Long Irrelevance Poems
Long Irrelevance Poems. Below are the most popular long Irrelevance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Irrelevance poems by poem length and keyword.
You don’t feel upon lying
So you sing the song of the dying
Sunday afternoons
Pastors choose reign in a spiritual doom
The sun plasters we coons
Stand out and fade faster with the moon
I bid you the same old static and blues
The one always in favor of tempered news
The trail of adventures and rules
We don’t heal upon crying
So we sing the song of the dying
The highways haunts you
Night sky’s taunt the blue
All life wants from you
Is the truth
The secrets they’re telling you
One just knows not what to do
Feel like you want to cry
Coincidentally you realize
It would be better to die
We don’t feel upon lying
So we sing the song of the dying
I’ve given away myself in every song
Driven the bars last liquor home
No sympathy for an aging man
For I cannot feel your tears
Upon my rough hands
My scared palms
My irrelevance
bared in chapters of Psalms
Until my ending is calmed
He's so phoney in poems, moaning only,
same tone, same story,
a war he can't endure anymore that beats him sore and sorry,
exploring his core for strength absent before in writes of sheer folly.
Wanting to write powerfully like Churchill or Eminem,
but unable to create an impact as do many men.
It's easy to ridicule the metaphorical irrelevance,
as he revamps old writes lacking in intelligence.
Always using the same twist from behind a different mist,
ending with insistence he can return from great distance,
but he's not fooling anyone,
his fall's evident to everyone.
If he'd focused when he wrote this and applied a thought process,
he might have aspired beyond mono syllable rhyming and formed continuous structure,
but too useless to see it rewrote and tidied of mess,
he tirelessly goes on n on with simple investment of
contagious rupture.
He used to try and rhyme three words in each line,
double-rhyming words that evoke the mind,
concludes over time ease occurred with decline,
now forcing sounds heard or spoke in the rows behind.
By this point in the poem he is aware of his failure,
after reading back the words he's just tailored,
happy to cliche but not be a sunken sailor,
he tells of new fire, desire and determination to respond braver.
Follows the procedure of "seeking the peak",
covering up the fact he's pathetically weak,
forgets he lives worn down, always too tired,
and suddenly he's electrically alive and wired,
the traits of the self conning compulsive liar.
Self critical now in his inhospitable soul,
existing solely pitiful on the whole,
typically critique doesn't motivate towards the goal,
believing he's snowballing too fast to stop the roll.
All he takes from being mentally broken,
is his bravery to tell and let it be spoken,
doesn't care how they judge his way of coping,
because all he has left is being completely open.
We all destined to suffer pain and death
and great sadness on earth.
Pain and suffering are always inevitable.
Men suffer because of sinfulness and carelessness.
Human brain has the highest intelligence
but their choices and will power cause negligence.
We all live to suffer, to prevail is finding meaning through suffering and dying.
People need to learn how to settle their arguments without resorting to violence.
Threat of resorting to killing is irresponsible
and irrelevance.
Men must seek God to amend for their wrongdoing,
accusing blasphemy is lack of reverence and insulting.
©?aroque
In the grand theater of existence, we play our part,
A journey through time, a tale from the heart.
Life, not short but fleeting, slips through our grasp,
Moments like sand, slipping from our clasp.
We chase after dreams, in a race against time,
But as we age, relevance becomes a climb.
Struggling to keep pace, to remain in the game,
Fearing irrelevance, the sting of that name.
Yet as we strive, against the ticking clock's chime,
We realize the truth in the passage of time.
For dignity wanes, as abilities fade,
And the specter of mortality casts its shade.
We cling to the remnants of youth's vibrant glow,
Hoping to mask the marks that time bestow.
But acceptance dawns, in the twilight's embrace,
As we confront the end with courage and grace.
For life's not just about the speed of its flight,
But the depth of its moments, the lessons in sight.
So let us embrace each day as it comes,
And find solace in knowing, we're not just the sums.
Though irrelevant we may feel, in the march of the years,
Our legacy lives on, in laughter and tears.
For in the end, what truly matters is love,
As we surrender to fate, with peace from above.
We mint our saints in neon now,
Their cheekbones cut from screens and static,
Golden calves with fiber-optic veins,
Hoofed in convenience and applause.
They learn to glow before they live,
Learn to bleed without a wound.
Once, holiness arrived on fire—
A thorned voice cracking the ceiling of the skull.
Now it trickles through notifications,
Thin as milk diluted with promotion.
Even martyrs have brand managers.
Even wounds wear makeup.
I kneel before the altar of updates,
My thumbs in constant prayer,
Scrolling for a sign that still has teeth.
Every miracle is sponsored.
Every resurrection comes with terms,
Small print stitched into the shroud.
The dead are louder than the living.
We canonize in real time—
A tragedy, a candle, a trending hymn,
Then on to the next immaculate disaster.
Grief has learned to multitask.
Ash is archived.
Our saints no longer starve in deserts—
They starve in crowded rooms,
Feed on echoes, likes, the clean white crack
Of being witnessed without being known.
Their halos flicker in algorithmic weather,
Shorted by irrelevance.
I want the old ferocity back—
The kind that sears a name into bone,
That does not vanish after thirty days
Like an unrenewed subscription to sorrow.
I want a holiness that indicts me,
Not the soft-focus mercy of forgetting.
