Long Hearts of gold Poems
Long Hearts of gold Poems. Below are the most popular long Hearts of gold by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hearts of gold poems by poem length and keyword.
In the halls of Kimberley, so vast,
Where dreams of greatness were built to last,
Boys walk the paths of struggle and fight,
Each step a battle, each day a plight.
The echoes of whispers, the stares that sting,
Lessons in silence, the pain they bring,
Where pride is tested, and spirits fall,
Fighting for respect, one and all.
The teachers’ words, sharp as a sword,
Lessons of life, not just the board.
The pressure mounts, the days grow long,
In this kingdom where the weak don’t belong.
But through the torment, the endless test,
Some rise above, giving their best.
For Kimberley Boys, though harsh and cold,
Shapes the brave, the strong, the bold.
In this place, not all will survive,
But those who do, will truly thrive.
For the cruelest paths bring strength untold,
And the warriors leave, with hearts of gold.
Hold each utopia minute close
Kiss them with lingering repose,
Tell someone you love them,
Leave the imprint to sink deep within.
For their deeds could soon be gone,
The conscience of the past come undone.
See the future and let the future includes you,
of anticipation of absolutes and rewards due.
Let the future have a glorious home in view,
Not made of clay, brittle stone or straw.
When the lame fragile breath goes weak,
A flame reincarnates years months and week.
Fuller deeds to come will already begin
Fashioning light years of decades plan.
With Freedom from strain and worry
The economy there has no need to hurry.
Paradise reigns in peace and tranquillity,
The diamond now reposed in cosmogony.
A perfect portrait kept in heavenly Louvre,
Hearts of gold housing incredible virtue,
The dimension of revolutionary creation,
Beyond earthly chaos and desolation.
Our diviners claim to see a better future
Ghostly shadows await in karma linear.
Sublimed prophecies past the unreal,
See a winding world move on the final wheel.
Armageddon to lighter horizon transforming,
The eschatology event of spirit arising.
Silhouette clouds glowing brighter than the past,
Footprints were in present extension exist.
Visions enshrined in joyful expectations
The epoch of time redeemed of all nations.
After health, wealth and inevitable death,
Will the second coming of celestial breath
Decree the place where our soul unit destiny
Treasured in the apocalypse of an orbital colony.
Seraphim's race through plagues to crystal maze,
Benevolence enchanted the former face
Winters gates ablaze with pearls of stories told
Every step we take, we will be treading on gold.
Open your ears
I want to tell you a story
A story of struggle that is not my own
You got this world around so big
Yet we make it so small
There are so many around like ourselves
But do we even notice
You got the ones that live in shelters
You got those who struggle with finance
You got the few that have hearts of gold
And those who are afraid to be them
Life is full of many great moments
But so many miss other moments
When you take just a little time to open your ears
Your eyes see so much they missed
Just today talking to two
I find our struggles yet different are the same
In.that moment you can take one second and listen
To the music to the harmony to the sound of actual caring
When you open yourself up to listen
You can make a world of difference in this great big world.
The writer’s prose like fluid flowed
Across half-a-thousand gilded pages,
With flowered images and profound lines
The was last throughout the ages.
But the follow-up, it got two stars
And critics dog-piled the hate.
Sometimes we shine with sheen of gold,
Other times we’re naught by clay.
The little boy bounded down the hall
And found his father working there,
Struggling with a broken socket,
But the boy was quite unaware.
When he spoke his father snapped,
In tears the child ran away,
No perfect parents, despite hearts of gold
Sometimes we’re naught but clay.
The husband’s wife was his whole world,
His hope, his passion, his fire,
But overtime blunted his mind to the fact
That their anniversary had transpired.
His angel faced him, her beauty marred
By an angry mask of spousal rage,
He’d put on her fingers endless gold,
But that night he was naught but clay.
The politician rode high on the hog,
When he crushed a tough election.
People cried that it changed everything,
We were off in a new direction.
But as always gravity settled on in,
And legislatures are hard to sway,
Some days his words turned all to gold,
But on others they were naught but clay.
The perfect game the pitcher threw,
Was a masterpiece that all would know.
No matter who stepped to the plate,
They were a step behind his throw.
But the very next game he gave up runs,
Eight runs two innings into the game,
Last weeks his pitches had been solid gold,
This week they were naught but clay.
For two years the clerk nailed the data,
Breaking standards with practiced ease,
He’d earned a promotion and more cash,
It was one of his proudest feats.
But then he lost two clients quick,
And soon had no source of pay,
Sometimes we shine with the sheen of gold,
Other times we’re naught but clay.
…But even clay is made beautiful,
in the hands of a Master.
