Long Fabricate Poems
Long Fabricate Poems. Below are the most popular long Fabricate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fabricate poems by poem length and keyword.
When your word isn't worth, the only air it traveled through,
You may quickly realize that fear and fraud don't accrue.
Then as any and all hope is halted, and faith does not exist,
The sight of all those broken promises, is there to persist.
At that point you're left upon an island, naked and alone.
With no one left to listen, no one to cast the first stone.
So now you're on your own, with your lies and disbelief,
As those you knew, now avoid you, and you're seen as a thief.
Can redemption even exist now, for all the lies that you've told?
Or has time passed right on by, while you've grown lonely and old?
These may be the final questions, to answer or even hate.
Finally seeing if you realize, you can no longer fabricate.
*Image of Learn The Hard Way by The Writing Cooperative.
The Magic Of Words
The magic of words does inspire
from depths within astir a dream
proclaim so as one heart's desire
and fabricate a righteous theme.
As images mount high like trees
the magic of words does inspire
a spark enflames that all agrees
reverse that flickers you require.
Works and forces as you inquire
there beyond it will appear from
the magic of words does inspire
for skillful advent soon to come.
At last, that moment has settled
subjects sort for each to admire
a dream once astir now mettled
the magic of words does inspire.
2021 August 14
*3rd Place*
August 2021 NA's
Constance La France: Judged 2021 August 30
*N/A*
The Writer In Me, Wants You To Know
*Sponsors Name Omitted was a Requirement: Judged 2021 August 14
Mr. and Mrs. Pinocchio are carvings of wood
No matter how they try, they cannot be good
Lying is their habit. The constant fibbing shows
by the length of snouts; each has a distended nose
They bray like donkeys in the Disney movie
Arrogantly thinking they're impressively groovy
They will never be able to become a real girl and boy
unless they stop lying and end to their cunning ploy
Geppetto, why'd you give these imps a tongue
Their lies are far fetched and their tales far flung
How they love to fabricate fibs and wickedly conspire
Perhaps that wood would be put to better use in a bonfire
I saw a gorge, a remote vision from distant, far far away from the surface, how sharp, how precipitous, how deep!
A singular, unsurpassed, cavernous cleft;
a crevice among two gigantic hills, how intense and steep!
The rocky walls of the mountains though withering,
canopying the remote sight from the brink of the rugged cliffs.
The highland though barren, is pampering the rivulet flowing,
emerald- azure, though erosive from shrink!
Its ages disposition, the geologic uplift and abrasion,
elevates the surface to fabricate its tapestry inch by inch!
The diverse, vivacious habitats in its bosom, in seclusion, are dozing,
in remote lowland, far from the tainted world in miff!
The robust gorge, all of a sudden, for its persistent profoundity,
a rare attribute in mortals, became my cause of envy!
Was pondering " where is that Gorge like once perceived devotion, allegiance from human inclination has gone? "
Nowhere the professed deluded ones, stands near its awe-inspiring abiding supremacy, the Gorge, the mighty!
Alas! The demons have taken away humanity's infallible dedication for substantiality and profoundity,
only to be as hollow as floating cotton balls, with no eye, no reverence for sublimity!
The Gorge is the apostle of Almighty's emblem of constant flow of unfathomed steadfast solemnity, beyond earthly folly!
Aeons ago, God's supreme contour, silhouette against the brilliant encompassing sky,
The persistent Gorge, determines to flow distant, diligently, from the lavish absurdity, from the sheer mortals idiocy!
Human devotion, so fragile, so freckle, so self-centric,
wish have an inch depth of the perpetual, perennial Gorge, the mighty!
Neither, any earthly disposition, can comprehend,
nor approach the grand Gorge, in reflections, so fickle, so tiny;
as insignificant as their fleshly existence,
in the face of the abiding Gorge,
the exalted composition of the Almighty!
My hair was cut too short today by a middle aged Russian lady.
I get out of the chair, pay her a dollar tip, then walk out into the cool, sunny afternoon.
I know memory colors time, and a shaved head is much like a rebirth.
Even now in my chosen silence (the placeless guilt of an un-greeted roommate now home),
My hibernating darkness (the unworthy desire of sanctuary),
Even here, I seem to fabricate my own grace.
We have stairs, and descend them, down into darkness.
We look back, time after time, making sure we can still see the light
From the door high above.
Down we go in hope that we find what we’re looking for
And that something will bring us running back up with mad joy,
Or a pleasurable stillness of mind,
With the aim to use our new treasure
For the good of outside, the others of our time here.
With lamb-like innocence we play this game
Though the steps are never the same
And the light from upstairs
Is never solved nor snared...
You cut my hairs
And these steps fall away from me.
And the treasure is doubted and
I become new and strange to myself and
Scared and sinless and bare.
Bearing only now, witness,
To God’s true grace.
We find him with nothing.
This being our Arrival.
The desperate cry of salvation
Answered from every corner of the mind.
(Every step left to find.)
Now light, light!
The candles running down these darkened walls!
(They were there the whole time.)
Apologists Are Too Funny
Apologists have been saying for 2000 years,
Jesus will return, you can dry your tears.
But they have always been making this claim,
About the truth of Christianity’s fame.
They always fabricate a ridiculous excuse,
That’s always been considered abstruse.
But Jesus said that some wouldn’t die,
Before he returns from his home in the sky.
He was wrong and no one cares,
That it didn’t happen and their heirs,
Just keep on believing no matter the year.
These foolish souls have so much fear,
That they might be wrong and their god is a hoax.
So they keep on believing, stupid folks.
So for millennia, there’s little change,
When they offer their answers, they are unchanged.
But they’re always quick to tell you you’re wrong.
