Long Inner child Poems
Long Inner child Poems. Below are the most popular long Inner child by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inner child poems by poem length and keyword.
Yes, there is a child in every grown up
Emerges out when proper time turns up
Those passions retain in the registry
Dormant and suppressed their identity.
I used to run after the dragonflies
Spirits elate when I find them in skies
It was my fancy playing ducks and drakes
I wish to play the same now at the lakes.
I wish to go back to my childhood life
But the clutches of dogmas; a big strife
I wish to glide to a quite wonderland
Cherish the blessed moments that are grand
Shattering the shackles of etiquette
Fly back to my world as an emigrant
There is a child in every gentleman
It’s true, “The Child is father of the man."
Your Inner Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Date: 12-09-2021
I dream
in the golden glow
of a sakura orchid
nestled between blooming browns~
as saffron streaks of sunsets
spill syllables of l o v e and trust,
scented with sugared crystals,
emitting musical verses
to calm the inner child~
healing in silence
dusted with pastels of p e a c e.
But when the fragrance of
summer wanes,
leaving a heavy horizon
glistening with grieving galaxies,
remember, I am an aching poem
kissed by the garnet green,
refusing to follow
melted moonbeams,
merged with moving monsoons,
and yesterday’s fickle footprints,
that remain,
soaked in rain and tears,
like pixelated promises to the
cracked cosmos,
lost within sand petals,
as nightingales croon
of strife and life,
of cold summers and fleeting colors.
So tonight,
I’ll carve my own b l i s s
from the haze of violet gratitude~
engrossed in trembling ink,
allowing another month
to fade into the ether,
as memories blossom
in blue-black,
staining champagne chalices
with smoke and salt
while somewhere
between fireworks filling up
twilight skies,
rippling with mystic topaz
kissing
the fluorescent stars
sparking across
midnight shorelines,
I found sequins of h o p e
amidst the unattained closure
to the rising of
an inescapable end.
This is the voice of a thistle
reluctant
to
compromise and comprehend
the sound of ticking thunder,
for I am the eucalyptus elixir
to an alchemist’s waterfall,
weaving odes to the eclipsed time
that sleeps in the cusp
of liquified lilacs
crawling through
serpentine circles…
as I have found a rhyme to
glamorize every forsaken line,
letting go of bleached pages
that have no
spirit of resilience,
and chapters with
frosted names
that have
no
space for s o l a c e . . .
It is okay to make a mess, I will not love you any less.
Eat chocolate, eat French fries, be happy because time flies.
Skip rope, climb a tree, let your inner child always run free.
Feel the sun shine upon your hair, watch the moon when it is there.
Wish upon a star, believe, dream, no matter how silly that may seem.
Listen to music, sing along, but hear the words of the song.
Read long stories, get lost in a book, find yourself a quiet nook.
Write lyrics, write poetry, and don't be afraid to let others see.
Take photographs, keep them and then, look back and remember when.
Know you will always have a home, even if you decide to roam.
Care about people, animals, too, but don't let worry overwhelm you.
Love your life as best you can, even when it is not what you plan.
Woman in Chains
Inner child blinks back tears through the cheval glass
At a bruised reflection staring back,
Battered by the hand of perfection,
Wearing chains in glimmering pearls deception,
Beauty and the beast - beauty now turned beast -
Though in the grip of vogue,
Restrained designs fettering creativity,
Beneath the veneer of outlandish style,
Wears hand-me-downs;
Wounded dove, kissed with a rose from the mist
Gasping on the runway of perfection
Beneath the blazing sun of cutting tongues
Behind made up faces,
Disappears into a chalice -fiery crucible -
Of coveted, borrowed, chains –
A dark kaleidoscope of shifting shapes and sizes -
Of stolen sublime – esteem devoured – ravished -
In runway parades of opaque flawless delusion
Skin hanging from a bony dress frame
Of starving wings scarred by black veils of distortion
With the salt of conformity heaped onto tender wounds
Searing tender flesh reaching out
In manacles for models of the meticulous
Bound up in chains of unforgiven imperfection
Forged in expectation’s subtle abusing links
With parables of precise precision
Handmaid designed by faultless perfection unseen the in the reflection
Till, clothed in a sheath of a new creation,
Slips out of leg shackles, greased by grace,
The inner child in somersaults soars on wings re-stored.
About 30 million people suffer from Anorexia Nervosa – both women and men. It can be a fatal disease effecting heart, kidney and liver functions. It is most prevalent in teenagers and young women. Anorexia took the life of singer Karen Carpenter, ballerina Heidi Guenther and model Isabella Caro. Princess Diana suffered from Anorexia. The recovery rate is very low – about 20%. This is definitely the story of Beauty and the Beast.
8-26-20
Contest: Woman in chains
30 lines
You were empowered by striving
for an ideal nature potential to another,
more intuitive, your inspired psyche.
A dualistic inner child.
A sister if you will,
or brother, of conscience.
The fragile critic of your ego
twinning being and discovery
wicker work woven into identity.
Jungian campfire archetypes
and coastal forest epiphany.
Dawns chorus, dew walkers
wise dumb, and moon guided.
Myth whisperers and sacred smoke diviners.
You have become one with the tribe of
Anthropologically informed Atheists.
Book readers and thought provocateurs,
engaged by the zeitgeist.