We write our sacred lives in disappearing ink,
Hagiographies that refresh and vanish—
Lives reduced to captions under flame.
We are all relics in plastic cases,
Handled without touch,
Venerated without trembling.
And God—if you are still here—
You must be exhausted by our mirrors,
By this choir of self-lit saints
Singing through glass.
Even you, I think, would crave
One unrecorded miracle.
PRESERVED FOR POSTERITY
awesome sensations
compliant
rapid
prodigious
astonishing
a visceral
drifting into irrelevance
a cluster
of strange nostalgia
into memorys lane
a fragility
of existence
fusing emotion
a meditation
on mortal
summoning subtlety
with a distracting
aura
such allusions
of grandiosity
manipilated
recalled
by
experience
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Retrospective Inclinations
Inclinations toward the philosophical nature of mankind
Imitations of awe and wonder and the subtly refined
Insinuations of an action that is considered ill-defined
Illuminations of the atmosphere that circulates in her mind
Catastrophic consequences for those who refuse to consider cost
Misanthropic measures as they contemplate what they have lost
Philharmonic overtures that adorn the cultured and the loft
Telescopic telomeres that combine technology as she seems soft
Incorporations of conversations that imply a sense of dread
Consolidations of invitations that leave the bride unwed
Palpitations of consecrations that conjure inside her head
Affirmations of visitations that come and go from her bed
Luminous possibility among the distorted convolution
Furious credibility that promotes a transfigured delusion
Spurious eligibility as she writhed about in confusion
Injurious sensibilities that draw unnecessary conclusions
Awakening contemplations that preside in elevated thought
Mistaking conversations for something that can be bought
Berating intonations for a concept that needs to be fought
Negating imitations of a notion that is over wrought
Visionary eloquence forming from the twighlight sky
I am weary of the inference as the tears well in my eyes
Timothy Leary fades into irrelevance as the earth begins to die
Commissary for the petulance I feel from the nature of mankind
Radiance and insight fight for grace and kindness to emerge undefeated
The gradients of light that fractal outwards when repeated
Innocence and delight combine to have the malevolent deleted
Convalesce inside the retrospective thought that you have completed
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz 2025
Pensive dreamlike awake and restless wonder,
where the faded Moon invites to ponder.
Boisterous thoughts from delicate irrelevance,
redeeming midnight charm and eloquence.
Changes that wakens the inner Dragon about,
glaring annoyance and swords to temper amount.
Struggling emphasis of conscience truth to hide,
kindled by some muse to open that wound so wide.
Some frail memories in still erected shame,
perhaps this neglected spot needs some refrain.
Rich with spoils in time not seeing the whole,
scattered some genuine flow of the soul.
I touched a heart that engaged in loving fire,
awaken ecstasies to promised ever after desire.
Lonely contemplation let me to this artless tale,
vulnerable heart and embarrassing forlorn fail.
A shrouded dusky veil disappeared as dust,
while moon light rays fill the dark adjust.
The strange of heart without a rest,
knows that love is a ever refining quest.
10.
the apparent golden pot that i thought
to be the underneath of a kadam-tree
in the dim light i can notice that
the stars in the sky are disappearing
this session of poetry
is coming to an end
now where would i
go
to that little home
the home
a tiny word of 4 letters
within that home
the children are giggling
playing … and making funs
when i entered
with a tri-cycle in hand
for them
i have been perplexed
many old persons are waiting there
to shake hands with me
11.
almost most of my desires
are very much hurt
to show it publicly
i wrap bandages
around all over my body
i keep on the stage-drama
in our programme of reading poetry
tea is served twice
current has gone off for three times
for four times the mobiles ring
to pick up love
some people think about returning back
from today’s dais to the ancient stage
of performing folk-drama
then they are also sympathetic
to my sufferings
12.
everyday
on my way to return home from the school
when my mom took hold of my hands
i could see in my body
the dancing of an unforgettable
aura
even now that mystical halo is walking
on the leaves of the trees
to fulfil my mornings
that wayfaring along the road
is ringing far and far-off
thus taking bath in every day’s
dust smoke hue and cry
many such love
gradually gets aged
is it true
in the long run
i too
would be the ingredient
of a fairy-tale
just because i love
that paddy field
some time later
she will also become
human
13.
then she will make all of us
join her walking
those inmost feeling
those memories meditations
the loneliness and solitude…
sans the touch of the imagination of
a crater…
a creator…
this blunder…
this socially outcast white …
this type of uneven…
and irrelevance…
sume words
when peep in the mind
i surprise to see that
it’s ten to 2 at night
then in the balcony
my father is crying
he always notices some grave-yard men
in front of him
and sheds tears
I mean I understand
This hatred comes in difference,
But does it have to
Come along with ignorance?
We were born in the same,
Process we call love,
But doesn't that prove
Itself on how it comes?
I say this to lives
In front of me
Up to the furthest,
Destination to being,
Can we please just,
End all these acts,
Of violence in life,
& remain pact?
I'm tired of losing,
My friends & relatives,
Even strangers & children,
To wars from irrelevance,
Culture defining humanity,
Truth it is all yes,
But defining humans
Is not what it meant,
In any type of faith
It has all given hope,
In any type of blessing
Thankfully kept ahold,
So doesn't that clarify,
Our capacities in regrets,
So our understanding
Can be also met,
I'm thinking too much
About this matter
That we're dealing with,
I want it to shatter,
I want our generation to survive...
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