Long Ghost town Poems
Long Ghost town Poems. Below are the most popular long Ghost town by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ghost town poems by poem length and keyword.
Life is just a traffic jam, and I can't seem to get past my thoughts
So, many accidents my regrets get lost
Souls trying to fly without wings
Trying to retrace their steps
But no footprints are left behind
A weird feeling breezes through this ghost town of my mind
State the reason for your existence, I exclaimed
Wondering just where I was
The response whispered life lessons
Confused I asked lessons?
There is nothing here
The whisper replied exactly
You never learn you only push me back and erase me away
Causing the worst type of pain
A blank space
Then I understood
I never faced my problems
I only covered them up
Leaving a vacancy where the past should live
So, I could digest the pain and leave it behind instead of still getting caught up in old ish
Lesson learned to move into my wounds
p.s. I'm the student and the teacher...
In the glow of a screen,
we found each other,
two souls adrift in the vastness,
spilling into the digital ether,
each keystroke a heartbeat,
Sometimes, I trace the outline
of your face in my imagination,
wondering what your laughter sounds like
when the world is quiet.
I close my eyes,
and in the space between breaths,
I can almost feel you near,
like the warmth of sun
on a chilly day.
Wrapping in the paradox of wanting,
a paradox of needing you
while feeling lost,
wondering if love is meant to be
a bridge or a barrier—
a connection or a chasm,
I watch the tides of your indifference wash over me,
We share the same air,
yet I breathe in isolation,
I hold on,
clinging to the fragments of us,
I wait, sometimes, like a flower
thirsting for the rain,
for those sweet drops of recognition,
Affection twisted into chains,
words once sweet turned bitter,
I danced to the tune of your demands.
You painted love in shades of gray,
where silence screamed louder than shouts,
and I learned to read the spaces
between your messages,
the pauses heavy with threats
I wore your anger like a second skin,
bruised by your absence,
by the moments you left me hanging,
the coldness that filled my chest
when I dared to question,
to seek the warmth I craved
My heart a target,
your quips sharp,
a game of power,
I searched for solace,
a flicker of kindness,
but the glow was dim—
the ghost of you whispering,
“Stay.”
You left without a proper goodbye,
just a ghost in the chat,
your absence a cold draft,
No closure in the fading light,
just echoes bouncing in the void,
questions hanging like dust,
settling in spaces once filled with hope
You said you loved me,
wrapped my heart in ribbons,
you vanished like smoke,
leaving me in the aftermath,
a ghost town of memories,
You love me fiercely,
but only when your hands
are stained with the colors of my pain.
Western Prairie Desert Dust. Tumbleweed fly. Howling winds, Shutters pounding houses. A former gas station once active in but now is a Greyhound Bus stop. The place being Howl Town, Arizona. The Ghost town had no trace of citizens visible. Were they still there? Bus passengers were asleep but suddenly awakened in the sunrise. The thought of Nightmare on Elm Street. Another male passenger was boarding for his start on the trip. He had an evil and sinister look. He maneuvered himself towards the back of the Greyhound bus. All the passengers didn’t want to fall back to sleep. No one knew what the male passenger was thinking because he talked to himself. His mind controlling his every thought. The Greyhound bus bound for Los Angeles had originated from New York City. Will the Greyhound bus passengers arrive at the designated finale safely or will it be the end of the road? The passengers wondered and attempted being prepared for anything. At least that is what they thought. Suddenly, the male passenger made his move scoping passenger after passenger. Immediately, one passenger was attacked with a big sword sharp, and his head was cut off and following more deadly manic murders. Passenger after passenger was a continuation of killings. The male passenger that boarded was Demon possessed, and it was kill, kill and kill. Some passengers even had skin torn from their faces with no recognition. While other passengers were stabbed hard to their chest. The Greyhound Bus Driver’s head was cut off and caused the bus to go out of control and falling deep down the mountain gorge and falling on its side. The bus burst into flames. Screams were made during the first attack. No warning. Breaking News flashed on TV News reported the bus crash, but it was announced no survivals. Yet the male passenger wasn’t accounted for. How did he escape, and what will be his next stop? For the Greyhound bus passengers, it was Detour miles of journey kill. The male passenger is now wanted Dead or Alive by authorities. A word of caution, your town could be next. Worry, worry, worry. Don’t go asleep as there is no promise you will wake up. The male passenger lurks and could be watching you right now.