You don't want to play at the game?
You seek no comfort in their death cult.
For you the apocalypse is a shattered dream.
Reflecting their allegiance to delusional rapture,
while clutching self-fulfilling lists of disasters.
You are a threat to their device.
Enraging them by your very existence,
by networks of increasing number and influence.
An abuse they contend is their God's given to prevent.
Yet you persist? Offering humanitarian precepts
as the alternative for generations of:
genocide, war, and thought persecution.
Rebel defiance enforcing struggle and community.
Breaking through the concrete of their institutions.
Seeded in cracks of commitment and enlightenment.
Poet's words swept by love and dissent
across vast tracks of sterile pavement.
You are so childish! The old crone said.
I knew at that second she is daft in her head.
Nothing childish about my inner child.
Trixie is as exuberant as that crustbutt is mild.
We fling ourselves about in a puppy like way.
We’re all about the journey, we just want to play.
We keep in touch with our youth filled with joy.
When we jumped from treehouses, each a tomboy.
I float my feathered boa across the old woman’s lap.
She rolls her eyes, not in a good way. She is an old sap.
Lighten up! I tell her; let loose. Let us dance!
She is as tightly tucked in as the south part of France.
So Trixie, my inner child and I do all of the work.
We hop, skip, jump and show her how to merrily jerk.
She catches on quickly and laughs herself silly.
Not childish at all, she says to my Uncle Billy.
He jumps from the chair, landing on the TV.
Going way too far, as most of us clearly see.
But his inner child was crazy, clearly insane.
He breaks that TV set from cabinet to frame.
Contest: Pyramid Of Peace
Soonsor: Ink Empress
Date: 12th July 2026
From the moment you learned
To write your name...
"I own your signature"
Check it out!
Look back on your life
And you'll notice
Little change...
Although you think its you
That has wrapped
"Your fingers around my soul..."
Stop.
Take a closer look
And you'll see
It's the other way around...
Just remember
I'm the part of you
That had to live and learn.
You are who you are
Today
Because of what I've earned...
I found a way
To deal with threats,
With bullying,
With trauma.
I did not have the wisdom
To know,
Yet we avoided
So much drama.
"I own your signature..."
Your coping mechanisms
Began with me.
Neither of us knew
At the age of twelve
How valuable
This would be...
"Your signature" is to turn to
Creativity
To keep your spirits
Up and free...
If you wrapped
"Your fingers around my soul..."
Would you not lead the way?
So why do the insecurities
We both feel
Keep you running away?
Would you not tell me
That all is well
And assure me that
You have full control?
Would you not promise to
Be a guide
And protector
Of my soul?
Yet because of me
You feel afraid
And at times,
It could drive you wild.
But we can find
A level ground
For I am
Your younger self
Your inner child....
Look at some of the fun we have
With our creative ideas
And more!
We can go
From strength
To strength
And each other
Adore...
You take my hand
I'll take yours
And we will become
Whole.
After all,
You're me
And I am you!
One life, one heart, one soul.
Our inner child is rarely seen,
hidden away for the most -
afraid
of being let out.
Search for you -
deeper, younger.
Find yourself,
let go and let live.
Renounce personal fears
to achieve new things.
The sky will be your limit,
so look after and nurture
this new found person;
they will be your dearest friend.
Your confidence
will bloom and flourish;
where others maturity
might hold them back
from taking chances,
or fully enjoying them self.
Children trip,
tumble and bounce back;
quickly they dust themselves off,
getting right back on track.
How much more then
should we be doing the same?
So let the wind blow free in your hair,
take chances,
and take maximum enjoyment
from your in life.
Your wild inner child is obviously broken
Despite big smile your words when spoken
Seem to bleed from lack of something
Could it be a dream or just a need to scream
You tell stories of never being allowed
The little things of past precious child
You feel you raised siblings at home
While still a child when days were long
Your body grew into womanhood
But it’s true your inner child stood
Stuck in time in limbo as little kid
Life wasn’t simple and you did
Eventually fall in love with a teen
Who for you bore kids despite dream
To be an artist and be so esteemed
You’re trapped by life you want things
The little kid inside wasn’t ready to be
A mother a wife as destiny winds sing
Perhaps next lifetime you will find
All your hopes and dreams in time
Spring
summons
season of
rebirth, where birds
build nests for new-borns.
Nature's palette spreads joy
as bright colours flourish with
buttercups, daffodils, bluebells,
blooming with rows of vibrant tulips.
Golden orb begins to spread its warm rays,
virgin summer roses bloom like rubies.
My inner child smiles at butterflies,
fledglings expand their tiny wings.
Mild rain hydrates perfumed buds.
Rainbow dahlia garnish,
under turquoise skies.
Sweet pea prolongs
around trees,
screening
stalks.
I
shiver
at the loss
of my blossoms
crumbling in Autumn.
Green turns yellow then brown,
as clouds grieve and bleed charcoal.
Auburn leaves decorate soaked paths.
Flock of birds soar to pleasant pastures.
Flashbacks from laid to rest souls resurface.
Winter weaves frozen cobwebs as winds howl.
Dark days, cold nights with nature naked,
sun hides its glow as ground hardens.
Snow kissed evergreen sepals,
covered in pristine white,
appear grand until,
bitter raindrops,
create ice
upon
them.