Long Internal Poems
Long Internal Poems. Below are the most popular long Internal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Internal poems by poem length and keyword.
Just as a mountain, with its ancient, stony heart, does not try to be a shifting dune or a winding river, but stands in its own immense truth, so must the self stand in its own immutable nature.
It does not mimic the gentle slope of the foothills, nor envy the ocean’s fleeting tides. It is simply itself, forged of its own earth and rock, with a single purpose: to endure.
And just as the mountain’s shadow must fall, so does sincerity follow from this internal truth. The mountain, honest to its very core, casts a shadow that is an unfailing reflection of its own form.
The shadow does not lie; it cannot be false to the mountain, for it is born of the mountain’s very existence. In the same way, the shadow of a true self—our character, our deeds—must be an honest projection of our inner nature, impossible to betray.
So too does the mountain’s honesty reveal itself to the surrounding valley. The valley does not question the mountain’s silence or its unyielding strength, for it understands that this is the mountain’s true state of being.
The rivers that carve its face and the trees that cling to its soil learn its boundaries and its seasons, and they grow accordingly. There is no deceit, no shifting foundation, only the certainty of what is.
In this way, all who interact with the mountain know its reliable truth. To thine own self be true, and your shadow will never mislead; others will learn to trust the mountain’s steadfast presence, and it must follow, as the night the day, that you cannot be false to any man.
~Internal Rhyme~
I longed to explore the seven seas, sails filled with tropical breeze.
My sturdy craft, Hope Anew, would carry me upon the oceans blue.
I was captain and crew of my ship, a bit of rum from cask to sip.
Appeared an island not on my chart, mutiny came from my heart.
On love's course we then flew, in dangerous waters I never knew.
Captain Heart sailed through a reef, to a bay off the Isle of Grief.
Filled with many a dorsal fin, what a mess my heart had me in.
Island reef was shark infested. If love awaited, it would be tested.
I heard a call from the beach. A man held out his hand to reach.
Capt. Heart yelled, "To shore! I want him and nothing more!"
I, no pirate seeking treasure, but Heart demanded her pleasure.
Dinghy loaded with my gear, I felt more than a twinge of fear.
Upon Heart's harsh command, I accept the man's offered hand.
His touch I soon came to know, I felt love take hold and grow.
Bur before long it all changed; my life altered and rearranged.
The isle earned its name when love chose to play a cruel game.
I left the bed where we slept, down to the beach where I wept.
I sat upon moonlit sand, against Heart I had to take a stand.
Hope Anew rose on a wave. "Come", she creaked, "I can save."
I looked back, tears in my eyes, treasure lost but he was no prize.
Into the sea I started to swim, knowing I had to leave him.
Ever closer to Hope Anew, I heard him calling me, "Lady Blue."
He stood looking out to me, I turned away and swam out to sea.
I felt a salty tear sting my eye, as I cried farewell and goodbye.
Onboard my ship I felt rancor, but managed to pull up anchor.
At the prow I faced the breeze until pain took me to my knees.
Isle of Grief took its toll upon my heart and wrecked my soul.
I escaped emotional death. I'll swear it to my very last breath.
I cast my memories into the sea and from pangs of love I am free.
I painted over Hope Anew, she now wears the name of Lady Blue.
My tears have all dried and I've restored my life, and my pride.
Captain Heart is bound to the mast, for treachery I've tied her fast.
I intended to say
when I was young
each day felt too slowly incremental
toward my generation's time in Earth's wiser sun,
But my ancient extended hand
keeps writing "exponential"
while incremental
paradox climates of Boomer
boring catastrophic dominance
over shadows summer's equinox of burning
toxic sun.
I pretend to hope and think
I
and my generation
and my local community
could,
and even should,
invite Earth's incremental exception,
a golden holiday
within sad degenerative climate history.
But my ancient retreading feet
keep reaching for an internal climate of acceptance
where no exception
could ever think or feel
interdependently left against right
relation.
