Long Flayed Poems
Long Flayed Poems. Below are the most popular long Flayed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flayed poems by poem length and keyword.
Upon a great white steed he rode
The hope of all he served be known
This valiant soldier's war be told
To fight this day his bravery shown
Into the strife of chaos sown
They rode with vengeance high and wide
Infantry entrenched with blood and bone
Taking life from death's cold bride
For he ordered valour be by his side
Slashing sabers slaying bold
They flayed and tanned sinew and hide
That blocked the sun, darkness tombs enfold
As death and sacrifice did hide
These men's lives whose pride abides
Their lives given to halt the tide
Their courage stands never defied
Into history they marched strong
Their legend still makes hearts shudder
Into the depths of soul and song
Their fate of death sad souls recover
They are the legend of heroes who died
So ignorant of why they gave their lives
To be remembered as the useless glory's tide
To honor the strength of their captain's pride
Written January 11, 2020
Strict rhyme and meter challenge Poetry Contest
Judged on January 28, 2020
Rewritten February 27, 2021
No raised pinnacle marked the place
No pure white limestone shining
Where Ramesses slept looked commonplace
to foil the robbers scrying.
Yet he had moved the earth and sky
this pharaoh disdained all rivals.
His bounty buried beneath the sand
portrayed a life beneath blue skies
his star encrusted tomb ethereal
his Ka rising from Death’s hand.
The hills of Thebes his place of rest
and beneath him his father lay
amongst the great he’d be the highest
his battle standards on display.
He ruled with iron hand on staff
as a Godhead he was portrayed.
Most mighty and acclaimed, no man
was he, who felled the Hittite chaff;
beneath his chariots wheels flayed
the denizens of Egypt’s land.
Worshiped was he in temples true
his semblance graces Abu Simbel
with eyes wide o’er lake so blue
his gaze belays the infidels.
Beside him she, Nefertari
laid claim to a sacred place
held above all others his wife
most renowned for her beauty
a love to last through time and space
may all true hearts pay such tariff.
The canvas waits beneath a tempered blade.
A pale silver knife, not forged for war, I wield.
I paint the silence that the wounds betrayed.
The sky lies torn in strokes of celeste shade,
each slash more raw, no truth left unrevealed—
the canvas waits beneath a tempered blade.
No brush can bruise the dark the way I’ve flayed
these hues loose, their former grace repealed.
I paint the silence that the wounds betrayed.
My muse—half shadow, half cascade—
emerges from each mark I will not shield.
The canvas waits beneath a tempered blade.
No line stays; no form can be obeyed.
I seek what's felt, not what can be concealed.
I paint the silence that the wounds betrayed.
She stares back now, the shape that art mislaid—
a scar turned sycamore across the field.
The canvas waits beneath a tempered blade.
I paint the silence that the wounds betrayed.
Thoughts rush like river—
currents pulling every want
into fevered swirls
the ego clenches its hold
hungry for the next longing.
When a hush opens
empty betwixt between breaths
in pause unforeseen
behests relent in stillness
which the ego can't abide.
In that slender void
the illusion becomes clear—
wants insatiable
can never be satisfied
in the rush of desiring.
Ego's mousetrap waits
baited with its same old ache—
the want to have more
yet the pause disarms the snare
as false hunger wanes waiting.
In the pause revealed
the trap is an illusion—
unsprung, unbound, flayed
the ego fills the spaces
with cravings unfulfilling.
"If that isn't love
The ocean is dry
There's no star in the sky
And the sparrow can't fly
If that isn't love
Then heaven's a myth
There's no feeling like this
If that isn't love"
-Dottie Rambo
How can this screeching ache persist deep in my bowels? Like he's continuing to rip my heart to shreds everyday. The promises we whispered were sacred vows given on holy ground.
The words of which were woven into a shroud binding our two flesh bodies into one. He broke free somehow, but never freed me.
I'm pulled along in his wake, screaming. He never looks back to watch the skin flayed from my bones as he drags me on and on and on.
I relive the memories of our first kiss, the absolute shock of it and our bodies catching fire. That look in his eyes that could never lie. He loved me. I know he did! Didn't he?
If that wasn't love looking at me
then I've never seen the moon at night,
nor watched the rain pour down from the sky.
If that wasn't love,
I've never heard bird song in spring
nor smelled the savory scent of roses.
If that wasn't love then I know nothing.
It's all a fantasy,
a nightmare,
a Lunatic dream.
I need to hate him, I need to not care. Time is supposed to heal me but each day the wounds only fester, my nails ripped and broken from trying to stop him pulling me along forever.
I look through blurry eyes at the furrows disappearing over the horizon, my mouth full of dust and ashes.
This pain will last forever,
I'll never be free.
I'll never stop loving him
though he stopped loving me.
when I think about Jesus and all that He has done
and how His blood down Mount Calvary did run
when I think about Jesus and His sacrifice
and how for our sins He gave over His life
I cry tears of sorrow
I cry tears of shame
I cry for this selfless Son of God
I cry over His pain
when I think about Jesus born in a manger,
in constant danger, living a life of poverty
always ostracized, yet still recognized
for His spiritual ministry
I cry tears of sorrow
I cry tears of shame
I cry for this selfless Son of God.
