Long Labyrinth Poems
Long Labyrinth Poems. Below are the most popular long Labyrinth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Labyrinth poems by poem length and keyword.
On the shadowed path, time spills its silence,
With dreams shattered in spider webs that bind ephemeral hope,
From heights fall calls, like echoes of a forgotten paradise,
A paradox of longing and forgetting, dancing on the edge of the world.
In the distance, on the cold pavement, our poor memory fades,
A dialogue of snows with the white bear, silently bearing the burden,
Touch of whitened grass, the first snow of autumn,
A paradox of warmth and cold, in the moonlight that absorbs sleep.
Oh, there was another day, a moment from a lost eternity,
When on the ankle of that beauty, paradise scattered in harshness,
A comparison between sky and earth, a sweet contradiction,
That only the stars can read, in the night that absorbs the dream.
And so, in the flow of consciousness, we lose and find ourselves,
In a dance of words, waltzing on the edge of memory,
In a labyrinth of emotions, a paradox of longing and comfort,
That carries us, ever further, toward new beginnings.
In the deep silence of the night, when dreams are born from shadows and light,
do not promise me eternity, but only silent understanding,
that sometimes all I need is your presence,
to hold my heart with steady hands, like a fragile crystal,
in a world that dances on the edge of chaos.
Do not tell me you will stay forever, but just promise me
that you will be beside me when I fall into the depths of my mind,
when the world seems an unforgiving labyrinth,
and I am lost among my own steps, searching for a way out.
Do not promise me the stars in the distant sky,
but just promise me you will see the hidden scars,
those that hide behind my gaze,
and all the silent cries struggling to be heard.
Do not promise me a perfect destiny, but just promise me
that you will not hesitate to listen when fear makes me mute,
when words hide behind a wall of silence,
and need an outstretched hand to set them free.
In this journey of thoughts and emotions,
where every step is a continuous search,
all I ask is a soul that understands
that sometimes, your presence is the only truth that matters,
a constant light in a world of shifting shadows.
Love is this: two solitudes that meet, protect, and greet each other.
In the labyrinth of my thoughts, where memories weave like delicate threads,
I imagine two lonely stars, floating in the infinite cosmos,
Each a beacon of light, a solitary flame in the darkness,
And yet, drawn by an unseen force, they find each other.
Their meeting is not a collision, but a gentle convergence,
A dance of orbits, a celestial waltz,
Where their solitudes, once isolated and cold,
Begin to warm in the shared glow of their light.
In this sacred union, they do not lose themselves,
But rather, they become more of what they are,
Two solitudes that meet, protect, and greet each other,
Their love a delicate balance, a harmony of distinct yet intertwined souls.
I see them, these two stars, their light mingling, yet distinct,
Creating a constellation of hope in the night sky,
Each a guardian of the other's solitude,
Each a sanctuary in the vastness of space.
Their love is not a consuming fire, but a gentle flame,
A beacon that guides them through the darkness,
A lighthouse in the stormy seas of existence,
Offering refuge, offering warmth, offering light.
In the quiet moments, when the world fades into the background,
Their solitudes speak in silent whispers,
Each word a promise, each touch a vow,
To protect, to cherish, to greet each other in the tender embrace of love.
And so they dance, these two solitary stars,
Their light a testament to the beauty of love,
A love that does not demand, but gives,
A love that does not consume, but nurtures.
For in the end, love is this: two solitudes that meet,
Two souls that find each other in the vast expanse,
Protecting, greeting, and becoming more together,
In a dance of light and shadow, of solitude and union,
A love that transcends the ordinary, touching the realm of the divine.
