Long Fled Poems
Long Fled Poems. Below are the most popular long Fled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fled poems by poem length and keyword.
I fled to the city scared and unsure,
with no money, no prospects of a job.
And swept up by the rising human tide,
I proved myself foolish and immature.
I felt homesick, and looking for a cure,
I threw myself into big city life.
But finding friends was not an easy task:
my trust in folks was often premature.
The neon lights flaunt fantasy's allure:
yet, reality soon burst that bubble.
There's a price for being young and naïve;
a hidden cost: that all youth must endure.
Eating whatever food I could procure:
Necessity taught me to beg and steal
by convincing me: my motives were pure.
How do I know I can trust you—
You who come cloaked in stars and sighs?
Your eyes are night’s deceptive hue,
And love has learned to lie.
You speak in tones the wind might use
To stir the sea to sleep—
But every vow you let me choose
You never meant to keep.
I held your name like silken thread
Between the fingers of my prayer,
But silence bloomed where truth had fled—
And left me gasping air.
Empty promises, the sting of death upon your lips,
I would do anything for you.
A thousand times I kissed the flame
That flickered just beyond your skin,
And called it joy, and bore the blame—
Still hoping you’d begin.
The roses bent beneath your tread,
The moon grew pale with doubt,
And all the songs I should have said
Were quietly left out.
Empty promises, the sting of death upon your lips,
I would do anything for you.
Now stars fall down like ash and bone,
And dawn forgets to rise—
I sleep beside a ghost alone
Beneath your vanished skies.
I once believed that love could save,
That pain was just the price—
But trust is something even brave
Hearts must question twice.
Empty promises, the sting of death upon your lips,
I would do anything for you.
—Lingers in Nerves—
Thou say’st that less is more; I bow thereto—
yet silence, once begotten, will not cease;
for what thy lips deny returns anew,
and what was once a hush devours my peace;
till what was but the little hush of breath
outgrows the tongue, and speaks beyond all death.
My cedar-born quill, once quick with vernal flame,
could summon dawn from darkness at my hand;
now grey comes creeping where the colours came,
and leaves no kingdom bright enough to stand;
yet, bleeding inwardly, it makes no plea—
but spends my briny blue obediently.
The page once opened like a sovereign gate,
and every letter entered it like song;
now whiteness guards an inviolate state
where even light seems trespass all day long;
and every stroke that falters on its skin
seems less a word than silence entering in.
Still do I write—for love, when answer’s fled,
becomes the hand that writes against the void;
one syllable survives where ten lie dead,
and one more follows, though the first’s destroyed;
for what returns is neither thine nor mine,
but silence wearing language as a sign.
Thou hast but said be still—and stillness grew
until it filled the empire of my speech;
it drank the names by which I summoned you,
and drew their buried meanings out of reach;
till less, which seemed so little when begun,
hath so consumed the word that none is one.
Now watch the cedar yield—not unto age,
nor grief, nor any wound the years can heal,
but to the dark beyond the final page
where nothing waits that it is sworn to feel;
the last stroke stills the worlds it might have sung—
and unborn songs die wordless on the tongue.
Bumble bee in search of rose to convey its love,
although it was warned of thorns guarding rose.
All advised , better to choose other blossoms.
Bumble bee groaning flapping wings continuous
flying free frolic in garden.
Jasmine, Cosmos, Sunflower, Gardenia greeted
Flamboyant clusters , Marigolds in row nodded.
Flower to flower It fled on ceaseless groaning,
touched sepals, petals, groaned and groaned till came too close,
put nose to rose, and then stopped.
It kissed in best bliss and started to sip
sweet nectar.
Its dormant dreamy desires got fulfilled.
Thirst of bumble bee, not to be quenched elsewhere.
Its ardent ardour is ready to bear pricks of thorns
but to win beauty queen.
My once passionate life,
Charming crayola broads.
Came to a halt,
When she was sent from God.
But heartbreak burned,
As I dripped to the floor.
I cried waxy tears,
Like never before.
She still crosses my mind,
Though a little bit darker.
She ran off with him,
A crayola green marker.
Now tears of red,
So frequently stream.
As the pain of my heart,
Is so easily seen.
These ardent veins,
That gushed passionate red.
Have no reason to flow,
Since my burgundy fled.
Shades of maroon outline,
This broken carmine heart.
These crimson thoughts,
Want love to embark.
But my burgundy dreams,
Will never comeback.
For all of my happiness,
Has melted to wax.
