Long Kneels Poems
Long Kneels Poems. Below are the most popular long Kneels by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kneels poems by poem length and keyword.
The Battle field is ready for a messy day
Throats will be cut and blood will spray
Great feats will be achieved and a wonderful display
Of armies in mortal struggle, the fray
Giants, Demons, Angles and the like ready their blades
The battle drum beats then they rush the glade.
A master white stair case to heaven is the Demons goal
The General shuts his visor and leads his hoard through
Magic, Death, Music, Strength, and Weakness all happen
Only one makes it through the havoc….
His last sprint up the stair case a final task
At the top he unveils his metal mask
A young mans face with demon horns peers at the gates
In front of him guardians decide his fate
One question is all he has for them and the lord
Can I see my beloved from childhood from before?
The Demon kneels to show no threat before his grace
Then he sees her solemn sad little face
He didn’t move his great muscles as she approached him
Her actions were very simple…she bent over and kissed him
He then turned and walked down to the stair case
Threw his sword and spear then leapt from its base
He very well could have opened his great wings
He completed the only wish he had…. See the King!
Genevieve his angel
Blue darkened to blackened bruise,
The angered fist the weapon used,
She falls full force against the wall,
Her desperate cries, unanswered call.
Smashed, broken glass and splintered fragments,
Onto the floor fall her hopes, in shattered segments.
Her wide eyes plead no, no more,
As his anger strikes her to the floor,
White so pure with ruby red,
The blood trickles from her pale white head.
"Go on.., she cries break my spirit, destroy this shell that I'm no longer in it!
Do it.., kill me end this now, deal that final blow that ensures my shroud"!
His eyes ablaze in fury's mist, he delivers loves final fatal kiss
His blow between her eyes so sharp
As her breath stops, so does her heart
Her gaze fixed, as a tear falls of it's own free will
Her body crumpled, limp and still.
He kneels beside her afraid and shamed
How could he send her to her grave?
Blue darkened to blackened night
He must now dispose of his dead wife
In desperation for his sake
He must be careful, no mistakes
"Damn it why'd you make me do it?
The buttons push, how well you knew it"
A cold breeze blew hard across the room,
"Why darling surely were not leaving so soon"?
Her voice echoed as he looked around, it could not be her,
She's lying dead upon the ground.
Her corpse resembling blackened blue
Darkened guilt he felt and knew
Her ruby lips no longer red
But grey, the color of the dead.
He took the bottle from which he'd been drinking,
God only knows what he'd been thinking
"Darling must I sleep alone?" he heard his dead wife quietly moan
"I'm waiting for you, won't you come? there's always room for another one"
Terrified by this haunting voice, he got to his feet and fled to run
Into the street, onto the road, the car came fast and he was thrown.
On a cold roadside he could only gaze, as the vision of her ghost did fade
Before departing these words she said, " blue darkened to blackened bruise, the hit and
Run the weapon used,
You fell full force and cracked you're head, now you too my darling are also dead".
Silently,while soft rain drums on zinc in sorrowed streets,
My soul kneels where she once stood,my gal, my need,my nevermore.
crying droplets chant in syllables of her smile-sweet, small,
Silvered syllables sipping across haze and humiliation.
Her mother-a Mount Olympus of ten thousand frustrations-
mouths malice in midday markets,
sparking sparks of spite,her words whipping like wet rope.
Her uncle,a dog trainer with a dog chain in his hand,a dog's dark echo,
unchains his hate,barking at the boy he thinks too poor to dream.
I still see her ebony eyes in puddles, trembling,
telling tales of thunder,
''my township Romeo From Another Earth And Sky, ''they breathe,
be brave-Ill come back from another earth and sky
not this world of man''
But love is leashed to their lies
and the leash tears her heart before she can run.
Now I rap my requiem-
rhymes for rain,rhythm for regret,
Heartbeats hammered into-half remembered hope.
She died of a broken vow-not hers,
but the world of a world that kills its kindest loves.
Rain don't remember her name,
but I do-every drop spells my gal.
Soft syllables,same sorrow,same song,
for the gals the gods forgot to guard.