Incremental eco-unlogical exceptions
to sacred business as everyday win/win left usual
in maturing might is more right
for youth's wealthy individuation,
Where exponential future acceptance
invites positive climate deviance
in right's past transgenerative roots,
meditative communal branches,
healthy flowering fluent seeds
of communication
Slowly emerging
through incremental wealth exceptions
to disempowering climates
introducing global experiential eco-village acceptance
for Earth's most patriotic health empowerment.
Ever wanted to take a ride
Not now but someday.
To cool down not to run away
To take time and communicate with your pride
for it to bear with you in a certain way,
Hoping it listens to you one day.
Or ever felt like you could stride
Take a break, go on a self-holiday
Many say it is an internal getaway
But cannot because you have already tried.
If only I may,
brief you about that day.
I put my pride aside
as I discovered that I will be on a subway
with no place to stay.
Fast as a speedboat I changed my mind
as it was and still is what I obey
And hope to never disobey
Since it always has my right side.
I will become your mirror
Showing you what you are
Making your beauty clear -
Clear as a shooting star -
I will reflect your nose
And your blue giant eyes
Your tasteful, fitting clothes
And your athletic thighs
I will reflect your hair
Elegant, long and white,
Your haunting, soulful stare
And loving, healing light,
Your noble, gorgeous features
And your heart, soft and warm
And all the precious creatures
That you hide from the storm -
I will reflect your kindness
And your internal state,
Your talent and the timeless
Beauty that you create,
Your incandescent passion
Your love and tenderness
Your elegance and fashion
Everyone that you bless -
See your reflection in me
That I give back to you
What you evoke within me -
And if it be untrue,
Shatter me like a mirror
Scatter me wide and far
Forcing me to revere
As you say au revoir,
And as I piece the fragments
Into a disco ball
It will show without raiments
Essence and heart of All.
Qualitative
And quantitative
Self appraisal
Humorously casual
Of our stillness quotient
Moment to moment ...
First the qualitative
The depth meditative
Thoughts & body still
By non-self will
Imbibing the love energy
Of current divine in synergy
Is uplifting
Consciousness enhancing
And yet but the beginning
Of our journey enlightening
Then going in deeper
The ascension steeper
Requires dissolution
Total annihilation
Of the self, voluntarily
Choice made choicelessly
Being, becoming, in oneness
The That Awareness
Next, the quantitative
A matter contemplative
Being the response time taken
By our consciousness when shaken
To return to equilibrium
From egoism fearsome
When the external
Stirs the internal
The ripples disturbing our calm
Are cause for observational alarm
In that our reflex response
Imagined to be divine ensconced
Is fragile
From anxiety to smile
The time we take
To forsake
Narrowness & contraction
Back to Oneness & expansion
Is the quantitative scale
Of the way on earth we sail
03-November-2020
"Our Meridian"
We are all
barefoot
ultra green
We are
strange
familiars
We are
constant
circumferencing
Each second
Each minute
Each hour
Every day
Each Year
Our Meridian
We are all
ignorant,
We are all
important
subservient
docile
and sentient
in our truth
We
are absent
Yet
primed
the internal
eternity of Us
whispering
in our minds
"IT"
comes soon,
Our Time
Our Centre
the meeting place
the point,
Our Meridian.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Enchanted Forest Music (528Hz)
https://youtu.be/09r8XdHRWe8
“I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them,
snatching up a lunascope and
throwing it into the fireplace.
"I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH,
I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END,
I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!"
"You do care," said Dumbledore.
He had not flinched or made a single move
to stop Harry demolishing his office.
His expression was calm, almost detached.
"You care so much you feel
as though you will bleed to death
with the pain of it.”
J.K. Rowling, Order of the Phoenix
“When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.”
William Shakespeare
Just because I'm working on my mental health
Doesn't mean I think I'm better than a person who chooses to stay unwell
It just means
I'm working on my internal dialog daily, and I'm not perfect, at the very least, well.
