Long Inferno Poems
Long Inferno Poems. Below are the most popular long Inferno by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inferno poems by poem length and keyword.
I long to lie like a sunrise sky upon the sea
my flame a tender torch for your gasoline tide
freedom fire to burn the brine from my eyes
fluid movement of our soft inferno in sorbet shades
m e l t i n g
fever dream lover blushed in hush of dawn
my soul a bleeding rose rocked by your rhythm
—but the blaze does blister a bliss not consumed
a wailing gull slices wild air
with sharpened wings she rides a woeful gale
labor pains of thunder throb nimbus wombs
hornet hive clouds cut by cesarean lightning
birth swarms of stinging rains
I wander a wind whipped shore of cloudburst gore
with an ache for angst and a hate for faith in blue skies
plaintive cries break the bones of my widow’s dream
exposing my marrow my pledge to the Divine shallow
I throw myself on my knees
belly-crawling-ripples meet me with a rasp
I long to lie like a sunrise sky upon the sea
but sorrow creates a sunset tempest
and now the sun sits so low
I feel the sundown in my soul
oh the slouchy sun just sits so low
drowsy on the smudged edge of drowning
barely above the waterline like my breath
sea– I beg you meet me choke me
take me by the throat with a kiss salty sweet
sweep me out to your blackened deep
take me thief my grief in grasp of your riptide’s greed
BLACK AS WINTER'S COMING FIRE
ETERNAL THERMOFROST
OCTOBER'S INFINITE INFERNO
THE EVE OF THE HALLOW SON
COMETH AT MIDNIGHT
JACK O’ LANTERN SCREAMS
CHAOS WILL COVER YOU
DARKENING YOUR SOUL
BLANKET YOUR EYES
STEEL YOUR WILL TO RUN
JUST ANOTHER NIGHT FOR FUN
SOLSTICE OF TWISTED SACRAMENT.
BLACK MOONS TURN
CRIMSON AS THICK DRIED BLOOD.
HARVEST OF THE DAMNED IS AT HAND.
OCTOBER'S COMING FROST
BURNING COLD
SHARP AS ICICLES CUTTING
AFTER THE WAR IS SILENT
OF AN INFERNAL HOST
DEMONS BOAST
OF GRAND PLAN'S TO CARVE HOLES IN
PLAINS OF HUMANITY REIGN
SOMETHING COMETH TO FEED
ON THE SUFFERING OF A SOUL'S TEAR
AND MORTAL FEARS
THAT FALL ONTO SEAS OF HUMANITY.
OCTOBER ENDING IN ICE
AS LANTERN'S GLEAM IN TO NIGHTS OF
WANING MOONS
AND WINTER'S DEAD
FALL LIKE BURNING LEAVES
ONTO THE EDGE OF AN AUTUMN HOLOCAUST!
The cliffs were the only place she could go to find the edge of love
the only boundry between up and down, of faith and fate,
a frontier where tears scratch slate with bursts of pearl pain
and blood speaks to the sky for signs of passion's flood,
sea below, blue as sapphire lonely glow
churns the tide of romantic violence
salting silence into a sizzle of desire's uproar,
prehistoric granite a partner in the thunder
of her wet tides and his solid lift of sheer ridges
where vertical and horizontal make love in sharp contrast,
horizon rich in ransom of freedom's sweet space hovers
split by a sad pulse within her tired and pretty body,
night moves into day like a prophecy
born in the indigo of her cool inferno
auguring only one thing, high speeds
of love from comet's entrails,
on the precipice of self diagnosis
a vigil begins, ceremony of naked consciousness,
gathering the raw material of her soul
she lights a fire that burns like liquid crystal
waving into the shy truth
of shadows that no longer stand still,
the cliff dance starts, influx of instinct
imparts an innocent intuition
foretelling with ferocious accuracy
the survival or burial of they're love,
pouring vinegar and wine on each breast
she howls to the heights of His affection
and crawls towards the flames
to feel the sweat of lust in her veins,
the animal in her rises to hunt
through the heat, into passion complete,
life and death move her feet,
the pull of gravity gripping torso
closer to the drop of dreams,
a star breeze lashes and lifts
her hair and limbs calling for ascendance,
in a moment of reckless roundabout
she hears His husky whisper
of love with no doubt
nibbling on inner ear,
her heart won't lay still
when His eyes see her as mystical,
there is only one law of love
that she lives by, kiss or die,
only she knows the next step...
J.A.B.
I.
Before the world, before the sun,
when time was young,
and heaven's hosts together as choir sung
before the angels fell, who came undone.
If Satan's base rebellion was not lost,
like pride cast down (by God with lightning speed),
then mankind would not have to pay the cost,
whilst on the earth a still evolving seed.
Thus, for the fallen angels, hell was made:
but as apple's bitten, Eden's lost in trade.
II.
The sun was formed; as heaven fell,
like rocks from space,
inferno licked the cradled, empty race
of planets, denser now than gaseous shells.
Among them, Earth, where life had given birth;
while the moon ruled the ancient, raw, night sky,
as now-extinct beasts made nest, home, and hearth,
and predators likewise preyed, to then die.
For what untold eons, for ages, since,
a race far greater shall know their promised prince.
III.
Though the great dinosaurs once ruled, the Fates
cut short the threads
of their time on earth, so what new now spreads,
spreads for what eternal Providence awaits!
So, in the Garden of Eden, Adam,
and then Eve, were made. They thrived, and rebelled,
there that self-same season: so that atom
upon atom of man was e'er befell.
Ever since that moment, that ancient time,
man's neither known freedom, nor peace from his crime.
