Long Folded Poems
Long Folded Poems. Below are the most popular long Folded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Folded poems by poem length and keyword.
My only grasp
Her words and prose
The link between my sadness and her heart
Erased, words evaporated, away in the wind
I feel my desperation and sin
For why do I so cling?
To words that disappear
To dreams that fade away
To desires that are drowned in whiskey sour
Sour like the love I once had
Now vinegar for young lovers salad
I immerse my self in my indulgence
I am driven to destruction
I with no heart, have a heart
After all
You realize in life
at moments
The air within yesterdays folded hand
Is gold
Notes:
You realize in life
at moments
The air within yesterdays folded hand
Is gold
Some poems I add a few lines at the end, the poem goes one way without, and another with the added lines, if thats not a form, then I just invented it!!!
"I'm going to wake up and bury my heart if you're not in it, I could never forget, so I pretend it never happened, I'll live in delusions." _ by poet.
My lingering trepidation blooms
with thoughts of your being,
fading, slipping into a narrow
delicate shadow as whisps of
memory is thrown in the circle
of windy motions, swirling in
destructive steps.
You left me with sights that would
create demons.
I knew they were
all sweets of a dangling viper,
vaping energy, puking poison
as mocktails, yet, I believed.
I bathed in them like lavenders
till they were roses. I let myself
loose, spewing like helpless canons,
shooting into the heavens.
I grasped his horns and envisioned
it a costume. I thought he was art,
my masterpiece, so I surrendered,
I offered myself as a muse,
he gulped my every juice.
I gave myself as a canvas,
he stroked the world's darkest
Miseries on me.
He was a masquerade of fragrances,
a knight of melodious charades.
My brain had a non-function atom,
it couldn't recognise signs, there
was no thinking made, just a dive
so deep I drowned.
You haven't hugged and
embraced pain until
you wish for its non-existence.
These won't travel with the breeze
of the night, they can't be cemented.
Like truth, I flung them out and they
bounced back like morning dews.
Folded like crumpled pages,
my heart bleeds into a trillion shreds. Memories weigh heavy like the
Champions League, encasing
my soul in cursed ice. I want
them wiped like the end of
every teaching on a blackboard,
only then would I truly live.
When battle knocks upon a child
and he hides beneath the trembling wall,
fear plants its flag inside his name
and silence becomes his shadow.
For life is not a river crossed
with folded hands and lowered eyes;
the sky respects the stubborn bird
that flies against the storm.
A boy becomes a man one day
not merely by the count of years,
but by the wounds he dares to face
and the tears he refuses to waste.
The brave are not strangers to fear;
their hearts still shake like fragile leaves,
yet they rise when destiny calls
and answer thunder with footsteps.
O child of the red earth,
when hardship stands before your door,
do not surrender your spirit
to the cold comfort of retreat.
Stand.
Even if your voice quivers.
Fight.
Even if your knees grow weak.
For the one who confronts his battle
may fall and rise again with honour,
but the one who runs forever
becomes a prisoner of his own fear.
I ask this question to the fear inside you
the voice that trembles when life raises its fist
the shadow that tells you to run instead of rise
the part of you that flinches at every hard truth.
Tell me honestly, when the world demands courage
will you answer, or will you hide behind silence?
Will your story be one of surrender
a diary of dreams you were too scared to chase
a life folded neatly into the corner of regret
your name spoken only in pitying tones?
Will you be the one who let storms win
because you feared the first drop of rain?
Or will you stand when your bones feel weak
drag your courage from the dirt and wear it proudly
walk into the fire even when your heart shakes
and stay long enough to see the smoke clear?
Will you choose the weight of bravery
over the comfort of staying unseen?
Life will not ask you gently, it will throw grenades
it will dare you to pick them up with bare hands
to trust that you can survive the blast
to believe you were made for more than fear.
It will test your pulse in the darkness
waiting to see if you fight or flee.
Because every breath you take writes a sentence
every choice becomes a line in your legacy
every act of courage shapes the story you leave behind.
And one day, when your name travels without you
people will speak it with either pride or pity
their tone will depend on the battles you faced.
So choose wisely
will you be remembered as the coward who quit early
the one who walked away from the duel
or the brave soul who held the grenade of life
felt its heat, its danger, its weight
and still threw it back with a steady hand?