When pilgrims first arrived upon Plymouth’s shores,
They were wary of Indian customs and things they didn’t know-
Suspect of the Indians having powers from the devil, and more,
The belief of witches inside their own colonies did grow-
Witchcraft suspicions weren't confined to one colony alone,
Many believed Satan himself could possess both body and soul-
Behavior was questioned - whether outside or inside a home,
And accusations towards those disliked - sometimes a personal goal-
In 1642, Connecticut made witchcraft punishable by death,
And for 108 years it remained as a capital crime-
Twelve executed before 1692 crying “innocent” until their last breath,
Witch-hunts became more prolific, right after this time-
Witch trials are a period of dark history for us,
Mass hysteria flourished in Massachusetts, Salem town-
When eight girls ate rye fungus then acted odd and made a fuss,
“BEWITCHED” the doctor said, for no cause of illness could be found-
Initially only three accused, but the list grew as time went on,
Until thirty were identified as witches by the end-
Both men and women were named and it didn’t take long,
For the infamous Salem Witch Trials to begin-
Nineteen women were hanged on Gallows Hill in 1692,
And a man not answering charges, was pressed to death by stones-
Fifty more died in prison awaiting trial for witchcraft review,
The court would convict on verbal testimony alone-
Only one of the eight trial judges had a conscientious reaction,
Presiding Judge Samuel Sewall, publicly apologized five years later-
For his condemnations, he felt a tremendous dissatisfaction,
Begging for forgiveness, his remorse couldn’t have been greater-
In 1750, witchcraft was removed as a crime in our colonial society,
The Puritans who had fled the grasps of England’s persecuting hand-
And tasted freedom had gained some bad notoriety,
When they persecuted those different, on their new American land-
The midnight knew my hidden name
Before she learned to cry;
The moon, a pale and trembling flame,
Hung like an ever-watching eye.
The floorboards whispered, one by one,
Of footsteps buried long ago;
They walked where neither star nor sun
Had found the courage yet to go.
The walls inhaled a silent breath,
As though the house itself could mourn;
Its timbers dreamed of love and death,
Of broken vows and hope forsworn.
A voice arose without a tongue,
A shadow moved without a face;
The ancient bells were never rung,
Yet echoed through that haunted place.
I fled—but every road I knew
Returned me to that shadowed door,
Where grief, more faithful than the dew,
Waited as it had before.
Then softly spoke the endless night:
"You cannot outrun what you keep.
The deepest ghosts avoid the light—
They make their silent homes in sleep."
So here I dwell, and here remain,
Where memory wears a spectral shroud;
For every heart that shelters pain
Becomes its own eternal cloud.
She hadn't a friend who cared or family member around
As well as she had fared the loneliness is what she found
Tucked away in her mansion the neighbors so eerily distant
Drapes keeping out the sun like the rays were never sent
So many pictures of the past yet the joy had long since fled
It all just went so fast and so many things that weren't said
She really had just about enough for what was the reason
Surrounded by all of her stuff there wasn't even any pleasing
Then there was a knock at the door a local Catholic charity
They had a local thrift store it was called the Family Tree
Asking if she had any unwanted things that they could resell
As the money that it brings would help many others as well
She invited them to come in and then showed them around
Then with a slight grin saying all of this has kept my soul bound
You can fill up that whole truck and just take so much of this away
I'm tired of feeling so stuck but all that is going to change today
She kept just enough things but brought all those pictures along
Now suddenly feeling like she had wings she broke out into song
And when she did drive past that store seeing all her stuff in the window
Her emotions would begin to pour as the Lord she had finally come to know
Memories of you left an afterimage in my eyes
I found blindness to be a comfort
where darkness dressed in dreary black
and my soul laid its head on my heart's grave
to weep about wishes withdrawn from love's breath
when your footprints faded away
and an open door swung back and forth in the wind
leaving nothing but yesterday's dim-lit realms of shade
in this darkness, I heard Angels cry
from our love's broken bliss of beauty
where tears dropped from eyes of sadness
onto empty palms, that once held love and roses
could that I have cried to someone, somewhere
to be so empty, so helpless
as to dissolve away with every emotion that fled
until my heart became an empty husk
and my world an unwanted withering stem of dead petals
that slowly bent and crumbled, falling to Earth
to land on my knees, brokenhearted
it's where you'll find me
but, you won't find me, for you have gone
and I have become nothing more than a weeping shadow
of shades and sadness filled with memories
that left an afterimage in the eyes
2/25/22
contest Some Broken Hearts Never Mend
sponsor Faraz Ajmal
What if the earth's not flat just a bit bent
Horizons but the hype of those who fled
Twisted by the weight of our cement
The creeping edge of "mindful" government.
Perhaps the bureaucrats should drop their drawers
And turn the ice cap yellow as it thaws
Mock the crumbling of the Arctic shelf
The house and senate playing with themself.
But then again the status quos a lie
for nothing stays the same, not earth, not sky
The giant redwoods fell and slowly died
Long before the crush of human pride.
And we a mutant curse upon the planet
Sit in broken shale we took for granite.
John G. Lawless
2/2/2020d