Long Isolated Poems
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Inspired by the moving life experience of a teenager. You are not alone. Please don't isolate yourself.
You are Love and Light wrapped in
Starlight and Stardust and Magic
By Michelle Morris
22/07/2025
He found your beauty alluring
Your innocence captivated his predatory instincts
He'd done this again and again
Leaving broken girls in his wake
They would stay in the Abyss
That Darkness he created
So often feeling isolated
So often feeling helpless and alone
If they would only realise
That they are still Beautiful
Pure Souls in vessels harmed
Battered Hearts wrapped up in shame
No person can take away your Soul
No person can take away your true Power
For it is all part of you
The Magic that you are
Your body and mind will heal
It just takes a lot of time and patience
Forgiveness of yourself
Acceptance and facing those demons
Your Heart will recover its beat
Your Soul will once again find its music
Your Song that is forever your Song
Your Energy that is forever your Energy
So, remember these words, my love
You are Love and Light wrapped in
Starlight and Stardust and Magic
You are the Miracle - you are the Miracle
I can't save you or walk your Path
I can only be here when you need me
I can't do the work for you
But I can support your Path and Growth
I can sit with you in the Abyss
Help navigate your way through the Darkness
I can provide Comfort and Compassion
I can hold you close and give you Warmth
But at some point you have to do it
You have to rise from the ashes like a Phoenix
Spread your Wings and fly Free once more
Embrace your Power and your Passion
You are stronger than you know
And you are never alone on your Journey
We Women are connected throughout Time
We are One in our Feminine Power
No one can take away our Worth
No one can take away our Power
We are rare and infinite Creators
We are Divine Blessings to the Universe
See us all around you
The Spirit of the Women
See your Angels and your Guides
They Protect and Guide your Way
May your Heart beat with Joy and Peace
May your Soul hum its perfect Music
May your Song keep inspiring your Voice
May your Energy keep flowing with Source
And don't forget these words, my love
You are Love and Light wrapped in
Starlight and Stardust and Magic
You are the Miracle - you are the Miracle
© Michelle Morris, 2025
ENOUGH!
I felt deaf from the ‘noise’ of information,
constantly butting, buzzing against my mantra of:
“The quieter you are… the more you… hear!”
At present, my lifestyle felt media manipulated:
tv, radio, newspaper, mobile, computer.. ad infinitum!
Besieged by endless emails, monopolizing mobiles,
beset by frenzied yaps from apps!
Enough is enough is….. ENOUGH,
I have to escape from the unrelenting hullabaloo.
Can the human brain endure so much information
and who am I, an individual thinker or group dancer?
However, relief sat just around the corner
as next morning I boarded the flight to Reykjavik.
A three-hour taxi journey with a taciturn islander,
people and communication diminishing by the mile
until finally a twig of a boat out to Ellidaey Island.
Boating and bobbing towards the uninhabited …hideaway,
an isolated jigsaw piece of land
off the southern coast of Iceland,
I appraise a small-boned building clinging to its side
with ‘RIDICULOUS’ scribbled all over it.
Someone had said Iceland was a niceland
where you could float free, peace and tranquillity!
But someone hadn’t warned me about…Mr Loneliness
Who was soon tapping me sharply on the shoulder.
So here I sit, three days into my week’s stay
in the island’s lodge, dubbed the world’s loneliest house,
where the only neighbours are passing ships and puffing puffins.
No internet, no tv, no electricity, no running nor strolling.. water
just remote, alone and contemplating my countenance
while wondering if God is lonely too!
Suddenly, clouds bump and bruise against each other
as they race away before the darkness snarls in.
Soon, night has sent in its stormtroopers
who land and splinter into shadow groups
while wind angrily sprints up to the house
bombing it with blockbuster punches.
Then rain happily joins in, machine-gunning the house
until the building begins to stagger and stumble.
I check my face and it is still in the same place
but I sit timorously trembling, tyrannised and terrified
while my eyes follow the house’s dimly lit path
as it wags its tail to the cliff’s edge
and jumps into the void of darkness.
But this poem is a broken wrist, with a twist,
as suddenly, my bones brittle and inside myself…..I faint!
What possibly could happen now?
But there it is..
the knock at the front door!
Ian Souter
7 Ravens
In a terrible time of famine, war, pest and inquisition,
a master Wicca giving homeless boys a apprentice permission.
They had to maintain a household in an isolated place,
working very hard to earn some recognition to face.
Collecting woods, herbs and edibles to survive
building a garden, harvesting some fields to strive.
When the moon was new the master summonsed the boys,
teaching them the art of magic, using dark power like toys.
The very same power was keeping those young men imprisoned,
some tried to run away, but got lost and ended up same place wrested.
He turned them into ravens, spying on innocent prey,
and gave them that illusion of freedom that they can fly.
