Moreover, the death penalty undermines the fundamental value of human life. By sanctioning state-sanctioned killings, societies diminish the sanctity of life and condone violence as a means of resolving conflicts. Such a stance contradicts the principles of compassion, rehabilitation, and forgiveness, which should underpin any civilized society's legal framework.
Furthermore, the death penalty fails to achieve its purported goal of deterrence. Empirical evidence suggests that the threat of capital punishment does not significantly deter individuals from committing heinous crimes. Instead, socioeconomic factors, mental health issues, and systemic inequalities often drive criminal behavior. Investing in preventative measures, such as education, poverty alleviation, and mental health services, would yield more effective and humane solutions to reducing crime rates.
Critics argue that the death penalty provides closure to victims' families and serves as a form of retribution. However, vengeance should not be conflated with justice. Studies have shown that the prolonged legal processes and endless appeals associated with death penalty cases exacerbate the victims' families' trauma, prolonging their suffering rather than offering closure.
In conclusion, the abolition of the death penalty aligns with the principles of justice, compassion, and human rights. By rejecting this antiquated and morally dubious practice, societies can move towards a more enlightened and humane approach to criminal justice—one that prioritizes rehabilitation, reconciliation, and the inherent worth of every individual.
Should I look down forever
or close my eyes to the fall?
The angle of repose is fatal
once detached from the wall
Will cosmic chicken wire hold me,
or sieve me out as smoke
back into the fabric of spacetime
to re-don my invisible cloak
I’m never truly destroyed,
even when dead and done
My up/down quarks persist
past this nothing I’ve become
Small comfort some say,
drifting the cosmos sans a mind
Just like before being born,
and this numbskull recombined
So who put me back together,
made me whole again
A carpenter working with Plancks?
a God that inserts the grain
Does my carbon find its footprints,
and return from where they led
Who’s to say a beast called “I”
can’t revive this host it shed
Take those maggots I killed
sterilising my bins last week
Those wrigglers came back,
showing a flaw in my technique
They appear more resilient,
and brighter from the bleach
How can I lay them to waste
when waste is their only niche?
The best I possess is within me
also the worst parts too
My niche is abstract thinking,
but the math’s a killer to do
Works till I reach infinity,
then the system starts to crash
My sum becomes fiendish,
and in need of a Benzo patch
Darkness can be expected
when engaging with the void
But I never calculated
how much was growing inside
With one eye on the heavens,
two on this earth I tread
It’s a hell of a way to live life,
rehearsing being dead.
What can my lips say when thought falls silent?
Strings of disconnected thoughts run over my forehead,
Night gathers within me, it's later than I believe,
And each idea, a frailty, they are all strange and unexpected.
I confess, with the tremble of a leaf, my share of guilt,
Above me, the sky wears mourning, a saddened testimony,
When the path of life was opened to me, light from light,
From the cup of time I drank, the nectar, without tasting it all.
A voice shyly detaches itself from the fabric of the word,
To murmur poetry to me, an art both near and distant,
On the path of my fate, a procession of unfulfilled promises ensues,
Absent both the sharpness of pain and the soothing touch of joy, missed.
The night is a thread of magic until the premises of dawn make their way,
Time flows from dawn to dawn, it trickles subtly with a cruel smile,
All that we gather in time, in the order of life, slips away without care,
Departing without an owner, the treasures wander into the unknown.
In the ephemeral passage of existence, the voice of the echo dares not to rise,
It does not query why your heart throbs or why time mutters in vain.
Oh time, you hurry with the steps of the wind, counting the seconds of my life,
Leaving me with furrowed memories and years that carry autumn toward its setting.
In anticipation of an unfulfilled sleep, the altar of a new day opens,
A day that awakens with timid rays and kisses the pretending eyelids of night.
There still hang leaves of joy on branches, even on this mortal ground,
Let us raise from the walls born of pain, a monument to a love that never perishes.
Each time soul’s reborn, it begins anew,
with memory of its past life wiped clean,
feeling vividly each hue as though new,
truth of existence attempting to glean.