The sun has barely begun to rise over the field of wild flowers, wheat, stacks of hay set out to dry in the early morning sun. A older gentleman sets out on their daily walk to a special sacred place to give thanks to God for another sunrise.
An old abandoned church, paint falling off into the grass like snow, just like him, is showing its age. The lock on the door is closed, a stoop serves as his pew, as he removes his hat, bowes his head to pray.
He gives thanks for surviving this day, to give back to this old church which has stood empty for the past decade. His only wish is to restore its beauty, scrape off the rest of paint, paint new white paint, make it looking brand new.
As he scrapes with every ounce of strength, his cancer is taking his strength, he pushes on for he has a goal, to see thus abandoned church come alive again.
He finally opens up the tattered lock, to open its doors, the floor creaks and falls under his feet, he looks up to see an old roof full of holes, showing the morning sun gleaming to his hopeful soul. He kneels on the church pew to ask for help; strength up to Jesus, you can’t help but ask, whom is saving whom?
As the church once again comes alive, he feels a new sense of faith come over him, as his cancer is now in remission, a little old abandoned church now has saved a life..
A man and his dog have saved a church’s life, by the grace of GOD, with a just a scraper and a paint brush, but GOD was watching watching them from above, because an old church was brought back to life, on a early morning walk.
The world in turmoil, hate is strong
turn on the news and all is wrong
A paper angel with wings of blue
colored by a child with crayon new
Her head is bowed, she kneels to pray
a glitter halo glistens in the light's ray
I kneel beside her and bow my head
The paper angel left by my bed
A note beside her on my bed stand
Daddy I am afraid help me understand
My little one comes by my side
and kneels with me as I reply
Like the paper angel we to shall pray
For God to heal this world everyday
And with His blessings and His love
may the world rejoice on the wings of doves
May simple kindness and the glow of love
May prayers be heard in Heaven above
A time for forgiveness and to be atone
May the earth be a peaceful home
We prayed together to erase our fear
We prayed together for all to share
A world in peace healed by prayer
A paper angel with wings of blue
A paper angel by innocent hands drew
A paper angel but the love is real
and with every prayer may our world heal
In a Romania of shadows, where the dream crumbled under the weight of history,
Under the leaden sky, our hopes broke and departed in silence,
A nation mourns its soul with tears hidden deep within its being,
Searching for a thread of light among hopes vanquished by time.
The annulled choice, a painful echo of a tumultuous and unforgiving past,
In hearts struggling with the desire to ignite a bright flame of hope,
The elites devour themselves like beasts in a never-ending, restless arena,
Feeding on the fear of losing all they had, all they loved and dreamed.
In dark corners, puppets silently dance on invisible strings,
While citizens, prisoners of anguish, silently scream their despair,
On the streets, a wave of souls gathers, in search of a ray of light,
The only ones still believing that in change lies the divine salvation of being.
But the oppressive silence is a heavy cloak that kneels us in forgetfulness,
Between dreams that fade and generations that leave at noon, never to return,
The young pack their bags, seeking a new land of dreams and freedom,
Leaving behind a country that denies them any comfort, any hope for the future.
Cardboard institutions and shamelessly visible hypocrisy,
A government weaving from lies an illusory wealth and power,
But in the nation's soul, an unappeased and boundless longing shines,
To be, one day, pure, to be, one day, honest and just again.
In the face of this tragedy, we must gather and rise,
To give voice to silence, to no longer capitulate, to fight for truth,
From the tumult that surrounds us, to find a new momentum and beginning,
To no longer be patients, but to rise triumphantly, healing ourselves.
Among the ruins of democracy, to find a new beginning and a righteous path,
To no longer be prisoners, but to free ourselves from the clay that holds us captive,
Romania, even so, with deep wounds to heal and endure,
Has in its blood the power to be reborn, from dream, a pure and bright truth.
A little girl kneels,
at the foot,
of her bed,
she folds,
her little hands,
and bows her tiny head.
Dressed in crimson,
while saying,
her prayers,
thrown to heaven,
white wings,
she now wears.