I'm working on making myself content with knowing the past versions of myself
For instance,
Today, I had to set a 5-minute timer to allow myself to wallow in my own guilt surrounding yesterday's choices
This my sweet little psyche always chooses to think and ruminate on during the worst times and hours of the following day
90% dramatized, I guess I should say
Apparently, I really need to feel that sharp impale during the 5 minutes of living today's moments with yesterday's guilt and shame, during
that timeout period
I chose to take today with yesterday's pain that is actually 10% real
This I realize when I am out of my anxiety driven panic state because
let's face it, when we're in it
Time's just an illusion; the world is ending and
The sky is falling yet still
I am stopping to focus on
Yesterday's spilled milk? Haha
Guilt...
I hate you
You make me lose moments in days
Focusing on hours you already claimed
To re-live feelings that were derived from
False impersonations of the characters those
past versions of me played
Why the heck am I still walking onto this unappealing, applaud lacking stage
Only to draw center to all things I wished I could reclaim
Guilt, you are the main villain in this play
Still, you, too, have a significant role to play
So yeah, I'm working daily on myself
The thing is guilt, regret, and shame are just reoccurring roles
I sometimes get in costume to play and recreate, for those 5-minute timeouts I need to take
In those moments, I feel unwell
I think it's a way to keep me regulated and on the forever path to improving wellness within myself
It's more a timed woe is me opportunity
As I still have to take a bow out and do a few oh hell no's
To save my sanity
I think poets are the reason
for hell – Dante a perfect example;
for we write ourselves in and out
daily – a lifetime of times –
it is the Yin and Yang of poetry;
the creative pull between halves
both opposites: the in and out of
creation in constant flux of sentence
and reprieve; the itch that can’t be
reached for such rashes internal –
an ache in the heart that can
kill, confounding physicians having
no prescribed remedy, each of us
a pharmacy of self. Romantic
verses infecting us all our waking
and sleeping hours! Rusalka’s “Song
To The Moon”; Vilia, the enchantress
of the wood, falling victim to her
own supernatural prowess. God and
his angels, a juxtaposition of good
and evil in the same mysterious body….
All of us young and old in a sea
of small and large fish, caught, trapped
and then circled by a fleet of hungry
sharks. It is youth struggling to
to break free, while the old man hanging
on as blood runs till dry from his
shredded palms. We are Ahab and
his indestructible whale. Romeo
and Juliet at the foot of the altar
pleading a heart’s case though silent
the statues, cold to the touch as all
marble to the base of a goblet laced
with poison.
Passion is all this...and yet...we would write
it no other way. Not us...though Omnipotent
our pens.
Written: September 29, 2023
____________________________________________________________
Walking through the corridors of my dream,
Down the boulevard of anguish, it seems,
Breathing in the knell of an unreadable sky,
Haunt Harbinger hypostatization, holding high
Dimly lit guests, snow troopers, and a piano key
Playing a dismal dirge, an internal funeral melody.
Insightful memories on the dark side warn us
Anger and passion, the cusp of nuclear dourness
Letters written in sepia script, a child's scare
In this circumstance, an illustration of despair
A startled, hoary invoice manifests in the mail.
Chaste in Gulag, cognizant of the time roll on stale
Shattering and breaking through the glass box.
The axe grooves on raw wood and blocks.
A misheard song, carefully shattering a splash.
The spear is reflected in the water by a slash.
Hope mirrors shake fate spears to consume.
A rare bedazzlement, a reflection of optimism.
Swords of inertia rattle, eager for consumerism.
But I drudge, unfazed, in this dream, I resume
Where the power of a single act of kindness
Can shatter darkness and bestow brightness.
I walk on, carrying the weight of the past.
But never forget that it won't last.
In this dream, I find solace and peace.
In the midst of chaos, pain, and cease
The blue sky is melting into green.
A symbol of hope, of a raw scene.