Long Late night Poems
Long Late night Poems. Below are the most popular long Late night by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Late night poems by poem length and keyword.
I didn’t want to light the flame,
But damn, you handed me the match.
We played a bitter little game—
Now neither one can scratch the scratch.
I offered peace, I begged, I tried,
You laughed and chose the sword instead.
So now the happy parts have died—
I burned the photos in my head.
The goal was never you or me,
It somehow morphed into “the win.”
A hollow crown for victory,
A throne of ash and spite and sin.
I killed myself to keep you out,
Destroyed the bridge, then danced alone.
A funeral march in one-man clout,
Applauding ghosts with broken bone.
I sacrificed the laughing days,
The warmth, the couch, the late-night talks.
Replaced it with this molten maze—
You brought the knives, I brought the locks.
So raise a glass to all we were,
Then smash it like I smashed our past.
This ain't revenge—it's just the blur
Of love gone nuclear at last.
I didn’t flinch—I struck the spark,
With gasoline and steady hand.
You screamed, but I preferred the dark—
I smiled while torching all we planned.
You thought I’d beg, crawl back, forgive?
I gutted “hope” and wore its skin.
You want a war? Then let’s not live—
I don't lose fights. I just cave in.
I saw the white flag in my grip,
But blood makes prettier décor.
Peace? Please. I’d rather let it rip—
Your silence begged me for a war.
Each happy thought, I carved apart,
A scalpel through our wedding song.
I nailed our love up like art—
Then laughed, ‘cause hell, it felt so wrong.
I cracked my mind to break your hold,
Poured bleach on every shared regret.
You turned my warmth to something cold—
So now you’re just a smoking threat.
You made me choose: your soul or mine.
I chose to burn us both alive.
This isn’t hate—it’s the design
Of someone done trying to survive.
So here we are, no love, no you.
No me, just echoes drenched in red.
The prize? A throne of shattered truth.
The cost? My last soft thought is dead.
Not a Maybe
No one deserves to sit in the quiet
between almost and always.
To reread messages
searching for certainty
hidden between short replies.
Love shouldn’t feel like
waiting by a door
that never fully opens —
just enough light
to keep hope alive.
No one deserves to wonder
if they are temporary,
a placeholder heart
until something better walks in.
You are not a question mark.
Not a late-night option.
Not someone chosen
only when loneliness gets loud.
Love should say yes
without hesitation,
should reach for you
in daylight
and not just when the world feels empty.
Because the right love
doesn’t keep you guessing —
it stays,
it chooses,
it knows.
And anyone who makes you a maybe
was never ready
for someone worth a forever.
I remember when
Suddenly I came of age
There was a clear moment of
That was then and this is now
I had my wings
And urge to fly
I was fourteen
There was a world
Beyond the nest
I owned a blanket
And a ghetto blaster
It was the summer of ‘72
I had the taste of freedom on my lips
And sunshine on my back
Dreams to dream
The world to conquer
Life was sweet
There was no looking back
I had come of age
That was then and this was now
One day I was a child
The next I was me
The me I had become
The me I would become
Shaped by my past
Thrust in my prime
The me I would grow into
Adventures to pursue
The shoes I had to fill
I had come of age
That was then and in my head
Then is still forever now
I was fourteen
The me I would grow into
The taste of freedom on my lips
Read on air by invitation ~ April 8, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP : Honorable Mention 2021
Extension cords like life discordant stretch out electric
Powerless they fail the families stumbling in the dark
Who turned off the lights?!
Late night is no time to have these natural catastrophes
Volcanoes need to respect hard working people in their sleep
Earthquakes need to wait till morning
To have respect for hard working common people
Have common decency for Pete's sake
Pete is sleeping too and pets are shaking in their boots
All four of them if I'm not mistaken
Ash explodes volcanic with its spontaneity debris
Blows the top clear off the mountain side
In that second red lava flows labyrinthine twisted
Down to take the village with inhabitants away
To fall on the darker side of nature
There needs to be more laws enacted on creation
This criminal activity must stop...starting at the top
Thou Shalt Love the Children:
A request from Panagiota,,,please?
You remember that time when
you were twelve?
How the world was blossoming
like a flower to you!
People loved you, just for for you.
Perhaps your dad was a physician,
Perhaps Mom was a musician.
Or maybe both were addicts?
Was that your fault?
Whatever they were?
What kind of age are we living in?
When we poets down 12 year olds
Of being born to certain men?
Or women, for that matter.
I guess being a grandmother of a
terrific grandson, age 12,
I am heartbroken when poets here
Use 12 year olds as the butt of
jokes.
Poets are not late night host comedians,
who will do anything for ratings.
I see poets here groveling for fame,
By destroying a 12 year old,
Whose done no harm.
