Long Last words Poems
Long Last words Poems. Below are the most popular long Last words by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Last words poems by poem length and keyword.
Thinking of the past thru my dreams,
The feeling of desperation,
Knowing this dysfunctional family.
Wishing, hoping, praising,
Just to survive the rumors yet,
Knowing and feeling all is lost.
Hearing voices in the hallway,
Words only imagined.
Phrases, words and visons,
Finding and sending reports of,
" Little Girl Lost" for years.
Verification of things I had doubts about.
Now the truth can not be denied.
Searching, looking but nothing found.
My grandmother upon her death,
Told me you have to believe in,
Yourself, look within your heart and soul,
It Will show you what your searching for.
She said they threatened me but I told them.
Told who?? I love you were her last words.
I fell on her crying.
Footsteps behind and I turn around,
Two F.B.I. agents.
Your grandmother told us everything,
We have her recordings.
I realized then I am no longer,
"Little Girl Lost"
I offer these last words to my dear and precious family. *
When I departed, my eyes were closed, but I could see.
As I took my flight and ascended far beyond my family tree;
As I crossed my last 'T' and entered my last dash and dot;
Like our Dear Father commanded the mighty tides of the sea,
So He demanded that I also come to the shores of life and stop.
There, He also placed His mighty bars as barriers for me;
But not bars to imprison, but to release and set me free.
And now, dear ones, I shall not say, "Don't cry".
But for now, I will say, "I love you, and Goodbye".
031724PS
*Imaginary words of a dying mother
Diplomacy can be a fig leaf for surrender
A wolf agrees to postpone the dismember
If you want peace, prepare for war
Peacetime is what aggressors use it for.
Countries have interests, leaders have ambitions
For some expansion is a holy mission.
Cost and benefits, incentives and deterrents
Under peaceful oceans can be riptide currents.
The Sioux were promised sacred ground,
But promises became vapor when gold was found
The ink had faded, land was cleaved,
Were they fools when they believed?
Chamberlain’s last words were “if only Hitler hadn’t lied”
But Hitler did, and millions died
Dictators arm, they probe, they strike when strong
When goals conflict with oaths, words don’t last long.
The U.S. and North Vietnam signed the Paris accord
but no strength to back it, we dropped the sword.
Our resentful congress cut off army aid
The North swept into the vacuum congress made
Israel and Hezbollah signed a document
The Jihadis would stay far, but close they went
they dug tunnels under the Galilee
Jews left when they knew no safety guarantee.
North Korea vowed it would refrain
From forging bombs yet forged again.
They brandished missiles, filled their store:
Their final ace was nuclear war.
Russia and the U.S. and U.K. did assure
Just give Russia your nukes, their motives are pure
a treaty sold to Ukraine as preventing invasion
Then missiles hit cities and warfare is raging.
Like snow in the sun, words transpire
Melt away when the stakes grow dire.
A promise, a pact, a solemn vow—
Not many stand unbroken now.
I was in the room when Grandpa died although I couldn’t hear
his final words to Grandma…when he whispered in her ear.
I was too far away and her voice too soft and low
for me to hear what she whispered back…before she let him go.
But once the flood of sadness receded into a slow and steady stream
I asked her what they whispered that day…and immediately she beamed.
“Have I ever told you how I met your Grandpa? She asked.
She smiled, “Then let me now explain….
I was walking home from school one day and it began to rain."
Your Grandpa, grabbed my hand and said, ‘Come with me’.
And we waited out the rain under the shelter of a tree.
The first date we ever had was out to eat and a walk along the beach when
in the middle of our walk it began to rain…again.
There was something about the rain for us…something magical and pure
We couldn’t resist it’s beauty, it’s enchantment…it’s allure.
He asked me to marry him out in a downpour…
at first I thought he was insane..
‘I was waiting for the right moment,’ he said,
‘I was waiting for the rain'.
And then my grandma smiled and I could feel the love her smile contained…
The last words your grandpa whispered…he said…’I will miss the rain’.
And as he took his final breath and I knew his life was through…
I squeezed his hand and whispered back…I will miss it too.”
Now every time we visit Grandma…my family thinks I’m insane
when I look up at the sky and say…
“I hope we get some rain”.
In memorium *
He put his rifle safe,
pulled up the blanket
against the cold.The Spring
rain dripped in rivulets
down his trench wall.
The blossoms of the hops
would be just flowering
back home. He dreamed on
of the girl he met on his
last leave. In this
hell on earth, to dream
was to live, for a few
moments; to escape the
monotony of this endless
unreality. The face of
his mother, filled this dream,
Harriet was crying, whispering
her love; hopelessness had
permeated his last letter. He
awoke, suddenly with a start,
It was time; the big push
was on. The ‘final battle’
the officer had said. Perhaps
I will be on furlough for harvest,
he thought, smiling inwardly,
day-dreaming for a second
or two, he joined the line.
‘Into your hands O lord’ the
Padre’s murmured benediction
the last words, he heard.
*Albert Strand 1890-1918
Who will be the Master of ceremony?