Beware and alert. You have been warned.
The trees ache with a pain only those who have witnessed true horror
The swinging rope moping for it had been turned to a killer
The threads unravelling trying to escape
A maze with no end
Running, running, running Away
Yet still can't escape its fate
A fallen leaf a tear of the tree
Weeping for a life no more
Haunted by the thought of how many more
Will face a death so brutal
The branches snap screaming in pain
Wishing to not be a ploy in their game
The blood Soaked roots
Will grow into a plant who will wear their name
The sun has hidden things will never be the same
A life lost is a star gained
The world grieves with drops of rain
Trying to control a harrowing pain
The buildings still paying respects
Dressed in a layer of a grief so known
For centuries it stood a witness to a tragedy all alone
The broken windows shattered by the screams it spoke
Choked by the air which had lost all hope
What must become of a body disposed
More blood than man
The red that shows
Maybe good can come evil where flowers may grow
Maybe the sky will gift a rainbow
To bring hope for another tomorrow
What becomes of body now gone
What happens to a family who couldn't mourn
A death that brought about violent storm
The earth has quietened
The streets forlorn
Watching another black families heart be torn
The end of a funeral left to a house rid of warmth
The world haunted by the joy long gone
What becomes of a world without the lights on
What becomes of a world that houses an atmosphere so cold
What becomes of a world where the that barely holds on
Slowly crumbling its foundations
The structure that holds everything up
Has now been torn down
What becomes of a world that let's black people down
It becomes a place where joy becomes a ghost town
Let’s go see Shosone Falls, Hells Canyon, Craters of the Moon Museum.
Hold up! I said to my excited husband; where are they?
Smack dab in the middle of Montana, Wyoming, Washington and Oregon.
The little “gem” state, Idaho.
Of course I knew then he had gone mad.
During this pandemic I wanted to travel the Oregon Trail?
He has been reading up on the state, and is all enthusiastic about it.
Keeps throwing photos of ghost towns at me, mentions square dancing.
I never did like square dancing, but a ghost town. Hmmmm.
I began reading.
There are a number of them – Silver City, Sierra Silver Mine, Gold Dredge.
I keep my ideas secret, knowing if he knew we would be on the road in an hour.
There are so many beautiful photographs taken in Idaho.
I want to see Shoshone Falls, Hells Canyon, and the Craters of the Moon Monument.
Billionaires – none; that also appeals to me. Means they are regular folk.
It seems like people from Idaho have a hilarious sense of humor also,
and I do love a sense of humor.
Here are two rules still on their books:
One, you cannot walk on the street unless you are smiling.
Two, you cannot fish from a camel’s back or a giraffe’s back.
They must be a lot like my family in this way also.
Head me toward Idaho, honey. I want to see an Appaloosa horse, mountain
blue bird and cutthroat trout. Not to mention those ghost towns.
We will visit your girl scout camp we promised our daughter.
Headed down to Tennessee on a Saturday morning like we ought’er.
Arrived around six a.m. thinking the campers would be awake.
No one was around in the empty buildings, for goodness sakes!
Where are they? My husband asked. It’s a ghost town here.
We finally drove around the camp honking until we heard “oh, dear!”
It was our daughter’s voice. She did not say it with cheer.
What is wrong? Asked a bunkmate. “My parents are here!”
We were asked to come back at a decent hour.
Which surprised us. No one had had a bath or a shower.
We came back at noon wearing our umbrella rain hats.
Your parents are hilarious! Said the founder, Miss Pats.
