Long Facade Poems
Long Facade Poems. Below are the most popular long Facade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Facade poems by poem length and keyword.
A Murder of Crows, A Pantheon of Gods!
Monotheism, we’re told, is the way it should be.
But the Heavenly Court doesn’t make it agree.
Similar to the pantheons of many a belief.
All kinds of beings with a head guy as chief.
Whether Zeus or Odin, whatever their name,
The behaviors and hierarchies are always the same.
(The heavenly court or angels in this dictation.
Where do they fall in the story of creation?
Nowhere mentioned in the seven days.
So what do we make of this obvious daze?)
Within the Courts we find all kinds of entities,
With differing functions of various complexities.
Hermes was the messenger for the Olympian Zeus.
And the word angel, means messenger, not really abstruse.
And then there are maidens the gods choose to take,
And often in them, babies they make.
These girls never have a choice in events.
The gods never asked for their consents.
And famous these children did become.
Not hard to imagine, with whom they came from.
So once again, mimesis comes to play.
God impregnates Mary without her say.
And a baby is born and when an adult,
Becomes famous for his actions as a result,
Of being part god as well as part human,
And able to do things, superhuman.
So in the end, we have this god,
In a book which clearly shows a facade,
Of a single deity who reigns alone,
But seems too similar to another’s thrown.
Angels, archangels, principalities and thrones,
Powers, virtues, dominions, all clones,
Of other pantheons in the region.
Really no different in its legion.
So monotheism? Not exactly true.
It doesn’t matter what they tell you.
The truth is there, it’s again, mimetic,
It just keeps repeating as if synergetic.
She is still a woman~
Even if she is weak and IMPERFECT~
But it doesn’t mean she is BROKEN;
Despite those pillars that have been CRACKED
when tremor came to her silent FACADE
and ruined her sanctuary~
Her sacred paradigm still stood.
She is still a woman~
Who sees what is beyond~
Despite the MASK that entangled her
to a liverish labyrinths of make-believe;
She still believes in you.
She is still a woman~
Who was TORN between time and space~
An all-time warrior, though wounded and FLAWED;
Traversed the quandary beyond untrodden paths
and climbed through endless heights;
And though crippled and creased, she rose like phoenix ~
to see what lies above each passing cloud,
to prove that she is not an ILLUSION
but still a real woman in your eyes.
June 22, 2021
Writing Prompt- Flawed- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
2nd place
Most people, for whatever reason, do not spend any time alone. They often don't even know who they really are... And many are afraid to know. Only by spending time alone can you face yourself, for better or worse, and choose who you want to be... And move towards making a change.
Who are you really?
By Michelle Morris
16/04/2020
Who are you...
Really?
When you're all alone?
When no-one watches...?
When you breathe is it
A calm or storm?
When you think is it
Dark or warm?
When you feel do
You feel
Love or harm?
Who are you really...
Behind the mask?
Facade of
Humanity...?
Devil or angel...?
Villain or hero...?
Or a shade of
In between...?
Who are you really?
And who do you
Want to be?
It can change right now;
Whatever you choose,
It is not set in stone.
The choice is yours
To be good...
Inside and out;
Mask not required -
Soul's destiny intact.
© Michelle Morris, 2023
broken, this aged vessel
fractured by fate in matter and mind
careworn and cracked like creeping veins of window frost ...
(but colder in my solitude, I surmise)
oh, but wholly blessed on the surface, really
no furrows or folds or wrinkly crows
hardly a dozen gray hairs, but for goatee' ...
(winter taking hold there, evidently
the once fiery and fervently experienced lips
put to the frigid air of the disinterested and forsaken)
too proud, really, that I look twenty years my lesser
for it reaps naught but envy ...
(when I yearn for naught but love)
yes, the porcelain facade still reflects the sun
but ONLY that, then back to whence it came
the warmth seeps not, and oh the splintered shell within
shards as sharp and crimped as British wit
whether by bent or happenstance or horrid folly ...
