Long Ill Poems
Long Ill Poems. Below are the most popular long Ill by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ill poems by poem length and keyword.
Beneath the everyday attire, the spirit falls ill, dormant,
In the monotony that seems an eternity of silver smoke, contingent.
Boredom weaves its fabric between walls of flesh, walking dead,
Many beings live this pseudo-existence, in slumbering cages.
They slowly make their way to offices, in convoys of rusty machines,
Immersed in the deep sea, where words become unwritten stones.
They eat on blankets under the sun, with the smile of an unpatched screen,
They multiply like birds of the sky, but with hearts caged, forgotten in flight and song, blinded.
And sometimes, when fate seems to pierce through closed rooms,
A spark comes - a person, a book, a song - that caresses them, surprised.
They awaken and see their shackles, then discover a vibrating key,
Deep within, they save something that slowly pulls them out of lethargy.
But there are those who never find the compass of their souls, lost,
Not even an echo of the calling, they remain wanderers in their early darkness, defeated.
Their souls traverse the world like compass-less caravels, without sails,
Losing the most precious treasure - the dream that they can become uplifters of stars.
The mysterious, the silent, spread an invisible but fierce disease,
Enduring a heavy existence in the absence of light, sublime and eternal understanding.
And when dawn presents itself to those who chose to see,
The sacred interpretation of the world unfolds before them, astonishing sarabande.
In this mystical blend, where lives intersect and carve,
Some write their destinies in flesh, raising altars from the dawns and evenings of life.
While others do not open the tome of magical present, the science that could serve them,
They stoically move through pages, never knowing the alphabet that births magic.
27/7/2024.
Close to the 45th anniversary.
Still no idea where to go.
Should I leave it to fate?
The more I know you,
The bigger the gaps in every aspect.
Just like every body,
You could not keep your promises.
Well, I hate surprises,
What you did was as predicted.
In a way, it was OK,
But, somehow, I did not like any bit of it.
There were many reasons people do not want gift,
What were your excuses?
You hurt me unintentionally, but deeply, and carelessly.
I was hurt by your ignorance and inconsideration.
Were selfish, mean and cruel just to get back at me?
Were you consistent and full of confusion?
Not quite hypocrite, but close enough to it.
Knowing I have so much to share,
You did not even show you care.
My will is ill, sick, sick, sick
with gut-full of menace and bile.
Tongue-tied, anger locked-up inside
I stayed on the high-side.
and let my vicious stinging reply slide.
My rehearsals all played-out internal.
Oh what doozies I had in store,
pre-recorded for live slap down.
But the tempest taunt stayed indoors
shadow-boxing, shouting out insults
to mirrored walls and glass ceilings
It was good to lance the boil, pus expelled.
The hallowed high ground can be a lonely place
where restraint quells the struggle locked-in.
The squirm and fraught fight fades to frustration
by doggedly accepting that I made the right decision.
On another day, things stored away
will surface in a considered way.
Be calmer, let Karma's retribution gel
Bring it on!
It’s been along time since your death but it seems like yesterday
I still mourn your loss and for your soul I pray
Nothing is the same I see life differently
Now that your gone I’ve changed to be the best I can be
To change how I live I’ve gone to the depths
Even though you’re gone Ill try to follow in your footsteps
My heart was black your love has turned it red
Where there was anger and hate now there’s happiness and joy instead
Forgiveness use to be the furthest thing from my mind
Now it’s easy I forget the past and I’m kind
To change how I live I’ve gone to the depths
Even though you’re gone Ill try to follow in your footsteps
Charity and generosity was not in my equation
Now I look for it in any situation
You were not perfect but you were as close as can be
I strive for it and want others to see
To change how I live I’ve gone to the depths
Even though you’re gone Ill try to follow in your footsteps
Maybe they’ll change for their own good health
Or find out the satisfaction of being true to oneself
All that you were is now a part of me to
Following your example brings me closer to you
The urge is overwhelming –
to see my battered skin break open.