There stands a blackened tower
Shrouded in a ghostly white
The tomb of seventy two
From a day that drags on hour by dreadful hour
As we reflect upon that ghastly night
A day so many live to rue.
From a simple kitchen fire
There grew a flesh eating blaze
That built into a funeral pyre
Covering London in its darkening haze.
Onlookers helplessly looked on
At windows registering silent screams
Of friends and relatives soon to be gone
The stuff of nightmares ,not of dreams.
Too late did the firefighters come
As the flames did the victims consume
In the furnace they once called home
Daily life no longer theirs to resume
An inquiry now picks over the remains and rubble
Searching for what went so badly wrong
Many will be called to account for this trouble
For those commemorated in my dirge of a song.
Grenfell's holocaust is burned into the national mind
Memories shredded and ripped sadly asunder
While every attempt was made for blame evasion
By those who to customer safety were blind
Our bitter grief smoulders on from this costly blunder
Such a parcel of hypocritical rogues in our nation!
People ask how this yearlong will come
to pass, of which parts are the triumphs
and stench of learning... of why blossoms
drop on cobblestones ravaged
by a wildfire tearing velvet buds,
flatlining: the male stamen and female pistil
barren from incessant drought.
And why of all things, must god-children
endure anxieties trapped in houses
yearning to grasp a firefly on the lane,
to hug grandparents, not from a distance
but...but in the flesh of every day--
Add into this equation an insatiable need
for human connection where friends, kin gather
like a warm herd exchanging intimacies
skin to skin, mouth on mouth, arm in arm---
This is limbo within the inferno of the living,
while Pilates from urban jungles rinse their hands
absolving themselves from mortal sins...
an epoch of how time's pleasure or pus could pass.
Craig Cornish's 2020 Contest
5/23/2020
the vintage homecoming dress was donated in the middle of the night.
This is a small town, in 1972. There were no security cameras.
Sue, the shop owner had asked for vintage dresses for her window display.
She had no idea what inferno of questions was going to come to her.
Sue was new in town, did not know about Peggy Lee, who was missing.
Twenty-two years now, and no one knew where she was or if she was alive.
Peggy Lee’s mother was the first one in the store after the dress appeared.
Demanding to know where it had come from, but the shop owner did not know.
The police were there by two p.m. demanding answers.
This dress had been made for Peggy Lee’s prom by her mother.
Peggy Lee had disappeared that same night. Who had brought the dress?
Sue was horrified; she truly did not know; she found it in a box on her stoop.
The police took the dress out of the window.
Would they bring it back? No one told Sue anything.
The only person who knew anything stayed in a shadow, studying her mother.
She was the same pushy woman, with gray hair now; she was glad to rile her.
I started soft—
too soft—
the kind of soft that bruises
just by being brushed.
You touched my trust
with careless hands,
and I told myself it was comfort,
not pressure,
not warning cracks
spreading under skin.
I held your storms
like they were secrets meant for me.
I let your voice rattle my ribs
and called it closeness.
I bent so quietly
I thought the creaking in my bones
was love learning my name.
But something inside me broke wrong—
a low, bitter snap
like a branch that’s been leaned on
one time too many.
The sound startled even me.
It wasn’t heartbreak anymore.
It was the beginning of heat.
Because suddenly
every excuse I ever made for you
tasted like smoke.
Every time I said
“they didn’t mean it”
my teeth remembered
the bite you left behind.
Every lie I whispered
to keep your image gentle
started catching fire in my throat.
And the rage—
god, the rage—
came clean.
Sharp.
Precise.
A lightning strike
that finally chose me as its weapon.
No more softness.
No more shrinking.
Just the truth rising in me
like a blade pulled slow
from its sheath.
I let myself burn then.
Fully.
Brightly.
Every memory,
every bruise,
every apology I never got—
fuel.
I became the storm
I’d spent my whole life
trying to shield you from.
I let the flame say
what my voice never could.
But fire always cools.
Even the fiercest inferno
turns to ash.
And in that quiet gray
I found something gentler
than anything you ever gave me—
I found myself.
No triumph.
No dramatic victory.
Just a steady breath
in a room that no longer hurts.
A spine standing straight
because no one’s leaning on it.
Hands steady
because they’re only holding
what’s mine.
I don’t want revenge.
I don’t want the past back.
I just want to walk forward
without dragging your shadow.
And I can.
I am.
What burned is burned.
What broke is learning its new shape.
And what’s left of me—
what’s finally, honestly left—
is something you never touched,
never claimed,
never ruined:
the part that chooses
to rise
instead of return.
That which cannot be done, true love will determine sung.
No hurdle stops pure love from leaping them one by one,
for love's sheer heart-strength does faith steadfastly impart.
No power may its power rule more than love’s powerful tool.
No soulmate love realized would see its power vaporized.
In battle or sacrifice, with faith love ever devotedly tries.
Love as paternal or maternal would walk into hell’s inferno
feeling it their sincere part to aid children of their heart.
Parents with sacrificial plots regret one is all they have got.
I have faith in those who live an affirmed love walk
with silent, dedicated actions lacking need of talk.
There is a grosser I often chat with, on my way from work,
a veteran with tales of the long war, and his own heroics of ferrying food to the front and
carrying the wounded on the stretcher, drenched in blood, until a nerve bomb knocked him unconscious for months.
But when the American and Israeli bombs started turning our city block into an inferno,
he rushed to a hiding but kept the store open with a sign that read, take what you like, pay later. War discount ten percent.
This is a city of courage,
a haven from fear,
a warrior city,
unreconciled to humiliation and defeat,
a sanctuary of faith,
a mosaic of independent wills to resist.