(they are as defined as they are hidden
as black as they are white
as cursed as they are blessed)
a hundred and more, they are a memory, each
a pain, a tragedy, a misstep, a ravaged heart given fully
returned with but a wish and a wave
but you see, those cracks and breaks and chips
all carefully mended ... with gold ...
(caring friends, exquisite joys, profound experience, loving family
hope, faith, renewed self-respect, and a million little things
that may pass others unnoticed
but to me, are the lifeblood of existence)
they fill the seams with the most wonderful precious metal
and that broken, shattered soul is healed
made whole by what is truly valuable and lasting
far more formidable and beautiful and priceless ...
(with the wisdom of breakage and healing
and all the myriad lessons learned in the process)
than it ever was ...
(than I ever was)
before.
I am not
I do not hear until I say
I am not a part unless I make it so
There is no need of me ...
No requirement for my assistance
No need of my (extensive) skills
No desire of my creative acumen or product
Or my (now seemingly) useless experience 'sous les draps'
The iPhone rattles not, without initial prompt
No joyous "ping!" without a prior "send"
No rhythmic knuckling applied to my door, short a package, (from me)
No smiling facade without fur around it
No warm company beside me, sans fuzzy tail or purr
And should I pass, it would be days, (literally)
Before the funk brought response
But at least I'd be home
And unconcerned.
Semblance veneer, a city's fear,
cadence for ears, all who are brave.
The rash of feet, like fleeing deer,
No rest until their souls are saved.
Canyons of steel and glass allow,
crossed windowed eyes that do not trust.
The same old story comes hollow
to the unconcerned, just like us.
Smack the facade, a headstrong plea,
from lack of yield on some cold ground.
For every crack, a fantasy,
and from each step, a hollow sound.
It's the snare of the promising,
the hit mode of the undeterred.
Not lacking the street-racked sounding,
by one, to be observed.
A thousand fearless and one bold fictions,
soles worn thin against the gray.
A pledge for their inclinations,
conquer another taxing day.
Bang the surface, a steady feat,
A benchmark of yearning we hold.
To gain a spot on this grand street,
Not to be measured with the old,
the failed, shattered, and the muted.
Who fell before they gained their goal?
We grow and push, we're not routed,
metro's our will, no claim, no hold.
Smash the dumb mask, a damnation,
It's evidence of what we face.
We tread ahead, we don't question,
Our nature molds a nonstop pace.
In this arcade, snakes slithered maze,
We find our meaning, find our grace.
Rest our weary bones on some chaise,
We're winning in this urban race.
Stalked digi-miles to cough out debt,
found in scruffy leather and frayed.
'Hail Mary' caused tears as they wept,
bills paid, I'm made whole, time for trade.
Form:
The sun sank on the transit by and by
Took away the colors of the chameleon sky,
The masked face of clever craft on display
Enticed me to walk on the dark garden pathway.
The fluid dreams the sinister night sips
I didn’t hear the footfall of evil as it creeps
The devious intent prowled to devour
As the facade dissolved in the dark hour.
In the desolate domain of fright feral
On the gloomy ground under the sky dismal
You crept as the creature of sordid night
The haunting me you stalked out of sight.
You slithered from wilderness as nightrider
Unmasked, you morphed into a brute creature
On the hunt the unsuspecting predator keen
You lurked as the sinister sly animal of sin.
With the arcane acumen of the trickster devil
You crawled as squalid silhouette of menace evil
Stealthily into my being ingesting the essence prime
Consumed from my soul the ambrosia sublime.
_____________
March 29, 2023
For A Brian Strand Premiere No 1204
Written: August 22, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Margarita Lillico
Quote: "We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid." Benjamin Franklin
*****************
Hidden in my heart, a hunter lies fallow,
A frost facade of fervent pride may hollow.
Shattering under its sheer, insane size,
No vacant void where guilt can seal its rise.