I cry over His pain
His humility, His generosity
and His prophetic Beatitudes
His salvation, His righteousness
and His redemptive attitude
His sole purpose for even existing
to absolve us of the sins we're committing
He was played, betrayed and maliciously flayed
yet on that cross for us, Jesus still prayed
I cry tears of sorrow
I cry tears of shame
I cry for this selfish Son of God
I cry over His pain
When I think about Jesus
I now checked my behavior
to do my best, to be my best
simply because He's my Savior
I still cry tears of sorrow
I still cry tears of shame
I still cry for this selfless Son of God
I will forever cry over His pain
oh, You ...
you found me again
unveiled amid the bosom of my dreams -
my consciousness peeled back
and flayed
tabled in a twilight mist
for the memories of you to feast upon
drowning in the fathoms of your gaze
your scent ?
pouring its alert fascination
into my marrow
the tang of your pulpy tongue
the sweet confection of your skin, resplendent
(and the warm, wild places beneath it) -
vessels and walls and fair, tepid flesh
your intent within it all -
to conduct me
while allowing me the sway?
to exploit my exploitation of the moments -
letting me control your control of me
coy, seductive smile on your face
perfecting your line and movements
as a ballerina should …
it is all still there
as if the years since were phantoms
gone with a breath of irresolute regret …
and you inhabit me now as then
as EVER
preying on my sleep-time meanderings
without mercy, without bridle?
without an ounce of benevolence or pity …
oh, You -
no other vexes me
so completely
so purely
no one pervades my
nettled dreams as you do
nor will anyone -
ever …
morning always comes too soon, blushing
and much, much too bright
for the love that we both swore eternity to -
that we knew with all conviction
to be as sure as starlight
as dire as death itself
and as deep as the sea of suns
is now nothing but a
damp blemish ...
on my pillow.
Another day, another ghostly glitch
The catholic church stained glass
shouldn’t be as grey as it was today.
More and more the molding frays
I can hear the coffins softy coughing
There are more and more mourning days
Whether or not there was better days,
“Back when there was no such a glitch”
there were still plagues, there was still coughing,
common enough, blood from esophagus glass
Our flesh still frays, it decays over time,
especially today.
I forgot to take my Lamictal today,
It is my second time forgetting, third day
without taking it. A ball of yarn beginning to fray,
my brain begins to glare and glitch.
Is there a hemorrhage born of broken glass?
Maybe I inhaled it in mass? I did a lot of coughing.
The psalms usually calming, all I heard was coughing
this morning. Something seems off today…
I stared at my reflection for too long, the looking glass
has sassed me back for many mourning days.
It’s not a glitch,
the flesh is flayed, the noose is frayed.
Always unsuccessful, its stressful, hair is frayed
into my hands. The same hands that caught me coughing
blood in the hospital in Philadelphia. It can’t be a glitch,
this has always been my reality, suffering is my software today.
It's a countdown, it's a matter of days
Until I am immortalized in pink and yellow glass.
It will say, “Here lies the Saint of Smoking Glass”,
I have tried to recover, but my brain stem was frayed,
and it snapped under pressure. No more mourning days!
No more pre funeral cigarettes! Interrupting eulogies
coughing like it was some sort of
awkward option! It’s not your time today!
You will feel it when you can feel the glitch.
Eye twitch, there's the glitch! I smoked too much glass…
It’s my last day today and I lived partially flayed
I can finally stop coughing.
I’ll see you on my mourning day.
Sixties Secret Agent
In black and orange inks
some wag had stenciled,
"no need for tests -
for use on dinks".
Gung-ho. Can-do.
Make war, not love.
You hit puberty, and find
you're the biggest kid on the block.
Time to throw some weight around.
Buy yourself a Glock.
Damn this forest.
They don't play fair.
We'll catch 'em in the open
with our phosphorescent flares.
We invented cocaine drinks,
electric chairs, chop suey -
let's have us a little think:
claymores, napalm, hueys.
If only we could find a way
to murder all these trees:
if all this life were scalded, flayed,
and shriveled till it dropped away,
poisoned, sickly, palsied, grey,
then Charlie, skulking somewhere
out there
would show up in our lenses' stare
and we could bring our guns
to bear.
So. Get it done.
Who defended Jews from Nazis in WW2
A few brave souls here and there
Foul-smelling smoke from crematoria arose
The masses turned aside, held their nose
Only dirty Jews being gassed, burnt, chopped up and flayed
Only unclean Jewish women being gang-raped by the SS night and day
Only Jewish genitals being irradiated in sexual experiments
Only 'Jew-dogs' ~ their essence, filth and excrement
Today, Islamists shout 'Allah Akhbar,' then slaughter
Jewish grandmas, wives, babies, sons and daughters
The West cowers, labels them 'militants,' not terrorists
Israel, retaliate: Shoot every Hamasnik dead
~ Not a single one can you afford to miss