Long Guardian Poems
Long Guardian Poems. Below are the most popular long Guardian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guardian poems by poem length and keyword.
Moms are such delicate people
Our strength and our weakness
It's because there our cause
And many don't think it
But this person does just because
I see it all day just walking
A child falls guess who is there?
When a child crying who glares?
Mothers are the heart of things
Creates the means of love
When there are despairs
Who rises to clean up wounds
Even if it makes them turn blue
Mothers are silly to a truth
Knowing one or two is cool
I have all them to thank
Because without them were poo
Not to use a dirty word but true
They give and share
They tend and care
We are so blessed to have them
Our wings our guardian
In so, so many ways
God meant them to be
Our Guardian Angels to share
I alone stand vigil over the memories of my past;
I alone feel the weight of them,
feel what it is to be
the man that past has created.
I stand, alone, beneath the stars and the moon,
contemplating all, as I ever have done;
it is only now that I've accepted
that's who I am meant to be;
the writer, the poet –
I stand with the rest of the dreamers.
I sit, alone, among the instruments of music,
playing on and on throughout my life;
music flows into and through my soul,
and I am now and will always be,
the musician and the bard –
I sit with the rest of the drummers.
I travel, alone, with the remembrances of love,
searching always for that one true other;
it is only now that I've accepted that even
without one such, I can live;
the romantic, the sentimental –
I travel with the rest of the passionate.
I escape, alone, in the pages of a good story,
reading for ever and anon;
books speak to me, engage me,
entertain me, release me;
the storyteller and the listener –
I escape with the rest of the readers.
I will fight, never alone, next to my brothers
and sisters in arms;
it is with all of myself that I've accepted
my duty, and who I will always be;
the soldier, the guardian –
I will fight with the rest of the Marines.
I dance, run, walk, laugh, alone, in the rain,
let loose my being in the deluge;
the storm's fury and glory
somehow become my own;
the drenched, the soaked –
I do all of this with the rest of the rain lovers.
It is only now that I've accepted
that I have become
who I was meant to be;
who I want myself to be.
I alone know what it is to be
myself, Andrew James Sprouse,
scion of the sea and of the past,
of the word and the sword.
But I do not alone know what it is to feel alive;
to be exactly who you are,
who you're meant to be.
I do not alone know the truth of pain.
None of us stands truly and utterly alone.
Every single one of us walks, arm in arm,
with those who share your experiences,
your beliefs, your thoughts and your lives.
But you, alone, know what makes your heart free,
what makes your fire ignite and your essence true;
you alone know the visage and touch of your soul.
Whispering wings ~ feathers afloat,
Molting and marvelous, magnanimous
Wonders, alighting in familiar places.
~
Each feather remembers the warmth,
The pear-shaped cradle ere birth.
The quietude-nest, the guardian enfolds.
~
Even in rapid flight, into ebony night,
Wings, like a butterfly’s, though they sing,
trumpet no sound, unless one’s in tune
~
With God, unless the Spirit is just right,
Unless the Father is prepared to save
Or take away or just delight - just because…
~
Molting and marvelous, plucked from memories,
The magnanimous calls to the perceiver —
The flight, the whisper, the hesperus-hour,
~
Tingle of senses, the angelic featherbed
Releases an echo of space and time
To loved ones left behind…a single dove.
~
Even the blind, deaf and dumb recover
their senses, grab hold of the felicitous flight
…somehow, one’s guardian angel delivers this gift.
~
Godspeed, feather-light, wings that glow
whiter than snow. The Holy Spirit prepared
to disentangle truth from fiction in one’s frightful season.
~
Guardian-wing’d, miracle snow-drift, lights up
those dust-filled dendrites, attempts to clear
the cobwebs — spread of peace and light.
~
Next to her, smiling wide, exact replica
of an angel - Mom. Next to her frame —
a feather-gift treasured by my father.
1/12/2022
A once-thriving wishing well now stands as a desiccated testament to lost hopes and the passage of time. The well is not merely stone and dust, but a silent amphitheater where countless dreams once took their bow, now reduced to a stage of cracked earth. It is a mute oracle whose prophecies evaporated with the last drop of water, leaving behind only the ghosts of whispers and the echo of unfulfilled prayers.
This dried-up structure is an empty vault, a safety deposit box for the heart’s most vulnerable desires. Each pebble, once a potent offering, is now an unspent coin of faith, tarnished and forgotten at the bottom of the husk. The well’s deep, shadowed maw, once a mirror reflecting the hopeful eyes of believers, is now a blind, dusty bowl—a bowl of broken promises and evaporated tomorrows. The sun beats down on its rim, relentless and unforgiving, baking the very memories it holds into brittle relics of what was once a sacred trust.
It is a monument to a forgotten religion, a sacred site where the congregation stopped believing. The deity of the depths, the guardian of the granted wish, has long since departed, leaving the sanctuary to the mercy of the wind and the dust. The ropes that once drew forth buckets of life and promise now hang slack and frayed, like the severed lifelines of a belief system that could no longer sustain itself. They are the desiccated veins of an optimism that no longer flows.
The parched stones, once cool and slick with the perpetual moisture of faith, are now warm to the touch, retaining the day’s heat long after the sun has set, as if still burning with the fever of a long-ago wish that was never granted. The well is a skeletal hand reaching up from the earth, its fingers spread wide, not in supplication, but in a final, resigned gesture of emptiness. The dried wishing well is, in essence, a beautiful, tragic metaphor for a heart that has run out of wishes, a soul that has learned the hard lesson that some droughts are too long to break, and some wells are never meant to be refilled.