to capture the true
essence of what lies
behind my eyes
create a palette of
black pastels portraying
the shadow that follows like death
a constant visitor to my d o o r
nobody knows the
story of my heart
an artificial anecdote of
a l l i t e r a t i v e a n g s t
bleeding in metaphorical
ink stained tear drops
d r o w n i n g childhood
sanity in shallow rivers of
bittersweet s o r r o w
fate is a fragile wrecking ball
which has become too hard to love
soul craves to be free under horizons
of tangerine temptations
but all I find is twilight with
a filthy feldgrau sky
fatigue imitates the
last breaths of a
b r o k e n b u t t e r f l y
as 'spirit' becomes imprisoned
in sinister silence
yearning to sleep
forever in an unfolding
labyrinth hidden from the
golden colours of the sun
this smile cannot
continue to pretend
kismet is a
crimson clandestine
cursed t a l i s m a n
speech is my harbinger
of d o o m
miraculous ink
flutters in my pen of
p u r i f i c a t i o n
yet not all verses are
meant to be understood
cathartic martyrdom
sounds like poetry
but there is no remedy
for magenta manifestations
so I curse the poetic limerence
of my tongue suppressing
effervescent emotions
inside a garnet treasure
chest of blood-soaked
bruised and battered
invisible inflictions
I'm a mute masterpiece
drained from the pain
i told the Grim Reaper
i'm not afraid anymore
of all the lives we lived
this is my favourite
but he just smiled
then cried asking
"is this our last goodbye"
In the labyrinth of time, where truth and lies dance,
I wander among the shadows of thoughts, seeking wisdom's light,
Wondering why, in recent centuries, the learned have lost their way in the mist,
While the simple have carried the flicker of truth in their palms.
I see around me puppets of knowledge, moved by invisible strings,
Institutions like sandcastles, built on the foundation of illusion,
Where elites weave their web of power, wrapping the world in propaganda's silk,
And we, blind and deaf, dance to their rhythm, not knowing that we don't know.
I float on waves of collective memory, among fragments of distorted reality,
Where ideas are born mutilated, where truth is sanitized in sterile laboratories,
Where gender and identity are color splotches in a chaotic kaleidoscope,
And science bows to ideology, like an old oak in a storm.
I hear the echo of voices from outside the walls of academia,
Organic intellectuals, wild flowers in the garden of conformity,
They are the seeds of thought revolution, the germ of change,
But who listens to them in the din of prefabricated information?
I wonder, with a heavy heart and a foggy mind,
How long until the mask falls,
Until we see that the king is naked, that the emperor has no clothes,
That the institutions we've pinned our hopes on are houses of cards?
I see educated people believing in chimeras, in ghosts of progress,
Fifty-eight genders dancing on the edge of absurdity,
Marriages reinvented, science decolonized, a world upside down,
And I think of the wise words: "Only intellectuals can believe such nonsense."
In this night of consciousness, under the starry sky of unanswered questions,
I pray it's not too late when the veil falls,
When educated and uneducated realize they've been fooled,
That the hearts of those in power beat to the rhythm of money, not compassion.
So I wander further in the labyrinth of thoughts,
Seeking not answers, but better questions,
Hoping that somewhere, in the mist of the future,
Truth will rise like a new sun, illuminating the minds and hearts of all.
Quo Vadis Domine?
Where are you going Lord through dust of stars breathing in the cosmic void,
through abandoned cathedrals full of prayers petrified in knees of stone,
through the shadows of your light that blinds seers with pupils of intense azure,
where do you flee on the winding road that leads nowhere through the desert of the heavens?
I saw you in the icon erased by tears of sweet and salty cream,
in the garden of frozen time where flowers await their eternity in suspension,
on your vertical cross raised toward the skies beyond human understanding,
in your red wine that intoxicates the awakening of prophets who hear only silence!
Your transparent blood flows through veins of marble cold as ancient ice,
wearing your crown of thorns sharp as blades of black and shining obsidian,
where are you going Lord through the infinite desert of loneliness populated by echoes,
through the world of your mortal man who dissolves in each moment that passes?
I heard your silent footsteps resonating in the deep darkness of the moonless night,
on your narrow path that forks toward nowhere and everywhere simultaneously,
carrying your heavy cross made from the dense matter of the ancestral cosmos,
where do you flee Lord remaining always somewhere in your exile without destination?
I search for you through the complicated labyrinth of the single road that branches forever,
in your ruined cathedral built from bricks of air and pulverized stones,
in the empty altar covered with unspilled sacrifices of your ancient blood of millennia,
where are you going Lord through my heart that beats in your infinite vastness?