The deeds of darkness had its toll and innocent hearts rebel,
they could not take the viciousness by mental means able.
The Wicca promised them the virtue of ultimate power,
focusing only onto the abuse by tragic endower.
The ravens tried to work together against the masters will,
but could not fit his evil visions to conquer the needed bill.
In disguise of 7 Ravens they had to visited villages,
creating distractions for the dark master to take advantages.
One Raven got injured during some chaotic rage,
a maiden of gentle touch, nursed the captured creature in a cage.
Not knowing that a boy is in this disguise of a bird,
and the young man was in awe of all he heard.
She was talking about a charming prince she dreamed to meet,
giving her the stillness for the loving longing as a deed.
The raven recovered and the boy’s heart was enchanted,
flying back to the brothers and the master will granted.
He told his fellows about the beauty he is feeling,
and knew it is the way to conquer all fears and controlled stealing.
They decided to fly to those villages to find some maidens of charm,
exchanging bodies to create loving features with no harm.
Soon they hearts where all full of joy and virtues abilities,
much against the masters witching capabilities.
His own manipulation fell against him by circumstance,
leaving nothing left to do, giving those young men the advance.
They swore an ode, never to use the art of dark power,
living a life with the meaning of celebrated love in any hour.
Still hearing from time to time the voice of a Crow,
sounding like the croaking noise of…. nevermore, nevermore.
Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe
I was sleeping and dreaming, silently screaming, while violently weeping And mildly feeling that I was honestly grieving I was quitely greeting my anxiety's breathing It was wildy eating at who I was... I could see through the mirrior he was frustrated Feeling devestated, felt isolated, feeled truly aggravated Did I mention the love and hatred upon his eyes Or even the soul teared through a genocide A gemini inside, but set aside he felt terrified But through the lies disguised in your mind He was ultimately petrified...It was you that was scarier then ever, even his barrier Now I'm flying high like a harrier, with you i'm more marrier Was it scary cause of your terror, or your character? See I truly miss you miss, you're a beautiful beautious Broken and brutal, but with you I see what beauty is I love it, cause you're so humorous, is it obvious? I'm operating this auto race Just for you, I'd be dominating...I'd be going pedal to the metal, just till it's settled I just want to win a medal, I'm feeling kind of dreadful I've even beaten my only devil, going crazy, am I mental? Nah, it's where I extract scratched tangets and you stare vast in past pamphlets And you have no answers for your last math's classes, within exams I see you vanishing You close your eyes and drift in planets'n'canvases, and you crash in crafted canyons That clash with granite and imagitive paniced bandits with a habit that granted An attached handprint that reflected my poetic languages They call us anguished animals, but I pass on my damages, on through these messages See I may look different with my clothes that are charred and almost carved off I'm scorching like dark hearts, and warped like barked bronze Can you see I was meant for journalling? I'll be discerning them, as they see me surfacing I'll just be surging in, and it's you that i'd prefer to bring even out of all these earth-a-lings I hope it's permenant, you showed me what my purpose is, I needed the encouragement It was a form of your subtle perfectness, is it courteous that you bring me nervousness? Right now, you got me prouder then, all my extended ends, it's pride from you that i'm conjuring in.... Your loves got me flying high in your turbulence, it's a superb inherent gift, I don't think I could picture it, It has me feeling one with the churches and all my burning urges end...
King of Lies
It's all about you,
Isn't it?
Always, no matter what the disaster
You've most recently caused.
It always comes back to you,
How badly you're treated
By the Fake News
(By which we mean the real truth,
As reported by those Enemies of the People).
You, Oh naked would-be king,
Are the Enemy of the People.
And more, and more, and more of them
Are coming to understand that.
In a way I suppose you may be right;
After all, were it not for you,
We wouldn't be mocked by the rest of the world.
We wouldn't be force-fed 'Alternative Facts".
We wouldn't have our honor and our very lives
Held hostage to your need to be the center of all attention.
Your citizens are dying, by the way,
As you keep us floundering like a Third World country.
You haven't even the grace
Not to insult and belittle
The many, many everyday heroes among us
Who risk their lives incessantly
That others may live.
So go on, our unclothed wanna-be Emperor;
Make your pronouncements
To your emptying, echoing audience hall.
You are king of one thing,
That is true:
You are the king of lies.
You have lied so much you have no idea
What truth actually is.
You are delusional;
The reality you inhabit
Is not our true reality.
There is a real world out here;
Believe it or not.
And one day the nightmare you've created
Will fade into the grateful past,
You will be vilified
Down through the centuries,
And no one, not even your enablers
Will mourn your passing,
Not even your family,
Because you have no virtues.
Know this; you will die - soon;
No doubt this will be a great surprise to you.
But come it will,
And when it does,
Will you be able to put forth any account for yourself?