My mind draws a blank when referring to Thanksgiving Day
as I was growing up as a child. I only remember the season at the end of the harvest each year as we looked toward Christmas. But moving some 15 years forward and 2000 miles west, from the time that I left home, I readily recall thanksgiving memories fit for the ages,
for kings and queens, and for my three dear kids.
Uncle George and aunt Fanny invited numerous of people, both
relatives and friends to feast of goodness and great fellowship.
Some would have classified them as the millionaires next door,
self-made no less, but George and Fanny knew that the source
of their success was God. They could have written a book on the meaning of Thanksgiving.
The food may have been the great attraction because we would be
hard pressed to find a better cook than aunt Fanny, but the memory
was something far more lasting and sustaining. Their home was
filled with people and an abundance of all kinds of foods,
but everyone was consumed with and digested two hearts of gold and
goodwill demonstrating so selflessly what it means to give back
By sharing from God's bounty.
Presently, at our Thanksgiving dinner table, if our adult children were asked
about memorable Thanksgivings, Uncle George and Aunt Fanny would without
doubt be at the top of their list. Those great souls are no longer with us, but they left behind a model to remember, and a life worth imitating, so enriching and inspiring.
102519PoSoupContest, Thanksgiving Memory, Regina Riddle; 4P
Hark, listen to the church bells ring
In welcome to our newborn King
Sing in praise for the Holy babe
It was for us our Saviour came.
As never before - kneel and pray
For peace on earth this Christmas Day
Come back joyous days of yore
When hearts of gold came to the fore.
Choirs accompanied by brass bands
Sang out to crowds who'd stop and stand
In weather cold beyond reason
Celebrating Yuletide season.
Friends and neighbours often stopped by
For festive cheer and a mince pie
Folk selflessly shared what they had
No one went hungry, hearts were glad.
Children were content to accept
A stocking hung on the bedstead
An apple, orange, a few nuts
If they had behaved well enough.
Token gifts were given with grace
On the day the world celebrates
God's only son, His precious gift
Wrapped up in love and fellowship.
Christmas 2020
This poem was inspired by “The Poetic Glory Of This Day”
Written by: Panagiota Romios
The Language of Love
When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me……
We’re all flawless on the day we arrive
It’s love that helps our spirit to survive
Hearts need to be handled with tender care
Sadly that’s something that’s not always there.
We don’t need riches or designer clothes
Just to be fed and watered by hearts of gold
Safe in the fold of on whom we depend
To raise us with kindness that never ends.
When we venture into the world outside
‘Tis to be hoped lesson’s learnt are our guide
That we must respect everyone we meet
Be caring, gracious and always discreet.
We may walk through rough storms along the way
But this is what our dear Lord has to say
He said “forgive seventy times seven”
Four hundred and ninety steps to heaven.
“Kindness is the world wide language of love
A conversation that begins with us.”
28th October 2021
In a bottle's transparent depths,
ants struggled, waves of chaos
each fighting for life,
yet forming a living pyramid,
a reverberation of unity's might.
Some submerged, others held fast,
a coordinated dance of aid
no panic, no selfish haste,
each ant surrendered to the greater fate.
A spoon's gentle rescue came,
ants emerged, one by one,
until one faltered, slipped back
into the water's grasp.
The last ant turned, dove deep,
clinging tight to the drowning form,
a bond of brotherhood,
a sacrifice that shook my core.
Shame on humans, lost in pride,
building walls, not bridges wide,
ants teach us unity's strength,
a lesson in selfless length.
True power lies in collective might,
let ants' wisdom guide our plight,
unity's lesson, forever told
in their small, mighty hearts of gold.
The promise to hold hands and reach the altitude
fades more for no treasure to be found
initially started in the playground of happiness
now ending with nothing to covet
the affection’s oven is wrecked to produce watery bread
a beautiful bargain, ending with a series of slaps
either one is tired or both are reckless
soft hearts of gold, carrying heavy daggers
turns sour and the only thing left of the union is bile
the broken bond falls to the ground as ugly pieces
ammonia, coming out from what was once functional
the day the pages of their love started getting missing
was the time the diary shortened and thrown to be forgotten.
The rich, deep tone of the skins of the Chewa people of Malawi reflects an image of a race that has seen the passage of time. They have adapted with resilience and strength to the challenges posed by the relentless sun.
The dark hue of their skins, like the fine edge of our galaxy, embodies identity and heritage. A heritage of a culture so vibrant, and an identity rooted in resilience. The Chewa, the black of Malawi, is a symbol of enduring strength.
Their traditions are woven into the very fabric of the land, from the rhythmic dances to the sacred rituals, so grand. Their voices, like echoes from ancient times, tell tales of old, of a people united, with spirits bold, and hearts of gold.