Long Gratifies Poems
Long Gratifies Poems. Below are the most popular long Gratifies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gratifies poems by poem length and keyword.
Dewdrops cling
To the scent of a fresh rose
Only letting go
For the graceful smile
Morning sun wipes away
The precious jewels of dew
Buzzing, breathing
The heavy air of flowers
Petals gentle, dancing
With the relief of a promise
Whispering, soothing
Embracing the sigh of the sun
Music drifts, slowly
Calming the spirit, the hope
With prayers of graceful
Wisdom, enlightenment
Praises played, delicate dreams
Inspiring the joy of a love
Laughing, the seas
Cough up the wonders
Mysteries, secrets
Feelings so alive they conspire
Praying for the light
To pour over the soul, singing
Love, so alive, thriving
It amuses, gratifies, desires
The kiss of His lips, soft
Gentling each caress with brilliance
Washing the moment in grace
Lifting each darkness with His stirring…
Pounding, beating, breathing
Love lingers on the air
Tracing the beauty of a prayer
Stirring up hope, inspiring
The poetry that devours a life
In hints of rhythm, tempo…
Two who become one flesh
One light, one life…
Abiding in the joy of a hope
Who knows only to give
Without expectation or limits,
Generous with tenderness
That heavy scent is the feeling
Alive on the love that is spiritual
Oh, America,
my beloved America.
The world owns your soul,
and chortles as catastrophe comes.
Bartered was your legacy,
for riotous living,
and pottage no longer gratifies
your innards cravings.
Terrorist lambaste your innocent,
and spread false doctrines.
Fear and anxiety hold you captive,
casting foreboding shadows o'er your land.
As a mongrel wallowing in its vomit,
so it is, you and your sin.
Having no vision of signet ring and fatted calf,
your robe now drapes a self righteous frame.
Has the line in the sand been crossed?
While your flag still flies, the eagle soars,
and your Statue of Liberty stands erect,
return unto the father.
Oh America,
my beloved America,
God loves thee more than I.
One tear, quiet
As the softest snowflake,
Gentling the spirit –
Almost a breath of stardust,
Trickling through the twilight skies,
Seeping peace into the night,
Magnificent peace –
On a silent night, a silent night.
One touch, tender
Mild as the autumn wind,
Breathless and graceful,
Stirring prayers –
In the senses, searching,
Beneath the wounds that burn,
The echoes of dread to discern,
In the stillness, comes joy,
Wonder so alive it gratifies,
A glory only God could hold –
Glory only He could evoke,
Glory, glory, glory…
One verse, edifying,
Telling the mind, the heart
In the warmth of a psalm,
The serenity of the dawn,
Awakened by the calm, the One…
Who is like the kindly glow,
Always there, always will know…
The spirit who believes,
The spirit who He sees…
Beneath the fears, the tears, the years,
Harmonizing with the light,
The spirit who knows He is love.
One tear and I could know – He’s here!
One touch and I could see – so much!
One verse and I could feel – such zeal!
Because He is the answer to my every prayer.
He is the reason that love this rare…
Abides inside those who believe in His Son,
The whole reason that God’s love shines brighter than the sun!
I feel Him with me, in each tear, each touch, each verse…
And, I’ll continue to seek Him – in every impression of love.
My fragility.
It’s a dispute of the unborn.
Sometimes I feel my loathe curling into the caves of my doting delicacy.
Sometimes I feel my pondering breath, stifled under the world’s strangling oxygen.
Sometimes I feel my security solace itself through the brittle tremble of my palms.
The mercy enchants me.
The relentless, ceaseless yearn of every man, inhaling my infirmity; a futile faith to fuel a defective ego.
The persistent, unyielding ruthlessness of every man, swallowing my hallucinated plea for the shelter of their calloused.
The obstinate, treasured haunt of every man, consuming my crumble; a famine to a fuelled, faux masculinity.
The egocentric proposal of a succoured sanctuary igniting my flesh in a hatred so potent; I cannot help but receive.
I cannot help but accept the ascending high of a haven so temporary, it gratifies the salves of my supplicatory wounds.
Is this what it has come to?
The reflection of the glass indulges at my bare bequest of my rupture.
The relics of my DNA question my competence for an ancestry demolition.
The throttled atoms of my making flourish onto the endless, violent anguish for the transgression of my dignity.
And the inevitability of my reality finally consumes the romanticisation of my presence.
I am fragile.
Why He loves me, I can’t imagine.
Why He blesses me, I am unsure.
Why He values me, I don’t know.
Why He lights my soul, is unknown!
When He stills the winds, I listen.
When He moves the heart, I pray.
When He forgives my sins, I’m thankful.
When He smiles on me, I’m filled with praise!
Where He goes, I will follow.
Where He is, I long to be.
Where He exalts, I feel certain.
Where He promises, I can breath!
How He inspires me, I can’t describe.
How He stirs my heart – excites.
How He lights the dark, enthuses.
How He saves my soul – truly gratifies!
Whom He says He is – He is!
Whom He blesses, is blessed indeed!
Whom He saves, is saved forever!
Whom He is – He is King and Savior!
Ego, not love, seeks vibrational match
for love is simply an effervescence
like yonder sun, lighting up each dark patch,
being quintessence of our soul’s essence.
Is not fickle love, that seeks a caress,
being dependent upon an exchange;
which if denied, soon begins to regress,
succumbing to cravings, our soul finds strange?
Love that is pure, is of the agape kind,
non-judging, all-embracing compassion,
a sublime radiance, no urge can bind
but perhaps such love is not in fashion.
If endearment be reduced to a trade,
deludedly, we assign love a grade.
Deludedly, we assign love a grade,
higher, if it gratifies our ego,
which is afraid to call a spade a spade,
need to be stroked, unable to let go.
As life unfolds and our consciousness shifts,
we may find that our interests diverge
but elixir of pure love, all hearts lifts,
radiating at all times, a bliss surge.
What matters at all times, is simply this,
that we see in our partner, divine light,
ensconced wherein, both our souls merge to kiss,
drenched in bliss mists, heightening heart’s delight.
Where love pulsates, there can remain no catch;
ego, not love, seeks vibrational match.
In denim- blues skies:
the sun hums gold a decaying monotone
of chest crushing heat on teeming trees
to fields and prairies, where they striptease.
And when the wind gusts:
cool hours seed encoring the hues
of ochres bright not of fire forced.
Spirally wheeled pupils may whirl
as in tireless and heavy rammed blow,
brown crinkled leaves fly in frenzied dance.
Weak limbs shudder too; lulled, they tumble,
fall and rest to coat the earth.
but within the heat, nothing goes to
waste nature regenerates.
It worms the leaves into compost weaves.
Yes, shades of Autumn are nature's mourning
for nature's die yet still its beauty: a romance
as it gratifies the eyes.
__________________________________________________
~~Inspired by the painting: Autumn in France
by Emily Carr 1911
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
5:49pm , January 15, 2015