Romans 10 verse 13
The world remains in crisis
Who is to save our doom days
For we can't cope any more
With this system
Around us are rumours of deaths
Our busy cities are nothing more
But a ghost town today
Fear rooms inside our head
And mind
Cos this era bleeds confusion
Who is to save our doom days
For those in charge
Are full of deceit
They bleed illusion
Their ideas are not
Friendly to our humanity
Our peaceful life is
Gradually turning sow
And bitter each day
While we panic
We are told to be hopeful
With no change
What a time
A time of doom
Who will save the world
For the sake of this quest
I got a massage
And this massage is found in
Romans 10 verse 13
Quote
For who ever calls on the name
Of the lord God
Shall be saved
Looking at the view from the window
Watching all the cars pass on buy
The street lamps give a distant glow
Now brienghting the darkened sky
Looking at the view from the outside
A whole completely different perspective
Especially when looking from the inside
Some things seem like their reflected
Looking at a view that's way out of focus
One asks what it is that I'm now seeing
Making up your own style of burnoculs
Though I'm told looks can be deceiving
And now I'm looking at a view from a far
from way up above, from a great height
I wonder to my self is it a shooting star
Though it dose seem quit out of sight
Now looking at a view from way over there
I suppose from that of an artists point of view
Like all around a blank canvas, stripped bare
Trying though to separate the old from new
A view from a completely different angle
Now that changes the whole dynamics
Different shapes, is it a square or triangle
I don't know so much about the physics
Iideas from others I wrote like sights and sounds
Idea came from seasons and ghost town poems I wrote
probably makes no sense but like I said in my dys of colour poem
the way my thoughts are made WRITTEN BY MYSELF DAVIDSCOTT FEB MARCH 2013
wishing round in my head while think of other things at time maybe reedit in future
im still working on something else called rems
songer.co/song/jn9xmquvqwg9g8vp8gl13tyf
[Verse 1]
I remember the chill in the air,
When you said goodbye, like you didn’t care.
Your words cut deep, left me bare,
But I stayed silent, pretending I was fine.
You walked away, said you needed space,
That freedom would bring you back to grace.
But in your eyes, I saw a trace
Of something we couldn’t leave behind.
[Pre-Chorus]
I thought I’d be fine,
Thought I’d find my way,
But the nights were long, and the days were gray.
Told myself I’d be alright—
Still haunted by your goodbye.
[Chorus]
Now you’re free, but I’m stuck here,
Wondering what could’ve been, the love we shared.
Was it worth the cost of what we had?
If freedom means losing you, then I’m not glad.
I’m doing fine now, but can’t you see?
Freedom came at the price of me.
And now I'm lost, lost forever in November,
But I can’t love you the way I used to remember.
[Verse 2]
Every corner of our old town sings,
Of laughter we shared and the joy it brings.
But now it's a ghost town echoing pain,
Those memories linger like the cold, hard rain.
I walk the streets where we used to roam,
Feels like I’m searching for a place called home.
But the shadows remind me of your face,
And the love we built that time can’t erase.
[Pre-Chorus]
I thought I’d be fine,
Thought I’d find my way,
But every sunset brings another gray day.
Told myself I’d be alright—
Yet I’m haunted by your goodbye.
[Chorus]
Now you’re free, but I’m stuck here,
Wondering what could’ve been, the love we shared.
Was it worth the cost of what we had?
If freedom means losing you, then I’m not glad.
I’m doing fine now, but can’t you see?
Freedom came at the price of me.
And now I'm lost, lost forever in November,
But I can’t love you the way I used to remember.
[Bridge]
Seasons change, but my heart stays cold,
Trying to find warmth in stories untold.
But your laughter echoes, it still calls to me,
Like a haunting melody that won’t set me free.
[Outro]
Lost in November, with the memories we made,
Chasing shadows of love that will never fade.
I’m lost in the echoes, longing to feel,
Wishing for a time when our love was real.
Misstep Paradise
by Odin Roark
Like the ocean’s waves repeating themselves,
mistakes love to revisit their beginnings,
gloat about their undertow power,
and patiently prepare the next towering breaker.
As if squawking gulls lining the landfall weren’t enough,
joining the prattle is the wind’s ever-repeatable,
“I told you so” oratory.
With ebb and tide behind them,
anxious errors reach progress once alive,
now but mazes of mischance,
ghost towns replete with obligatory tumbleweeds
scurrying past longevity’s sentinels of roaches and rodents
forever faithful to new arrivals.
Even as stored images of ethereal struggle
stay ensconced in supernatural satellites,
reality’s citadel of dust-caked walls and web-laced doorways
display shattered daguerreotypes,
torn photographs,
corrupted digital projections,
3D wanderings,
and holographic ghosts
of perfection’s folly,
holding fast to historical hubris,
mastery’s habitual bungling of headway.
At one end of actuality’s ghost town,
a dangling speaker bellows forth its ceaseless maxim:
“Misstep Paradise is all that matters,
as living life void of errors is to exist
without learning the monstrous reason for it all.”
Welcome to your personal shadow zone,
mind’s inner kingdom of fortuity,
where infinity’s turn-around sign of truth,
remains your chance to finally learn…