Long Illusions Poems
Long Illusions Poems. Below are the most popular long Illusions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Illusions poems by poem length and keyword.
In the labyrinth of the soul, where shadow and light embrace in eternal dance,
I hear echoes of laughter and gnashing, like waves breaking on the shore of consciousness.
Someone has locked the door with time's bolt, leaving behind fragments of memories,
And in the starless night, when darkness is so dense you can touch it,
A murmur rises, a whispered melody of hope, like a prayer to the heavens.
In the cathedral of thoughts, where Saint Isaac extends his dome to the clouds,
Fragile dreams float like soap bubbles, ready to burst at the first breeze,
Alongside ancestral fears that bark like dogs at the gates of the subconscious.
And in the ocean of unrest, one's own body floats like a wandering wreck,
Surrounded by ruins of the past and echoes of lives never lived.
Inside man, a carnival of the absurd unfolds its bizarre procession:
Seeking its own identity in the broken mirror of distorted reality.
And in this chaos of the mind, where everything is permitted and nothing truly exists,
The black sun unfurls its circle, destroying the cardboard planets of illusions.
But in a moment of cosmic silence, you wake with your hands on the plow's handles,
Feeling the damp earth beneath your feet, ready to plow the fertile fields of thoughts.
In the depths of being, where laughter and crying merge into a symphony of existence,
Where Purim is celebrated every evening like a dance of the soul's masks,
You discover that you are the actor, the director, and the spectator of your own story,
An endless story, where each verse is a seed of hope planted in eternity.
And so, in this cathedral of the self, where organs and dreams coexist in strange harmony,
Where fleeting clips project on the walls of consciousness alongside holy icons,
You understand that everything is an illusion, and yet, everything is real to the extent you give it life,
For in the depths of man, in this infinite universe of the mind, you are the creator of your own reality.
Mirror of Memories Unclear
That face in the mirror looks familiar, but it seems so old,
I’m sure I’ve seen it before at least that’s what I’m told.
Yesterdays have such vague images that I just don’t recall.
I believe they are merely illusions of some tv show I saw.
Though I can’t speak of it, the memories remain unclear,
I am not sure what day it is, the hour, time or year.
I’m living with a friend I think, she sets my heart aflame,
She says she loves me, and cries when I don’t know her name.
This house, this room must be hers, nothing seems like mine
the pictures she shows are surely another’s past lost in time.
Those children all grown up, the playful little dog
all make me wish I knew better the plan of God.
Frustration, anger take over when I find I am endlessly crying
with no reason or memory, surely someone here is lying.
This isn’t me, this isn’t who I was or who I am
how did it come to this that I can barely stand?
I forget to talk, don’t want to eat, I’m in a world all of my own
and now she says that soon, I’ll be at peace , I am going home.
Who is she and why does she cry so much,
I’m right here, close enough for her to touch.
Oh God, I still remember you from when I was a child,
I am but a child now, do you hear me, let me see your smile.
I don’t feel old, I think I’m twenty-three
and that young girl, my love, she left long ago, unexpectedly.
Don’t ever leave me, I’ll always be true
I’m still the one who loves you
despite my lack of memory.
Is that you, mom?
Are you aware of what everyone conquer concerning illusions?
They believe that it is either magic or hallucinations
These people don’t acknowledge the reality of illusions and the horror within
If you look pass everything then perhaps you will be able to glimpse the truth
The illusions that magic is real and that it is not what you imagine
The illusions that people cast over themselves to fool others and themselves that they are fine
But in reality they are not, they are holding on by a tiny thread
That is almost breaking
The illusions that Monsters lives in harmony among us, real monsters
We tried to locate them but was never successful
Some of them attempt to wear human skin to blend in
The illusion that Ghost don't exist, but in fact they do
They are the Spirits of these who are dammed
Burden down with the emotions of their past
So in the future when you feast your eyes at something, attempt to look pass the illusion
But be warned for you may not relish the sight
Be sure to hold back the desire to scream
If life ended today,
nothing I would leave behind
but the fairest love I gave away;
and who wouldn't say I was too kind?