To feel, believe, that I’m alive –
might thaw my soul, so frozen.
I’m cold, I’m numb, am I even real? –
or a figment of someone’s mind?
(For) no matter how much blood I spill –
(there’s no) feeling left that I can find.
I’m lost within a realm of souls –
where all but mine can matter.
I hate this suit of flesh I’m in –
it’s torn, beaten, and battered.
I’m branded as the “useful one” –
but all the same, disposable.
This hate could fill a sea —
(until it’s) shores should burst and overflow.
My loathing, not for others –
although they care not of their sins.
But if I must be honest –
I hate this soul which lies within.
I never understood –
why I was treated as an outcast.
I guess I’m just too sick –
perhaps it’s why my friends don’t last.
If they say ill of me?
Then we'll let our tears be,
the drops of dew falling from the leaves,
before the morning sun.
And the wind howling in the night our cries.
And in the new day,
with actions true,
going beyond their words.
Showing the good of our beings.
That none but fools,
and the deceived,
will believe the dark words.
The fools we cannot help,
so we will cry for them.
And those deceived,
to help to the sun's light.
So that all the dark,
will lose their hiding,
and be seen false.
And chains of darkness,
will no longer hold captive,
those who heard dark words,
yet looked not to see the acts.
And in this we'll be known.
An eighteen month old wearing puppy pajamas is running back and forth
in the doctor’s clinic. the waiting room. He has pink cheeks and a loud giggle.
He is being chased up and down, back and forth, by his three year old
sister.
She has golden curly hair, and big brown eyes, and she is wearing pink and
lavender kitty pajamas. Some of the kitties have blue glasses, others have
rhinestones which I think might make these pajamas less than comfortable.
They are the giggle bunnies in the waiting room. The mother tries to get
them to stop, and a nurse orders them about, but they are three and eighteen month. No one is bothering them.
Their mother has told me that this is their second time here this week.
They have temperatures of 102 and 105.
They are so happy, giggling, and laughing, tearing around like this is a party
room.
What do I have to do to get what they have?
Cancer, the big 'C',
Do you think you mean anything to me?
My Uncle has got you,
You've taken my beautiful daughter too.
But while I am able I will continue to fight,
And I will fight you with every bit of my might.
Slowly we are finding new ways,
To get rid of you and we will make sure you finally pay.
I want to beat you, I want you to feel awful pain as you slowly feel your life fade away.
I hope that you have others that rely on you,
So as you painfully go they can feel the pain to.
I know that at the moment you can sneak and hide away, and I bet you feel exceptionally strong,
But all of mankind are waiting for you to do just one thing wrong.
Then we will pounce, we'll punch and we will stab,
And all of this done in a shiny white lab.
So don't sit there and get brave,
You soon won't even exist in the darkest wet cave!
Mother is ill
I don't have time now.
One thing kills me
In my day and dream
And in every moment
Where it 'll end?
The lovely dreams are dyeing ,
Hopes are scattered ,
Their behaviour looks like robots,
The humanity is in danger,
Air burst out with protest and slogans..
How much pain does
A heart can tolerate,?
My mother shouts on dream
Whoever is there come out.
This is a call,
An earnest request of ailing mother
But they say-
My mother shouts impertinent.
But I do believe
She is not in illusion.
She is a mother!
What to tell them.
I decided not to tell anything to anyone
But how can I control?
I told you secretly
Don't show your wickedness ,
Be honest
My mother is ill now.
Ill Advised
Giving advice to someone who may be suffering from an illness.
Being advised by somebody who is considerably ill.
A poor choice made as a direct result of an advisory made by an incompetent advisor.
A mere mistake made by this so called ill advised individual.
Super dope actions or action carried out by a wicked sick, dope super person.
A recommendation to do Ill will in a multitude of ways.
A commonly used phrase that is fairly cliche and consequently lacks charisma and originality.
As for me, I think that being ill advised is so sick that I would consider it as a super dope compliment.
I am all sorts of:
Ill Advised
5/28/17