Will a single human life
Have been improved
As a result of your existence?
No.
You will go down to Eternity
Unmourned.
Not your wife, not your children,
Not your spineless lickspittles
Will mourn your passing.
For this I pity you.
It must be nice
To be so isolated
From reality;
To just accept
That your version of reality is correct;
That everything works the way
You want it to.
But this is not the case;
In the end it will be acknowledged
That you were the worst of all our Presidents,
And somehow, we survived you.
Thank God you will fade into our pasts;
Thank God we are stronger than you.
Artfully dodging explosive solutions
pretending shackles restrained prisoner
lobbed pseudo Molotov cocktails
kindly, loosely, and mutinously linkedin
liberal short (make believe) chain
leashed faux abysmal isolated confinement
former courtly poet,
who consumed prison fare
equalling bread and thin gruel
poetical, quizzical, and rational thinking
wrought eventual gladness!
Meanwhile elsewhere within
another complex edifice
Stormy (Daniels) reign
came and went
accompanying barren
cruel don, trumpeting
issuing expansion fiat
wielding, gesticulating, brandishing...
ironclad golf club spouting art of the deal,
whereby might versus right
simultaneously Putin on the ritz
song and dance routine
crooning Ivana mock up Earth,
especially figurative roasting statesman christened
Elijah Cummings, an American politician
and civil rights advocate who served
in United States House of Representatives
for Maryland's 7th congressional district
from 1996 until his death in 2019.
That oversized ego freezer
with pouffed hair,
who shall not be named
made abominable destiny manifest
regarding eminent domain
dominion, he forcibly
relocated natives to Cajun shelters
charging them admission fees
manumission granted serving
white supremacist conveniently optioning
kids as scapegoats
re: Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals (DACA)
labor away migrants
grunts passive pluperfect targets
no matter forbears indigenous
to America unfortunately
been man-date to bite bullet
within badlands of El Paso
meanwhile oblivious hermit aging
barnacle encrusted manacles
absorbing cumulative dampness
no longer granting resistance
to life nor limb
timely manumission lovely bones restored
swallowed potion frothing colorful brew
contrived exquisite firearms.
Ah redeemed character
(any resemblance between
initially mentioned unfortunate soul
and living persons purely coincidental)
mentioned at outset of poem
broached out Alcatraz replica
free and clear fresh air revived
fifty shades of gray
immediately sieged moment
weakly hollered carpe diem
elixir imbued immunity
against taken hostage at gunpoint
freedmen impressed into service
while waved magic wand
whereby enslaved women
retaliated hashtagged misogynistic
took appropriate revenge
as apprenticed warrioresses!
You where the breath of my joy and heaven,
now you are my curse, blotch, and you delete the rainbow of my smile
Why so, woman of mud?
You where the fountain and rose of my heart,
now you’re the thrones that grow on the hills of my rose
and make my rose look like a mountain of pain.
Why so, woman of mud?
You where the highly skilled love miracle maker that turned my tears to wine
and give my cry special effects,
because when I am crying and I think of you, I suddenly start laughing.
But now, you turn my smile to clay and my tears to a red river of agony, and you roll my cry with your temper of hate down the mountain of darkness.
Why so, woman of mud?
You where the pure guide that guided all our belongings with your cloud of kindness,
and you never did without showering your waters of affection on me.
But now, you scatter all that belongs to us in the deepest pit of unkindness, and you bleed away what we felt for each other through your rain of anguish.
You always said to me,
that theirs no such thing as heartbreak,
because you will never ever leave the path of our purple love, and you shall always be there for me like the stars that set on the eyes of skies.
But now, you boldly crush and pond my heart in your mortar of anguish and walk away leaving my skies blind.
Why so, woman of mud?
*Sobbing*
You where the light that lighted up the candle of my soul when I was damp and hollow and this made me glow intensively. You also always told me the darkest secrets I could not even tell you.
But now you blow so hard to wind away the light of my soul, flushing me dip down into the land of isolated slaves, where I hear your gossips about me.
Why so, woman of mud?
You were my brightest sunset and you never did without hugging and holding my hands, for you always saw me as your palace of refuge in times of traffic danger.
But now, you’ll rather become hell, just to see me cry and burn, and you’ll rather also just walk gently into death, so as not to call me your hero.
Why so, woman of mud?
You where my law of pleasant admiration and I could never carry on without you by my life, because you where my dramatic wonder of love.
But now, you are my flaws of unpleasant admiration and I have no choice nor muddle but to move on in my soberest mood, without you woman of mud, because you are now my thunder of hate,
Woman of mud!
When it comes to being a good father what do most young black men see?
Can they picture their fathers passing down any legacies?
Do they remember any male bonding or talks on how to be good men?
Do they have any perceptions or even comprehend?