Quo vadis in the azure of intense dawn when morning is born from darkness,
through your gate opened to the garden of Eden lost in its own labyrinths,
with your hands full of deep wounds that carry infinity in palms of man,
where are you going Lord when all roads lead to you in concentric circles?
I baptized with burning tears my question that howls in your deserted temple,
after your icon that fades in each gaze that sees too deeply,
in our world where souls dance petrified in their eternal waiting,
quo vadis Domine through the endless ocean of your being that fills the universe?
How do you fight when the battle is within you, and every attempt seems doomed to fail,
When you thought you were strong, but now you see you're caught in the web of doubt,
A stranger in your own skin, searching for a self that once seemed so certain,
I try to rise, but I fall again, chasing pieces of myself that have disappeared.
Once I was confident, but now I'm full of uncertainty,
Wondering if I'll ever find that part of me I'm searching for,
A labyrinth of intertwined thoughts, where the echoes of doubts constantly resonate,
Like a river flowing endlessly, taking me on unknown paths of the soul.
Every step is a battle with shadows, a search for the light hidden deep within,
When the heart remembers the times when faith was simple and clear,
Now, lost in a thick fog, I seek the fulcrum to find myself again,
In a world that changes incessantly, like a dream from which I cannot wake.
I gather strength from memories, from moments of courage and instants of peace,
From the brilliance of a clear morning when the sun warmed my soul,
And I try to remember who I truly am, beyond doubts and fears,
For deep in my heart, I know my true power awaits to be rediscovered.
PERSPECTIVES
at every
turn
insistent
tender
encounters
more
prominent
refocussi
of
attention
to
proceed
repurposed
in
an enfilade
brilliant
&
intense
grandiloquence
of
self-regard
with
compelling
familiarity
in
an
unforgettable
literal
fragile
labyrinth
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
There is no design wall to entrap the spirit
Inventiveness is born to last
free of prosody or syllable count
coordinated refrains hide bareness, a virtue
purity string belt for blooming worshippers
sleeping quietly in squatters' glades
who swoons poetry pads?
Fans will be amazed
that lauds syncopations of dazzling pleas
metaphors were constantly shaped and sealed
It's a sparse universe
for those who can't fly inside their walls.
Outside praxis, quill grows from seeds
creating a mental image not visible in a set
It's a voyage without doctrines.
the vibrations within rejuvenate the page
separate thoughts seek an upswing.
1st Place contest winner
Written: March 16, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND 1090 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
The labyrinth of the mind transforms into a somber temple, where glyphs of thought intertwine,
And beneath the dome of the nocturnal sky, hearts like ancient scrolls unfold and burn in incantations.
The only enclosure where man erects his biography is a veritable menagerie of dreams,
A pantheon of thoughts and phantasms, with the altar of bitter desires.
With fingers of transparent dreams, he stretches his wanderings across the inner frescoes,
Where colors blend into palimpsests, and pigment is born only when summoned.
But the depths hide the fog, unleashing sphinxes that roam the corridors of wise chaos,
And the shadows come, the night's responsory, to absorb his light, to fashion his coffin of shadows.
In this labyrinth of the self, celestial wolves and crystal deer spin round the roundel of forgetfulness,
And in the corners of darkness, basilisks nest, dreadlocks of darkness weave the feverish tapestry.
Demons silently ringing at the gate of essence, demand the toll to be freed and transfigured,
And all this reverberation, each turmoil, is an unwritten palimpsest, a silent carol.
Every breath, every tremble of the lip, is an undeciphered libretto, an unsung chord,
In the crypt of his heart, dungeons of unfulfilled passions,
Wandering on a melancholic arpeggio, on strings of a sealed and closed wasteland.
But from the darkness resists, a phoenix of thought, a leaf of hope, an unexpected flight of light,
And man deciphers that in his own labyrinth,
He is the master, the musician, and the sculptor of his boundless life.
Thus, crossing the threshold of flesh, he surrenders to the wave of dreams,
Flying on the rainbow of imagination, in his most sacred sanctuary,
Where his imprisonment is the heart of a living temple,
And he is the hidden angel, in the eternal saga of his own light.