I Will Always Remember You
Always, your age and memory will stay here
Age, that, what you mean, the unknown time
Of years. Those years. I can’t see. I didn’t see
Age, years, that you mean. That your age means…
Beautiful young missed age. Hmm. No chance.
Far your way. Remember you, someone. Else
Far. From far. From the erosion of my earthly life
You are in my heart. You are in a crystal frame
In your church. In a dark heart. Remembering love
Beautiful your light
Hmm. Beautiful love
Give me, please
Give me your light
From your side
Frome otherside
Be my guardian angel
Loving you, a guy
Was scoolmate
In the past
Release your anger and your hate
Stay on the straight and narrow before your final fate
Open up and get all your problems out
Conqueror your fears that’s what its all about
Revel in your existence be good and be true
And eternal life will be waiting for you
Believe in yourself when everyone seems to lack
Because once you’re gone you can never come back
Don’t stress about things that have no meaning at all
Just forget about it and never recall
Revel in your existence be good and be true
And eternal life will be waiting for you
Live like your one breath away from dying
Push yourself to succeed or die trying
Always kiss and make love like it’s the first time
Have faith in God don’t look to the sky for a sign
Revel in your existence be good and be true
And eternal life will be waiting for you
Pray everyday because you never can tell
Always listen to your guardian angel
Its all a test so be ready for the grade
Be good to others and pass and you’ll have it made
life, a precious thread,
A beacon of love, where tender words are said,
A guiding light, a nurturing soul,
For all the reasons, I am thankful for my mom.
She is the gentle touch that dries my tears,
The rock that stands, unyielding through the years,
A sanctuary of warmth, when life is tough,
For her unwavering support, I can't thank her enough.
Her love, like a river, flows ceaselessly,
Quenching my spirit, nurturing me endlessly,
She's the melody that whispers in my ears,
A symphony of love that erases all my fears.
She weaves her wisdom into every embrace,
Teaching me the beauty of both strength and grace,
Her selfless deeds, like petals in bloom,
Illuminate my path, even in darkest gloom.
My mom, a shelter in life's tempestuous storm,
Her love, an anchor, keeping me safe and warm,
Through highs and lows, she's a constant guide,
For her unconditional love, I can't help but abide.
So, as I reflect on all that I've become,
I bow in gratitude, for this incredible woman,
Mom, your presence is a gift that I'll never outgrow,
Forever in my heart, a seed of immeasurable love will sow.
In this world of chaos, she is my serene,
A guardian angel, so wise and serene,
For her boundless love, my heart sings,
In gratitude, forever, my mom Dora, I'll cling.
Happy Mother's Day!
The day I heard my guardian cherub play,
my heart raced with sincere anticipation-
For each note was a heavenly display,
as her lyre was born from an angel’s creation.
An ivory overlay with a swan head engraved,
her lyre has seven strings all different in length-
For the sound of beauty has definitely saved
my soul and has given me much strength.
Before the Greeks discovered this instrument,
and before time invented melodies so harmonious,
the lyre was born as a Godly living testament,
with a tune so mellow and sweetly euphonious.
Her lyre holds a gift of beauty with each eighth octet-
This magnificent contrivance is a friend of the harp,
and within the resounding pitch of each fret,
the hues of her tunes are perfect and sharp.
My cherub releases comfort with such ease,
she reveals her spiritual beliefs from within-
As I listen in awe I am completely pleased,
and wait with excitement for a new song to begin.
When she strums mellifluous music with her fingers,
when she resounds with dulcet tunes on her lyre,
my imagination flies to Heaven as each melody lingers,
and sets my passionate soul on fervent fire.
Angels and Lyres
Mystic Rose
April 13, 2017
The infant rays of sunlight
Filtered through the small panes
Of the sleepy Hobbitons, a wake-up
Call to the start of the day.
Shire-folks smoked weed
And Argentine ciphers born of
The plumes ripples into thin air
Carrying the dream of the day.
The wild Brandywine in her stately
Updraft, washes away the suffering
Of felled logs disturbing her flow
And dips them straight into the marshland.
The pretty flora of the ancient woodlands
Stack their dreams in swirling petals of which
Are later reborn in the night.
The proud Three Shire Oak stands as
A silent guardian to Whitwell wood
As woodpeckers prick into the cavernous
Echoes of his heart to find out his longing.
Remnant of white clouds like ancient
Ruins wander lonely over the Hills of Evendim
And reflections of a century’s History float
In their accord.
Shire! Fill me with your rainbow colors
And let me dive deep into your essence
And let me stay drowned in your dreams
Forever.
My mother~
the reason my heart begins to beat,
my guardian angel,
my warm blanket of comfort.
In her care, my dreams take root and bloom.
She is my guiding light in every storm.
She is the song most suited to my dance,
the well of love, of kindness, care.
The only star in my ocean’s sky,
the reason I sparkle like sunlit gems,
the hearth where all my hopes are kindled,
my chest of love, my tender warmth.
A good wife to my father,
she made our family a gallery of masterpieces.
She cooks, she cleans, she works, she gives.
In her eyes, my tears find shelter.
In her heart, my love finds rest.
She wears my sorrow
and wraps me in a robe of joy.
My mother~
my first teacher, firm yet kind,
a compass when my path grew dim.
She taught me how to brave life’s storms
and guided me with patient strength
toward the light of wiser choices~
the voice of right when right felt far.
To my yet-to-be wife—
turn not my heart away from her.
Respect her, that our home may bloom.
Give her honour, like rain gives the earth.
Then shall your love flow through my blood,
and on your head shall rest the crown
of my eternal love and care.