When all planets come to celebrate together
Bells ringing without pause
Telling a story far beyond imagination,
To create palpable feeling,
And incite the search for greater wisdom
Who will be the Master of ceremony?
When change finally leads to eternal change
Who will be the guest of honour?
The night all animals meet to sing together
Unity marking beginning beyond the end, and
History rewritten with message of hope and peace
Who will be the first to raise hand?
For the revival of Garden of Eden,
To a stage it was before,
The day sins became winners
Tell me, Who is there at the center?
When clouds assemble for rain
Who sign the final order?
When winter goes away, and
Spring coming to revitalize lives
Whose writing will be?
When the last words appear on the sky
Who will be?
#Plea_for_our_daughters_and_sisters_lives
No no no...as the last words of a daughter, begging her murderer, begging for her life and still he continued and ebbed the soul out of her body. The mood in South Africa is now down, heavy dark cloud hangs over us all, not just clouds, but traumatized spirits of daughters and sisters, everywhere everyone wiping tears, that pours immensely.
Fear traps pride, instead of celebrating birth of daughters, we tremble, silenced by fear. South Africa has turned from a home to a den of predators, preying daily on our daughters and sisters.
The streets, schools, even our homes no longer safe, for our own by our own, worse when churches too have joint hands in perpetrating, in South Africa no female is ever safe
How many should die in the hands of those who claimed to love them, how must be killed by fathers, boyfriends and husbands before we all say enough, are we to wait until there are no more daughters and sisters in our homes? Are we to wait until the are no longer spaces in graveyards to burry, for they will be filled by our sisters and daughters alone?
The silence has gone way too silence for one to not speak, emotions evoked in me, skews my spirit, wanna lean but daughters and sisters are nowhere near to hold me, the spaces around me, where once sisters and daughters occupied, are horrifying, I fear South Africa shall one day have no daughters to call, for the taking is out of control,
Dear God, please salvage our daughters, from the grip of heartless men, empty quickly the anger and remorseless filled hearts before they shut down completely, a women womb, of daughters. Intervene before all left in South Africa be names and memories of our daughters, your silence is deafening. I plea for our daughters and sisters lives
#Poetic_Ink
Sadically gleeful
She watches , by and by
As the shredded form
Convulses , bleeds , nearly dying
Humour arises
Cheerfulness gleaming
As the blood spurts like a stream
It flows freely from every wound
Gathered round the victim
In a vicious pool
Far more deep the shades of red
Than the river Nile
Wen it once bled
Radiantly, She gathers her wits
Graceful steps
With malicious stealth
To prove her conviction She leaps
once more
Blade in hand
To cut deeper
To the depth of the soul
Her head, raised beneath a hooded
cape
Her eyes fixated
Her quest completed
Satisfactory , to her wims
She floats away
One last glance , however , for
She twirls, subtlety ,itself
For her last words
They must be spent
Be not mistaken
Do not believe
That my actions are of selfish need
For my soul you've filled with
hateful intent
Only revenge i seek
And revenge has been delt
Her lips they curve
In a smile so wicked
They dying man
Circums
grievously
No longer breathing
by
Amanda Miller
A cautionary tale of nocturnal abduction
Of trickery born of unearthly corruption
Heed these my words, I state categorical
Of evil so foul, in a world diabolical
No humour here that might ever be satirised
No wit in a man who be dumbstruck and paralysed
These, the last words that shall flow from my pen
Implore thee to leave ’fore the bat flys again
This God forsook kingdom of bloodied terrain
Deadens my legs as it scribes on my brain
A Halloween vista of gore ridden mud
With vampires feasting on alien blood
31 October 2020
For...
Contest: Halloween Challenge
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Quest – from 1990’s
This old poem is written in response to some poetry on here By Brian Anderson. *I thought you may find comfort in knowing someone has been through similar experience and pondered the same questions and had confrontation that you now consider.
I stood in his kitchen and begged for apologies.
Not sure whether I wanted to forgive or forget again.
I just wanted truth, acknowledgement, find a way to be free.
He sat at the table looking down at the plate, fingers fumbled.
Then lifted his head with a speech of lies and guilt again.
I looked out the window at the back yard from childhood.
My head kind of spun wildly, in this awful moment.
I looked at my stepfather, no-one dared confront and I pled more.
It seemed to be failing, until I actually read some writing I did.
He abruptly walked to the front hallway of the house.
He stared out the window as if death was knocking at the door.
The tears began to flow with no eye contact, he said, “I am sorry”.
The man so many feared, broke down right in front of me.
I asked why he did it and he said, he didn’t know.
Then he suddenly started to pace and told me to get out.
He shuffled me to the door, “I’m sorry I ruined your life”, he said.
Later I heard he told others it was ‘fake’.
Told the family, he only said what I wanted to hear.
I went back, wanting to be told it was genuine.
My quest did not prevail, but I still had the last words he spoke.
I didn’t know what a difference they would make in my life.
Until the nightmares of him stopped, healing came about, he didn’t rule me.
The memories returned to the past, instead of replaying in the present.
They were the only words and just a powerful few, but they were enough.