Below the confines, formless faces beam,
Brittle grins on my chest cut nerves with seams—
As the majestic sculpture cascades into falls,
Gracious tyrant glides by chest cracked walls.
Tides ditch, serenely, spurred under the sea,
A ship sank, its mission unknown at sea—
A descent into the sea unbending floor,
I hold the rocks but I long to hold the shore.
The true tormentor takes no tangible form,
No nefarious whispers wove evil harm—
It is the icon inspired by my unique mark,
This smothers self, savor its searing spark.
I became my own assassin in the night,
Barricaded windows against forgiving light.
Yet through the broken veneer of my mind,
Merciful patient, yet ruthless and kept behind.
To cracked shards, grief strips shroud away,
A warmth that wipes out the weariest gray—
Swiftly lost in a recurrent rush of raging swells,
The wall of my ego is thrown in deep wells.
World's false smiles fade without a sound—
They hold no power on this holy ground.
Wrapped in a love without horizon trend,
The wounded heart begins to mend.
Wreck is restored, and winter grip releases,
A stillness falls and calms all anxious pieces.
Freed and fruitful, I raise a freshly formed shell,
Embracing this extraordinary, unearned spell.
The sun sank on the transit,
took away colors of the chameleon sky,
the masked face of clever craft
made me walk on the dark garden path.
In the sinister night of broken dreams,
I didn’t hear the footfall of evil.
The devious intent prowled to devour,
as the facade dissolved in darkness.
In the desolate domain of feral fright,
on the murky ground under dreary sky,
as the creature of night you crept,
stalked the haunted me, I couldn’t hide.
A nightrider you slithered from the wild,
unmasked, you morphed into a brute.
Unsuspecting predator on the hunt,
as sinister sly animal of sin you lurked.
With arcane acumen of trickster devil,
as sordid silhouette of menace you crawled
stealthily into the quintessence of my being,
sucked the sublime ambrosia of my soul.
_______________
September 24, 2022
Contest : One From The Dark Side
Sponsored by : John Lawless
Once upon a woeful early December night nigh,
Who am I, in this fateful time of scry’s reprise?
Over many a quaint reminisce of my ghostly past,
Suddenly, feel eyes piercing again, with no end.
I looked around, to no avail; my time has end.
I turned and saw darkness cast.
As I went out in the dreary night, I felt peace,
Oddly enough, the crickets chirp, and the wind speaks.
I walk along the road, and yet I felt uneasy.
Again, those piercing eyes sunk deep into my griefs.
“Where are you?" I call out. "Can you hear my pleas?”
Again, I turned to dark seas.
Strolling about, footsteps echo, though path’s untrod.
I falter back home, but it's inconvenient fraud.
Back to the untrod path of what could be or not,
I look around, to no avail; I feel this facade.
Eagerly, I call out; now there are piercing prods.
I seek out the darkness's fraud.
I see no evil, hear no evil. What are you?
I gently crept all about with no sound; I’m bound
Bound to seek you and end this childish game you play.
How come I have heard no sound? Are you not profound?
Thy hide an enigmatic like bound that surrounds.
Are you in the darkness bound?
Come out from hiding; I know thy eyes follow thee.
Why won’t you listen to me? Do you speak in threes?
I know you are out there; why do not you reveal?
How do I convince thee speak to me? Please, please, please?
I wait for an answer, but only I say, “Pleas.”
I spoke to you in threes; do you need some more pleas?
The wind blows against my ear, and I hear nothing obscure.
A distant echo runs into my ear; I call, “Who is there?”
Echo no more; the sound is clear, I call out again.
Footsteps follow; finally, it emerges from darkness’ air.
It has appeared. Who is there? Make me aware!
It calls out, but not clear.
I got a glimpse of the figure that finally answered my call,
A wraith that seems to haunt my memory.
Its eyes, like embers, cold, dead, and deep,
And though the form looked cloaked in dread,
A ghostly echo of what’s dead,
A past that whispers in my sleep.