Sitting on a cloud,
tied to a star,
looking down from heaven,
to where they are,
she walks in comfort,
they'll never get far.
Lighting the sky,
her forgotten eyes,
sharp as a sword,
pierces through their souls,
finding that to be,
the utmost reward.
A little girl in heaven,
forever fast asleep,
her sisters woes,
forever weep.
For years, the King of Terrors
had been blamed for every fear.
At last, he agreed to be interviewed.
He arrived in a black cape
with a crown too large for the door,
and asked whether the room
contained any ducks.
“Your Majesty,” I said,
“people claim you are responsible
for irrational fears.”
“People,” he said,
“are responsible for irrational fears.
I merely receive the letters.”
I opened the first file.
“Elevatophobia.”
“Metal cupboards
that travel vertically,” he replied.
“I rest my case.”
“Climacophobia.”
“A staircase, a ladder,
or steep terrain
with its safety removed.”
“Nyctophobia.”
“Darkened halls
are corridors
practising secrecy.”
“Arachnophobia.”
The King adjusted his crown.
“Even spiders
should have privacy.”
“Anatidaephobia.”
“Ducks are watchful,” said the King.
“That is not irrational.
That is observational.”
“Xanthophobia.”
He glanced nervously
at the yellow pencil on my desk.
“The sun is yellow,” I said.
“Exactly,” he replied.
“Turophobia.”
“Cheese does not improve
with being left alone in caves,”
said His Majesty.
“It becomes confident.”
“Geniophobia.”
The King lowered his own chin
behind the royal collar.
“Linonophobia.”
He watched my untied shoelace
curl across the carpet.
“It is making connections,” he said.
The clock ticked.
“Your Majesty,” I asked,
“are you frightened of anything?”
“Certainly not,” he said.
“I am the King of Terrors.
Fear kneels before me.”
I turned to the final file.
hippo
poto
monstro
sesqui
ppedalio
phobia
The King’s crown slipped sideways.
“That,” he whispered,
“is not a word.
It is a corridor
with no visible exit.”
The clock ticked once.
His Majesty screamed,
diving through the window
into a hedge
full of cucumbers.
HEARTBEAT OF CHRISTMAS
Can you hear his heartbeat?
Lay your ear to his chest
His onesie wet with your tears
You wipe them with your hair
Do you hear salvation’s coo?
With eyes that sparkle when they look at you
With a smile that lights up the room
Profound words that created you
Do you answer when he cries?
Pick up your cross and follow him
Remember the childhood wounds
Blood sweat and tears that oozed
Do you kneel down?
With shepherds and kings
With an earthly mother and father
Honoring the king of kings
Open earth’s yellowing album
See the crimson velvet of Santa Claus
Fancy white fur hems, and a jolly laugh
But before you hear those jingle jolly bells
A humble man with a long white beard
Closes his eyes, kneels at a crib
Lauds the one who makes all things possible
11/29/2016
In the quiet psalm,
As light falls gentle, calm
Breaking through the softest of skies,
Inviting hearts to the kindest sunrise –
where once, the One who made the day,
reveals the love that found a way,
the precious love for which hearts pray –
the beautiful that I will forever say…
in the silence of the psalm,
rises the wonder, in His palm
grows a warmth, a sincerity, a sweet grace,
falling across this heart who sees love’s face,
in the melody, in the song –
still alive and where I belong,
it’s His Presence, so very strong,
promising my soul that He’ll right every wrong,
restoring my heart – all my life long…
in the quiet of God’s psalm,
there is a joy that can becalm
filling the spirit with a blessing, a light
who feeds the silence of the darkest night,
who abides in the promise, making hearts right –
freeing the sinner, stirring a fire
inside the believer, so their greatest desire
is knowing God, the soul’s only supplier….
Of the love that comes to life
when we think of that sacrifice,
the One who changed the heart of us all,
with His mercy, His conviction, His call
the reason we know Him, the peace that reveals
what it means to love as our heart kneels,
what it means to give Him our lives –
assured He is the One who forgives…
the Maker, the Creator, the ONE
who came to earth, God’s Only Son….
And, He’ll one day say “well done”!!!!