Looking back with disbelief and much dismay, I see the old, wretched me
overwhelmed by the lustful urges that
could have killed me before I had reached the promising age of thirty;
but the Lord spared me from wrath.
If life ended today,
with these hands no treasure
of any value I would attempt to take away...
considering salvation the worthiest measure.
My yesterdays were illusions of an unfulfilled desire
reflecting a cold, indirect light... and it certainly did not shine on me,
when onlookers stopped but refused to help me when I was stuck in mire;
to whom should I be thankful, if not to my merciful Lord who restored my dignity?
If life ended today,
no regrets would turn into grins,
remembering how wrong choices misguided my morality;
hope did not exist...it took repentance and faith to overcome my sins.
The spiritual journey is not a career or a success story,
But a series of humiliations of the false self, like a dance of the eclipses.
It's a time of change, a network of somber moments and dazzling brightness,
A story where the ego breaks, and the truth shines forth, merciless but free.
On the deceitful path, each step is like an echo in a canyon,
A submerged sound that emerges and fades, playing on the string of sensitivity.
In the tragic motion, the cloak of lies tears, revealing the stark truth,
And the pure essence trembles, baring itself before the unimaginable judgment.
The soul embarks on the river of bitterness and frenzied hope,
It wavers on the waves of humility, melting into the deep waters of relinquishment.
It's a fall into the unknown well, an unseen struggle in the soul, eternal and crushing,
Like a rustle of rain that floods the streets, cleansing everything to be reborn.
The humble descent is a dance of unveiling, where masks are shredded,
The dazzling lights of illusion fade, and the murmur of truth amplifies.
In the proud play of the true-self making, the ego sheds its illusions of glory,
And remains reflected in the murky waters, where the honest truth is revelation and release.
"Amid the jagged shadows of mossy leafless boughs; "
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I sat, in total solitude,
Having let the mundane world to itself,
Laughing at its own meaninglessness,
Boasting about itself in all pomposity
And pretending to be as polite and tolerant
To itself as it has pretended to be to me!
I sat, and listened to birds chirping,
To crickets singing,
And to frogs lamenting!
I even imagined a wolf howling at the moon
And shivered as the wind caressed the bare parts of my body!
In this solitude, I sat and let the tears pour,
Letting the flow burn my face
As if it were acid being thrust in the ocean!
Pray, the world have I tried to love
To it have I bared my soul
Into it have I even planted a little bit of myself
As,
Such lay in those dreams
Gifted to me by the skies!
But the world has showed me that my place
Shall never be in its midst!
The world is made for people who lust for its
Illusions and I,
Cracked mirror, will only end up shattered in its midst,
Laughed at and ridiculed
By those who can fit in its essence!
My place remains elsewhere,
Somewhere which my soul would guide me to
Maybe there where the moon shall not be reflected in still waters
There where there shall be no pen and no poetry
There where life is still, there where I shall feel
At last,
That peace and that anchorage which I have been searching for!
Pray, amid the jagged shadows of mossy leafless boughs
I let my tears pour from my soul
As I picked up a pair of scissors
And cut the ties I had built with the world!
I cut everything, the bonding, the sharing, the memories,
The pleasures, the pains, the laughter, the warmth,
The love, the friendship, the musical chemistry which
Played itself for us,
Why, I cut everything,
Then,
I wiped my tears and said to the shadows,
That life can be lived in solo!
Date written: 1st Dec 2019
Writing Challenge 3, November - Any Form
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wisshkobi Ode
Being explores
The cause becoming
In transcience here
Brief is our stay
On earthly shores
Where being explores
The way to go
In script unsure
Is mostly trial-and-error
Follow the heart
That seems to know
Just how and why
The answers come
In unsure steps
That reveal hindsight
So many questions
That come to light
In odd equations
Some seek to find
The unknown sea
Yet fail to be
True magic is found
As courage acts
To fact and form
Be unafraid
For fear casts a veil
Burst all illusions
Life yields to love
Surpass the mists
Go beyond fear
A deep dark cave
Protects the truth
From undiscerning fools
Illumination comes
With layers peeled
Life's like an onion
See that you see
Beyond all sensing
Truth waits for you
Recognize your gifts
Use well your talents
Reason why you're here
Each to a lifetime
Well worth living
God makes no mistakes
Being starts flow
Becoming now grows
Blessings here show
Seek the true light
That lights your way
Dare to be just you
Just like a flower
Bloom where you are
Live your best face
Leon Enriquez
21 November 2014
Singapore
In Small Doses
Living a life is like taking poison –you die a little each day.