Loathe the parents if you must.
Children? Never harm them with your
words.
Many of you have or had 12 year olds.
Please remember they are kids.
You don't need to love them,but of
Disrespectful words, please stop.
Panagiota Romios
4/23/2019
2:15 pm PST
i wait at night, look for your star
i feel you close, but bodys so far
taken away, removed all your pain
your words and your wisdom, were the things that i gain
long late night chats, getting blind drunk
sharing a beer, or smoking some skunk
i miss all those things, i miss how we talk
i miss when you used me to lean on to walk
i miss when us kids were just little nippers
or when you stunk the house out when cooking your kippers
i miss when we went driving for hours on end
you wernt just a dad you were my best friend
laughing and joking, like when mum burnt the gravey
or the storys you told bout being young in the navey
the tears and the crying, the shouting and screaming
and now that your gone i wake hoping im dreaming
the quick witted mind, but you were sometimes a knob
but now your at peace, reunited with rob
you once told me a secret, when i was eleven
so god bless you dad, is my message to heaven.
Form:
She sits across
The dinner table
Watching as her husband
Slowly eats the dinner
She had prepared him
For hours
There’s not even a
Thank you
Escape from his mouth
She mentions the name
Ruth
And watches as he chokes
On his dinner
Gulps down nearby water
So he doesn’t choke to death
Late at night
He attempts to reassure
His wife that
Ruth and him are friends
And nothing more
Yet his late night texting
Raises her suspicion
She lives in denial
For a little while
Then begins to
Regret
She’d ever married him
While she lays in bed
And worries
He’s filled with carelessness
Closes his eyes
And
Dreams about Ruth
Dawn enters in to misty dark
walking into the path of the day
passing the Sun's bright light
flowing from the ray of bay
Seconds after seconds
undergoes for Nature's sake
changes it's color
without any break
Expects more happiness
sleeps in a sweet dream
After late night hours
at Sunrise, again sees its own beam
The Reintroduction
At 45, I paused
Not in grief, not in flames,
But in a soft, wide eyed wonder
When did I stop checking in with myself?
Somewhere between
the morning alarms
and late night lists,
I became a master of doing,
a saint of showing up
for everyone
but me.
I gave, and poured,
and shaped myself
to fit the contours
of every room
but my own.
Now, I’m standing still
in the quiet after the storm,
realizing I don’t even know
my favorite color,
my go to comfort food,
the drink I’d savor alone,
the movie that moves me
because I stopped asking.
I deferred, adapted,
smiled and nodded,
let the current pull me
where it pleased.
And now, here I am
not broken,
just unfamiliar.
So I begin again.
Not to chase the old me
or dress up in “shoulds.”
But to sit with the silence
and listen for the whisper
of who I am now.
Maybe I’ll try a new dish
just to see if I like it.
Buy a shirt in a color
I don’t recognize.
Pick a movie
with no consensus but my own.
This isn’t a crisis
it’s a calling.
A gentle turning inward.
A reunion
with the one I left waiting.
And she
quiet, patient, resilient
is still here.
Ready to be known.
Patron mixed with Hennessy and coke with heartbreak for a chaser.
Moscato on the rocks is my drink of choice when memories drudge up of “I used to date her.”
Vodka tears from too many shots, shots I took and shots I gave you.
Rum rushing from my pores for every rushed emotion and slammed door.
Hpnotiq caressing my mind as I start to lose my balance and you continue to shake my world up.
Whiskey rubbing my shoulder and massaging my heart saying it’s going to be ok in the midst of a cold storm coming, alcohol runneth over my glass I’m so drunk I mean my cup.
Ciroq I’ve never tasted I mean I can’t taste this, soon to be a metaphor for you because I’ll eventually lose feeling numb to the winter, a drink named after you.
1800 shots and now it seems like water and I’m walking and falling upside down, a world I only see when I’m intoxicated giving me wings as if I’m free, free from the chains you bring, oppression, and jealousy.
Bottle after bottle after glass after shot, try to drink the pain away sipping in the morning, it just won’t stop.
Drink until I see the bottom or the end of me and you then drink another to relive that ending, why do we put ourselves in the same situations knowing the outcome is nothing new.
Its 4:38 am and I’m just getting home…such a late night.
And I’m sipping while I write this starting to feel light and see the light from the morning sun.
About to pass out as my feelings descend from up above to the ground like snowflakes falling effortlessly melting, feeling undone.
I fall back into my bed and the world right side up for the moment, as I fall asleep so deep and for awhile nothing matters unless you observe the details, drunken words outspoken.
Drink, drink, drink, am I an alcoholic? Mine as well be one because no matter how much older I get feelings of you flip me upside down I’m consciously never sober…
P.S. I drank to get to a fake world in order to feel something real...