FOLDED PAGES FILL BOXES AND BINS
FINGER PRINTS STAIN WHERE SPIT
WAS USED TO TURN THE PAGES
MY NOVEL SCREAMS OUT FOR
RESPITES FROM MY TEAK WOOD
DESK MEMORIES FADE BECOMING
DIM ABRUPTLY SHINING A LIGHT
AT THE BOTTOM OF THE DOOR A LEAF
FALLS WRITERS BLOCK HAS GONE HOME
FOR A SEASON I SUPPOSE AN YET
I'M NOT WILLING TO PUT PEN TO
PAPER I'M NOT WILLING TO WRITE
I'M NOT WILLING TO TYPE WHY I'M
NOT WILLING TO LISTEN TO MY MUSES
CHANTING FROM AFAR AS BANGLADESH
DANCES COLORFUL CHIMES GEMS JINGLES
AS THE ELEPHANT CALMNESS ABODE STANDING
THERE STAMPING HIS FEET THE DANCE OF
A LIFETIME UNFOLDS MY PAGES ARE FLOWN
AROUND MY ROOM AS LEAVES THIS BLUSTERY
FIND MINGLING WITH MY MINDS EYE LEAVING
A RED DOT ON MY FOREHEAD MY GREATEST
NOVEL FINALLY SAY'S THEE END
There exists a thin line
Between “you” and “them”.
To ask “who is them” is necessary,
Not asking shouts your capture.
But to ask “who are you”
Is to search for yourself
In places they didn’t expect you to look.
I said a thin line but truly, it’s thick
Knowing south when the rest only north.
In this game, losing your soul
Means taking with you the blind folded.
The ones who refuse to look the other way.
But…, thick or thin, does it really exist?
Now how about, “there exist a wall”
That separates the real and the current you.
This time the task to find
The material the wall is made of
Which will allow you to question and find,
The difficult but vital part of breaking free.
I said a wall, what if there exists nothing.
You see clearly the lines and the lies.
But you know the cost of disobedience.
And got tired of going where
The masses refuse to leave their footprints.
Tired of thorns of red zones,
You know the path, potholes and the truth.
Indeed there’s nothing, just an invisible border.
And you know it.
We waited
the way people once waited for love
without urgency,
without doubt.
Days leaned into nights,
weeks learned patience,
Months held their breath.
Somewhere far away,
a hand moved slowly,
thinking of us between words.
The letter was never promised,
Yet our hearts knew its shape.
It travelled across borders,
carrying the smell of home
or a foreign sky,
ink pressed gently by longing.
The waiting itself was beautiful,
listening for footsteps of the postman,
for the soft arrival of hope
at the door.
at last delivered it,
But love had written it.
On a coloured page,
feelings bloomed like quiet flowers.
Every curve of handwriting
proved someone took time for us,
paused for us,
missed us enough to wait.
Now words come instantly,
light as air,
without warmth or weight.
No trembling hands,
no folded corners,
or a tried petals of roses
No silence between sentences.
Those letters are gone,
But they live in memory
unseen,
deeply missed.
now treasures of a time
When love trusted time itself.
I am a vibrant shade of red,
And my human wears me to bed.
I am part of a pair,
And we live in the sock drawer, always there.
Sometimes we get dirt on us,
And we can hear our human fuss.
Into the big washing machine,
So we can get clean.
The soapy water feels so good,
As it should!
But wait!
Where's my mate?
He is nowhere to be found.
Was he left on the ground?
Into the dryer to get dry.
I feel like I'm going to cry.
Round and round we go,
But Tom does not show!
Laundry is folded in the room,
And without Tom, I meet my doom.
Into the bottom drawer I'm put.
I see many socks for just one foot.
I have made many new friends,
And that's how my story ends.
the wind pops like a ball hitting a wall
boy of 3 years struggles to control his small,
opened umbrella
a turtle shell shape with turtle head and tail
its black/green lines, a turtle grid of folly
boy laughing beneath a dome of turtle armour
tosseled by the wind
he holds the handle tightly even though no rain falls
his mother encourages its closure
to anchor meanderings that blow a lad astray
what makes a boy's balance manageable to hold?
achievable wants?
unwilted expectations?
a mother's ponder, will his shell grow with him?
what of the circle shaped by her embrace?
sometimes we don't know which way is up
sometimes we choose an arid shelter
sometimes coverings collapse
like many selves folded into one
under clouds of one's own making
Poem composed May 1, 2023
Summer slipped out the back
Packed up the heat so fast
Didn’t even say goodbye
Just left sand in my shoes
Folded the bright short sleeves
Boxed up the ocean blue
Now every hanger’s heavy
With thicker
Darker hues
I hope we have a mild winter
Let the cold come soft
Come slow
I’m pulling on my long johns
Flannel on my shoulders
Watching one more season go
I hope we have a mild winter
Give me one more gentle day
I’ll walk that same old block
Then sit at my computer
Do a little work for God and stayTop of my long johns on
Flannel shirt buttoned high
Bottom half hugging my legs
As that gray rolls over the sky
Round and round the block
Same cracks in the same old street
Breath like a faded cloud
Keys waiting back on my seat
Quick bite at the kitchen counter
Crumbs on a chipped white plate
Living room light like a little altar
Cursor blinking
Asking me to wait
Screen glows on my tired face
Hands on the keys like I’m in prayer
Small quiet tasks in a quiet place
Believing someone’s with me there