I am screwed
Know not when? Know not how? –Marriage happened.
Gone Astray
Religion is a well-traversed road –I am lost!
Favored
There’s no substitute for hard work and perseverance –except luck.
Fool of Wisdom
It requires wisdom to comprehend –a fool.
Recipe for Success
The ingredients for a successful life –Passion, Perfection, Patience.
Salvation
Sailing upstream against the wind –I have a strayed soul to summon.
Legally moral
When it becomes legal, it becomes moral –then, it's normal.
Common Factor
We are common people; the tail-enders –we hide between the legs in adversity.
Good for nothing
A good deed with ulterior motive is worse than a bad deed –with good intent.
Back Street blues
Don’t be scared of the back alleys –they might get you home quicker.
Idolatry
I picked a stray stone and carved a graven image of my God –I then worshiped.
Heavenly Bliss
Nothing happens by just wishing for the heaven –You have to first die for it.
Afterlife
There's only one sure way to immortality –die young.
False Hope
Gives you what was never yours to begin with –Chasing illusions.
Tarry no longer
A wet knot is hard to untie. Vet the person you marry –before you tie the knot.
Postscript
Poison, Potion, Prayer –either make you ill, immune or immortal.
~04/28/22
~Contest: A Brian Strand Premiere
I sink deep into the unhappiness of being the one who doesn't deceive you with sweet illusions,
I refuse to change who I am for anyone, even for the shadows that surround me.
I've detested how easily you allow yourself to be manipulated to accept everything you hear without question,
Have I not left a strong enough impression, or are you so easily deceived?
I've dug deep into the lies told, like hot tea that never cools,
I know myself, and that's what matters; it's a truth I carry within my soul.
I don't explain myself, because if you are the one meant for me, you would know me from my sigh and my gaze,
Was I wrong about you, or were you the one who was mistaken about me?
It's a dance between truth and illusions, a search for meaning in eyes that refuse to see,
I remain true to myself, navigating through the shadows of day and night, unwavering.
I saw a man at dawn beneath electric stars,
teaching his face the language of a stranger.
The mirror held him like a frozen lake
that had forgotten the river underneath.
He dressed his silence in a borrowed splendour,
and crowned his absence with a polished name.
A fragrance rose from his skin—
a little cathedral made of smoke—
and he believed, for one brief breath,
that perfume could outlive the body.
Upon the table lay his instruments:
a watch that consumed his hours,
a coat woven from approval,
a lens small enough to hold a world
yet heavy enough to imprison a soul.
He lifted it.
The smile arrived before the man.
Then the mirror rebelled.
It did not return his image.
It returned the child he had abandoned—
knees stained with earth,
hands holding a broken wooden bird,
still knowing flight was never purchased.
Outside, rain crossed the road.
An old worker carried bread through the storm;
his weathered hands held more kingdom
than the jewels of the celebrated.
Yet the race continued.
They chased the sun with golden nets,
capturing only their own shadows.
They built palaces from borrowed light
and called the emptiness within them wealth.
For hollow gold is a merciless fire:
it warms the hand,
but leaves the heart frozen.
Let them gather their magnificent illusions.
Time shall enter their marble halls
without fury, without trumpet, without sword,
and remove what was never theirs.
The final treasure shall make no claim.
No mirror shall reveal it.
No hand shall possess it.
It shall remain—
the quiet, unadorned flame
that was never bought,
never borrowed,
never lost.
Poet’s Note:
Date: June 23, 2026
Title Chosen: The Race For Hollow Gold
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh