Long Languishes Poems
Long Languishes Poems. Below are the most popular long Languishes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Languishes poems by poem length and keyword.
The Man who stuttered When he was young
grew up and mastered The silver tongue
Seduced he was by the world of Men
There he languishes in sin like his kin
Loved I have him and his ability
But separated by truth the things that we be
seeking the virtues the apex of Gods plan
the Kingdom of God how he designed Man
Valued like diamonds treasured like jewels
rejected that character the folly of fools
Developed in persons the facets of Love
Qualities in Men that women dream of
Born without knowledge like sponges our minds
the innocent unwary of intentions designs
forsaken learning in philosophy trust
Like worldly leaders live in greed and lust
Do you love mercy forgiveness what's just
patience and kindness generosity a must
those who love peace and truth do pursue
to implement in your life you must do
Put on the clothing which is loves design
seek what is purity and your person refine
don't follow after where the world would lead
it promotes destruction violence is it's seed
I seek the man who seeks mastery in Life
has put away error has put away strife
a seeker of Truth still willing to learn
all of Gods ways with his heart does yearn ..
COPYRIGHT © 2014 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Mutilated mind constructs the precinct of recluse
Encasing the stifling loneliness of sad prison
Languishes there the surrendered psyche.
Agony unsurmountable relentlessly
Negates the positive perspective of hope
Cauldron of dissonance remote from the rhythm of the outside
Hollowness inside filled with drops of depression in adagio
Obdurately prolonged as untiring mental affliction.
Latent desires are demolished and the malleable mind
Yields to nostalgia, the melancholic remnant of yearning.
___________
(I chose to use Acrostic form to dissect melancholy to
discern its anatomy)
May 9, 2023
Contest : Anatomy Of Melancholy
Sponsored by : Craig Cornish
Like a dislodged lonely leaf my mind floats far away,
on the quiet river of dreams from life’s cacophony,
to a placid cobalt lake on serene visage of display,
soaking the azure melody of singing sky’s euphony.
On the bank stands the petrified tree I have lost,
the stilled supine branches don’t sway any more.
Its static shadow on the lake languishes untossed,
for the squall has found a new course to soar.
The mystique mist drops a veil of dense solitude,
until the melting clouds descend drizzling ecstasy
with raindrops on the river’s ripples of quietude,
filling my hollow heart with alluring aria of revelry.
The silent river flows to the shore of divine sea,
plunging deep within, the scroll of mind I unroll,
see my engraved dreams weave at depth lonely,
the tapestry of profound bliss for my sated soul.
May 3, 2020
Contest : Grace And Solitude
Sponsor : John Hamilton
May 18, 2020
Contest : Brian's Choice K
Sponsor : Brian Strand
The tapestry of the indigo sky,
weaved with lattice of silver cloud,
merges with the still sea in the blues.
The dislodged boulders of cognitive debris
strewn away from the waterfront of desire,
the broken dreams epitomized.
The anchorless empty boat
drifts away from the shore of longing,
harboured by desolation,
lodged lonesome in the sanctuary
of the rocky ledge of fortitude.
In the ruins of my splintered heart,
I listen to the voice of the anguished soul,
the mutilated construct of recluse precinct,
encasing the stifling loneliness of poignant prison
where the psyche languishes relentless
with invincible anguish,
negating the hope perspective
in the clutch of mental affliction.
The cauldron of dissonance,
remote from the rhythm of life,
its void filled with drops of depression in adagio.
My dormant desires are demolished,
the malleable mind yields to nostalgic purport,
melancholy swathes the remnant yearning.
Inspired by Melancholy, Edvard Munch.
My soul fears it not. It languishes with all I’ve had…
Existence cares it not. You either lose it or add it
My body freezes not , around myself people passing by...
I’ve had this empty spot, easy to conquer, hard to apply..
So I dive inside my self to find amusement and selfishness.
Why do I hang on to this bitter moment, when love is all that I couldn’t have?
Then I dive into my nature, and I see a man bringing it to closure..
A path he never walked. He searched, and fought,
And at the end, he became a hurt creature in a world of hallow…
He became filled with emotions and people he could never forgive…
So I dive inside myself to find amusement and selfishness.
Why do I hang on to this bitter moment, when love is all that I couldn’t have?
Then I quiet down, I pray, I cry. I force myself to stand up
God! Where can find strength to stop the pain where I weak mostly?
What have I done to my dreamt dreams, which were so happily created, and now
so ghostly lived?
So I dive inside myself to find amusement and selfishness.
Why do I hang on to this bitter moment, when love is all that I couldn’t have?
Suddenly, I close my eyes. My hands tremble , my body stops…
I hear voices inside my head:
“ its your time and is now is too late, you journey is over, this is your faith! Its your
time and is now too late, your dream is over, there is no mate”
So I dive inside myself to find amusement and selfishness.
Why do I hang on to this bitter moment, when love is all that I couldn’t have?
At the end I am Stumbled. I am astonished by the feeling from within
All I have is emptiness. I had it all and never fought.. I saw it all, and never
caught…
I simply stood away, and let it pass by me…Amazingly and free.
I have chosen too much and have so little. I am all alone.
The tapestry of the indigo sky,
weaved with lattice of silver cloud,
merges with the still sea in the blues.
The dislodged boulders of cognitive debris
strewn away from the waterfront of desire,
the broken dreams epitomized.