Unfortunately too many households are single parent with only a mother in residency
Caused by incarceration, unemployment and dysfunctional inadequacies
Too many don't have a clue of what a good father should be
As the father factor in their lives was one of obscurity
But God is the ultimate father figure to each and every man
And if you desire to be like Him read His words and follow His plans
To become a good father you must examine the Holy Scriptures
And hopefully you'll be able to obtain a good father picture
Now tapping into God's heavenly Twitter account
And Facebooking the Gospel to see what its all about
Fully prepared to formulate, cultivate and stimulate your spiritual life
So that your behavior and way of thinking lines up with Jesus the Christ
A picture of a good father is a man who leaves a financial legacy
So that his children won't exist in a state of abject poverty
By showing them how to save and how to invest
Leaving a fruitful inheritance and a full hope chest
A picture of a good father is a man whose vine is rooted in a strong foundation
And structured to lift him up in godly formation
Respectful, resilient, loving, loyal and kind
Of strong moral conviction and secure in his mind
Knowing who he is and what he could be
And having healthy relationships with every member of his family
So if you're broken, bitter, angry and have any doubts
Seek God and a professional to help you work it out
And i say this to all women and I hope you receive
You need to let a man be a man to his family
Stop disrespecting him and put your anger and pride to the side
He is doing the best he can so work with him by walking stride for stride
A picture of a good father is a man concerned about his community
Who comprehends we live in a global society
A man who gets involved and not stay isolated
As we are all a part of this world that God created
A picture of a good father is a man who loves and respects his family and community
A man strongly rooted, striding humbly and secure in his spirituality
Don't assume I write with an aim or end in sight, my ambition isn't with the pen the paper or the mic, I'm not reaching to be famous or for riches or for hype, writing down my thoughts is me unloading what's inside after many years of silence and confusion of my life which I now know came from breakdowns in an isolated strife that dragged on overwhelmingly to attempted suicide, I had many people but not one of them on side, nobody to talk to no one seeing through my eyes stunned by the lack of support as the battle reached it's height which i now know went unnoticed because it was thought a lie, happening so fast i lost my thought process and lived mentally blind, I was snowballed in the moments losing track and in decline, with no one taking notice of myself as the person I was died, numb and living clueless hoping theories could answer why, people told me my problems convinced that they were right but none of them came close to truth which I still hadn't realised, those thoughts still remained unprocessed and years had now gone by, it was worthlessness in autopilot taking each day at a time, I knew people had done me wrong but couldn't place their crime, the theories they came up with shone a light inside their mind, I never once blamed anyone and accepted it as mine, but my subconscious was hinting at what people were truly like, leading me to a place were their company was denied,
with no one influencing me I slowed cleared my mind, the thought process flickered on again over a decade behind, repressed memories present the answers and facts began to shine, i could see true colours as the chapter horrified, I never spoke about it because they told me not to lie, which lead to a suffered silence until i broke down and lost the light, no future or past in mind stuck living but not alive, these people were my closest and now have no place in my life, they left me isolated where I stayed until today when I have only I, yet theorizing never stopped and their mentality doesn't lie, they haven't ever changed and i see through their whole disguise, they want to better everyone and help nobody rise, they benefitted as I survived unsure wanting to die, a revelation helping me come back to life, it took it's time as it had too much pain it had to hide, but time and distance was the key and I write to stay alive
O' it's written in books and songs,
That we've been mistreated and wronged;
Well, over and over . . . .
Buffy St. Marie
As storm clouds rumbled in the sky
and thunder clapped giant hands another child was buried
just another cluster suicide death
she was ten years old . . .
First Nation peoples of Canada live in all parts noted on charts
some in places isolated
where fruit, vegetables and milk is expensive
limited, and of poor quality
housing is inadequate and in need of repair
full of mold, and bug infested where babies die
some have no water or contaminated water
some have no heat or meat
sad when you think Canada was THEIR land
(o' we are restless and discontent, dissatisfied and want better)
but in the early history of this fine country
they where hunted, killed, starved and unwanted
and herded into reservations
into submission, becoming dependent and in time gone their
resplendent culture . . . but still proud and strong
shame on the government of Canada willing to accept refugees
putting them in nice hotel rooms and finding them housing
when we have people living in horrible poverty conditions
shame, shame on you Mr. Prime Minister
in my solitude and musing
I imagine a warrior on a high cliff looking at a vast land
he sits proud under a dark cloud
such is the shame as Canada is a wealthy and healthy
country and the needs of the First Nation go on and on . . .
these are truly invisible people
today the government is working to right the wrongs
some say too little . . .
I can see a canoe's drifting beneath a limitless sparkling blue sky
and fish are jumping and leaping
then, my vision fades into an internal night
and another child is buried because of no hope
the PEOPLE are discontent and restless . . .
__________________
March 30, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/The Invisible People
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1008-937-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.