Love’s the only rule in this earth life school,
so on blank canvas of soul, we should ink
colours of joy but then lust makes us drool
and in quicksands of desire, we soon sink.
It seems then we are doomed but there is hope,
for God has provided us with a guide,
being voice of conscience, that we don’t grope
in darkness, reclaiming soul’s light inside.
The table is laid for joy readymade,
if we but opt in stream of bliss to wade.
If we but opt in stream of bliss to wade,
being flow of soma nectar within,
cravings of ego soon begin to fade
and our heart is purged from demonic sin.
To embrace magnetism is up to us,
simply since love employs no use of force,
so melding head with heart, making no fuss,
currents divine sublime steers our life course.
Love’s the magic that has no opposite,
resolving within its womb, past conflict,
making mind, body and soul composite,
provided we are not by ego tricked.
In void-centric stillness, witnessing life,
animating silence, our heart’s bliss rife.
Animating silence, our heart’s bliss rife,
tiptoeing softly in the void unshod,
allowing love to act as the midwife,
revealing inner light that leaves us awed.
Life is the fabric upon which we paint
emotes of soul, inked by our childlike heart,
so treading gently, mindful like a saint,
let us then make each breath, a work of art.
Born in the aether, God’s magnetic heat,
enlivens head to toe, our feeble form
refrain of love that always does repeat,
imbibed if we surrender to this storm.
Just as each morn, we’re graced by pristine dew,
each time soul’s reborn, it begins anew.
Hatism: My Beloved Crown
Before I speak, you have already introduced me. You brought me from the back pew, to the front row. You taught me how to be her, you set me free. I'm proud of who I have become and what others see.
You sit where destiny rests-high, intentional, and ordained. You are not fabric, material or form alone; you are positioning. When I place you upon my head, something within me stands taller. My posture obeys you, my heart embraces you, my voice remembers you, my mind submits to you, and my soul answers you. You have learned my hopes, secrets, and dreams. You cradled all of my secrets, and unspoken utternaces privately in your heart. You have learned the architecture of my mind, soul, and confidence.
You have mastered my angles-every tilt a language, every smile confidence, and every shadow a statement. Rooms shifted and adjusted when we walked in together. Not because you are loud, but because you are certain. I love you for the quiet authority you carry, that does not beg to be seen-but is seen.
I trusted you, and you have covered me in moments when words were unnecessary. When I doubted, you remained steady. When I was afraid, you stayed close to me. When I rose, you rose with me. Oil and elegance, fire and focus-you held them all without collapse. You remind me that elevation is a decision made daily. That obsession, when disciplined, becomes excellence. That a woman crowned in intention cannot walk unnoticed. Some wear hats, I wear alignment.
So I honor you-not as an accessory, but as an extension. Not as fashion, but as formation. Not as a style, but as a symbol.
Forever tilted in authority,
Yours in Elevation
The pouring rain turned to haze, the sun rises only to set
What we imagine, chasing dragons but in reality just forget
Noble kings to worn out jeans, all the fabric we never protect
The blood within, these evil men it's the passion they collect
The butterfly bush to Alaskan cush in kaleidescope eyes
The Jokers suit and Dinosaurs too, perfect purple disguise
Grapes at noon turn to prunes then raisins thereafter
The wisdom mood to light up rooms with all the laughter
The darkest bruise changes hues only makeup covers
A color too, mixed up red and blue become eternal lovers
Written for Contest: Purple on 1/16/19
Hosted by: Kevin Shaw
I may not be plagued by vices,
I may not be inundated with foibles,
I have my disparate troubles,
I have my recalcitrant midnight.
I have sought a way through the woods,
A way out of the tempest that trails me,
It’s been an uphill task,
For this, a plethora of questions I ask.
Have I been yoked with my incessant turmoil?
Have we entwined like a woven fabric?
I fight the monsters that walk into my day,
Yesterday’s conquest hasn't allayed them.
My mind is a valley of turbulent streams,
It’s a waterfall of thunderous claps,
I'm encompassed by the untold,
As dawn awakens they unfold.
Some things are beyond us,
Some things are unknown,
They give us a different view,
They sculpt us for the dark days.
May 4, 2023.