That their beliefs will always be strong.
They cannot debate and accept the fact,
And refuse to accept the failed contract.
If any other religion claimed the same,
They would say it is false and lame.
Fools and obnoxious they always become.
A waste of time, they’re just plain dumb.
Once I was the lying kind
Whatever lie came across my mind
I'd stick rock solid hard with it
To the point of going down with the ship
If there was a chance that I'd get caught
I'd double down on that thought
Fabricate till my lips turned blue
Swear up and down that it was true
I would build so tall a tale
Twice the size of the Eiffel Tower
Having most there wondering
If it was French that I was spewing
Keeping people all confused
On if the lie was really true
Giving me more of a chance
To add a few more lies to it
You might up and wonder why
I would tell so many lies
Was the truth not good enough
Was it the thrill inside the bluff
The older now I seem to get
My mind slides as much as slips
Making it harder to misconstrue
So now I only tell the truth
You do believe that too...don't you
In the mist of the journey’s penultimate mile
at the edge of the ordained pasture of future obscure,
the sunset swansong resonates in the twilight hour
for the forlorn wanderer silhouetted shapeless in stillness
against the chromatic skyline of transient brilliance,
witnessing the last fading flicker of the dwindling day.
The twirling threads of turmoil entwined seamless
with the cleaved clouds of the swarming storm,
lash the unwary horizon halcyon once in tranquil transcript,
mimicking the chameleon facsimile of transformation
on the convoluted canvas burning at the last corner,
from the flare of craving inferno the ashes fly away.
The shards of the splintered sky in the swirling gale
roll on the dismal waves of curled-up psychic cloud,
the remnant rays of eternal sanguinity survive yet
in the departing dusky flashes of the sinking sensuous sun,
fabricate the latent lattice of the unframed dreams
in the kaleidoscopic snapshots of petrified listless life.
When I feel in the emptiness of mind’s barren landscape,
verdant imagination turn into fossil wood of frustration,
I look through the heartening aperture of absolute hope
into emotive kaleidoscope I’ve built with consummate care.
Its manifested motif attests I’ve a proclivity toward writing
in lucid verse the chronicle of chaotic life’s tryst with destiny.
“Peace is found amidst seclusion. When zealous zephyrs emanate lilac light for lovers, longing for a poetic paradise” ~ Poet
Close your eyes, lend your ears~
to the Universe…
In silence you will hear
the turquoise seas
call my name
every full moon,
carrying tunes of
teal green breeze,
manipulating my mermaid psyche
to fabricate a mystical island,
from scattered sandbanks
afloat lyrical lagoons.
Tonight, the winds keep
talking about you and I;
truth behind your fate,
an unwritten destiny of a planned
hideaway to a poetic beachside,
where a delicate rose
dressed in thornless moon rays,
awakened my desire to sail away,
but I know when
time comes,
you’ll be gone.
Nothing stays constant
in this inconsistent world
where sleep is the only comfort.
Yet, my heart still
grieves over your death,
as you’re the phantom
in my dreams,
and the balmy
breeze of life
wants you to know,
my soul longs to see you,
reflecting our
enclasped silhouettes,
across silvery ripples,
whilst I allow zealous zephyrs
to read you
these unspoken poems
infused with
suppressed sentiments,
while opium dusts
of stars intoxicate
my mind to embrace us,
to whom, I’ve been weaving
colorful confessions,
in rhythmic notions.
Close your eyes,
lend your thoughts
to the rising sun,
I am not silent anymore,
I am silence,
strong enough to allow you
to take me by the hand;
swim against satanic tides.
For I’ve heard sea birds
sing soothingly;
there’s always
a ribboned ray of rosemary
light at the cusp of loneliness~
to the ones that allow their eyes
to see beyond eclipsed realms.
Remember you’ll find paradise
in dimmed spheres,
evoked from
savage sunbeams,
but aren’t we
the architects
that can cast away
shipwrecked lies?
to welcome sacred nightfalls
savored in infinite saffron streams
of cosmic delight,
navigating forever, as
soulmates meant to be,
reunited within
an everlasting embrace,
where iridescent rain pours~
a planktonic spell upon
edges of sea-glass,
piercing through
this aquatic spirit.
"When you look good but the world has freaked you out too much to communicate." ~ Rose McGowan
My poem is inspired by Rose McGowan. Thank you for being brave.
The silent scream
By Michelle Morris
28/10/2023
The silent scream
Haunts your dreams
You're a beautiful star
On the Hollywood scene
Your remember her
That sweet, young girl
Who swallowed her rage
Like a bitter pill
All the misogyny
All the abuse
They tried to silence her
Your powerful muse
But no more, no more
Her power taken back
The #MeToo movement
Remedied some of the bad
But restitution
And forgiveness
Is not easily earned
Or grants karmic appeasement
Life goes on
And so must you
Stronger and braver
Like a warrior true
Even though this world
Has let you down
It's not all humanity
Just the cowardly clowns
Those ones dressed up
Disguised behind doors
With titles and money
Supporting their stories
Those dark souls who lie
Obfuscate and cheat
Fabricate and take
For power and greed
The silent scream
Hidden no longer
It's now free and loud
To communicate honestly
The kingdom is open
Secrets and lies revealed
Innocence and youth
No longer there for stealing
Empowerment of self
Women and girls
Brave enough to speak out
Against a misogynistic world
Because, looking good is great
But feeling good is better
May the world grant you wishes
For a happier forever
And may every person
Experience dignity and freedom
To live a life of choices
And a path that's meaningful
Truth and respect
Justice and peace
Kindness and compassion
Love and honesty
No more silent screams
No more hurt and pain
Every soul shining brightly
As we elevate our game
© Michelle Morris, 2023