The anchorless empty boat
drifts away from the shore of longing,
harboured by desolation,
lodged lonesome in the sanctuary
of the rocky ledge of fortitude.
In the ruins of my splintered heart,
I listen to the voice of the anguished soul,
the mutilated construct of recluse precinct,
encasing the stifling loneliness of poignant prison
where the psyche languishes relentless
within invincible travail,
negating the hope perspective
in the clutch of mental affliction.
The cauldron of dissonance,
remote from the rhythm of life,
its void filled with drops of depression in adagio.
My dormant desires are demolished,
the malleable mind yields to nostalgic purport,
melancholy swathes the remnant yearning.
Inspired by Melancholy, Edvard Munch.
Headpiece filled with potential straw
Play often by the dictates of law,
The day with its fill of silent sorrow,
Filrts with sense, and falls tomorrow.
A motion and a spirit that impels to lose,
Uploads the videos to attract more views,
Time's winged chariot slows down the gate,
Forgets the event, and confuses the date.
Like a burnished throne that packs often more,
Falls from the window, languishes on the floor,
Turning around the road less travelled by,
Burns up the hope to give up with a try.
Infite riches in a small amount of room,
Begin with a blessing that calls out the doom,
An old and worn bilthe spirit haunts the little lake,
Gets up the ladder and unravels the mistake.
Peculiarly pure and polluted wings of poesy,
Terminates the yarn and drowns in urgency,
To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield,
Cracks up too early and stumbles on the field.
The forest of the night gives way to crops,
Fumbles and fiddles and fizzes out at stops,
Why a second coming grumbles like a dream?
Without any care flows down some stream.
Traces of soiled feet and sparrows not in grand gutters
A wasted wayward soul comes and mournfully mutters,
The ignorant armies clash by night under the Casuarina tree,
Makes the lines, breaks the rhythm and turns them fully free.
It takes too long for the last duchess to uncover and sing,
Distances of dissociation constantly throw and fling,
Never the mistress of spice shall ever be there so soon,
And look at mandates of a sudden and savoury tune.
Nine bean rows, poetry of earth crowd up the avenue,
As the lines search the old in the funeral of the new,
Mists and mellow fruitfulness fuel the futile fun,
Ignore the grace, spit out the truth with sixty minutes of run.
The decade, a facade, distills the wilfull muse,
Reverberates, rediscovers, and stacks up glorious refuse,
So this is the beginning of the end and a no way home,
Recklessly strives to the few to find a lost syndrome.
In me, now is an insatiable thirst,
I know well that I have lost my track.
I have gone astray from my God, all goodness incarnate.
Searching Him, lonely and longingly I stray,
To place Him not in a shrine, but in my very innards.
In me, now is an insatiable thirst,
To offer my hand with childlike faith
To the one who is forgiveness incarnate
So long I have been running away from Him
Taking devious turns, fleeing from His presence
Now I discern, like a hound He has been after me.
Through shadowed tunnels, He was following me.
That’s why now I can see Him through the mist.
In me, now is an insatiable thirst,
To seek shade under the safety of all strength incarnate
And to sup on His love that serves as balm.
Madly once I ran struggling to keep pace
With the spinning world moving very fast,
To catch up at the illusory pleasures.
Now my mind languishes in the prison of my own make,
And wearily I trudge through valleys dark,
With burdens heavy on my drooping shoulders.
In me, now is an insatiable thirst,
To hear His whispered words in deep quietude
To calm my fears and to be filled with hope
To feel His presence and to see Him close
To hold His hand and to be led by Him
To be held close like a babe to its mother
To seek comfort, to find rest and to feel blest.
Until I merge with my God, all goodness Incarnate,
My soul will never be at peace. Oh Lord, hold me close!
After all these years,
is this poetry?
Words written down on paper,
sketched with ink and pen,
inching along a blank page,
exerting feeling and emotion,
sadness, laughter, tears
and even melancholia.
Prose and poetry cannot be regulated
by rules and guidelines and grammar.
The mind drifts in inner contemplation
circumspect with life lessons.
The heart beats with anticipation
cognizant of living life well.
The spirit wisps in the breeze
clutching, holding onto the wind.
The soul languishes
in search of meaning
and purpose
of futures yet to be
of pasts now lost
and recoverable.
Is this poetry?
Only the reader knows.
" Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house;
can you hear the whispering?"
quote...by Constance La France
As I approach the abandoned house of my youth
rain is falling
I came to remember its sights and sounds
without the illusion of youth
before it disappears in the void of years
only the footstones seem intact
leading to the crumbling porch of decaying wooden planks
where my grandmother would sit in her rocking chair
as I played on the steps of Pinewood
the oak tree I climbed is covered in Spanish moss
its limbs dying
the swing set I used is laying in grasses of brambles and weeds
having rusted away
the front door languishes on a single hinge
cocked to the side
allowing dust and dirt to be blown inside
I slowly step inside, my eyes scanning the shadowed light
feces of critters lay scattered on the floor
my mother would constantly sweep clean
the scent of rotten wood and mold
have replaced the smell of my dad's pipe
my hands touch the walls
as I walk from room to room
each one filled with voices and memories
rain is pouring through the roof
onto the floor of my yesterdays without mercy
there is nothing here in this empty barren space
hollowed out from time
leaving the ghosts of yesterday
hidden in the dim-lit shadows of decay
their remembered whispers follow me
as I leave, I look back
with a sadness that will linger in my mind
5/26/23
contest Writing Challenge "C" quotes
sponsor Constance La France