Long Liberated Poems
Long Liberated Poems. Below are the most popular long Liberated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Liberated poems by poem length and keyword.
You deserve connections that don't require you to walk on fragile eggshells to reveal your heart,
where words flow freely like a mountain river, carrying truth and simplicity within them,
without needing to bend your soul into unfamiliar shapes just to protect egos,
and your inner peace to be an inviolable sanctuary, a place where your true self breathes freely.
You deserve connections where peace isn't sacrificed on the altar of unspoken expectations,
where dialogue is a dance of sincerity and mutual respect, without masks.
In this universe of open souls, you are a blossoming tree on the plain of freedom,
with roots deeply anchored in the soil of self-assurance, growing towards clear skies.
You deserve connections that don't ask you to distance yourself from your essence, to break from your core,
but which embrace you as you are, a mosaic of dreams, thoughts, and pure emotions,
where each encounter is a celebration of authenticity and self-discovery,
a place where souls meet in dances of light and shadows, sincere and free.
In this world of true connections, you are an explorer of the heart's depths,
traveling on oceans of understanding and compassion, not losing yourself, but rediscovering.
You deserve connections that fulfill you, that reflect you like a clear and pristine mirror,
where each conversation is a bridge of light between hearts, without distances or walls.
Between these verses flows a river of secret desires, a song of the liberated soul,
and in this uninterrupted flow of thoughts and emotions, you rediscover yourself, you find yourself anew.
FIGURATIVE FINGERTIPS
a talent
to dabble
with
profligacy
in different styles
brilliant&
fluent
subtle&
muted palette
phase
of the
immediate
liberated
in a
suggestive
genre
an attractive
template
flitting between
subjects
never alighting
with a
tendency to
marginalise
artistic
encounters
&
to manipulate
scenery
of substance
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
Unsatiated cravings open the floodgate of suffering,
surging torrent of torment tosses the servile soul,
for in the karmic cycle of being born and reborn,
desire doesn’t die, but it’s a blink between life and death.
Distressed mind extracted from sanctum of sense-response,
stilled in the quietude of silent mindfulness pervasive,
finds the rays of divine light at the end of the mortal tunnel,
where the righteous life gets the insight of unveiled wisdom.
The liberated soul attains the distilled essence of nirvana,
floating on the ether of the last breath ascends to heaven,
the transcendent supernatural kingdom of almighty God,
to be suffused there enduringly with His benevolent grace.
At the celestial portal of the mystique afterlife existence,
an angel waits to welcome to the new abode in paradise,
enlightening that the novel life of real intent begins then,
permeated by the ethereal ambiance of eternal bliss.
May 28, 2020
Contest : Heaven
Sponsor : Regina Riddle
I'm searching for a poetry that’s a hotbed of immense danger,
A spell that unleashes deep fear into every soul.
I want poetry that shakes the universe of old ideas,
Banned in bookstores, sites, and antique shops.
My poetry should be palpable, like a Glock in the dead of night,
Like a gleaming blade in the darkness, a bat striking mercilessly.
I want verses that don’t just heal but hurt profoundly,
Opening wounds that no one has ever felt before.
In my words will vibrate unseen terror,
Like a storm of arrows piercing the veil of reality.
Each stanza will be a thunderclap in the quiet of noon,
And each rhyme, a lightning bolt burning in deeply buried minds.
My verses will be like an ancient wizard's potion,
Mixing the essences of dreams and nightmares, of hopes and despair.
The reader's soul will shudder at their touch,
And with each line, feel bound to an invisible fate.
I'm looking for poetry that purifies through fire and pain,
That awakens everything buried and forgotten.
It will be a cry in the night, a swan song,
An echo that resounds eternally, endless and frightening.
The blades of my words will cut through the fabric of time,
Like a soul surgeon, revealing unknown wounds.
In a mad waltz, fear will fuse with ecstasy,
And in that experience, the reader will be reborn, frightened and liberated.
Each syllable will be a silver bullet, coming to cleave the darkness,
And each metaphor, a pantomime lock that reveals the truth.
The poet will be the wizard of shadows, invoking hidden forces,
And in those dangerous verses, true magic will be born.
Thus, I want poetry that elevates and topples equally,
That shatters conventions and feeds unrestrained flames.
To be both balm and poison, to be sacred and cursed,
To be poetry that shakes worlds, leaving only the ashes of dreams.
And so, in the dead of night, at the edge of reality,
My poem will take form, a creature of darkness and light.
A call to the souls who dare to feel everything,
In a world where magic and melancholy intertwine eternally.
I have a questioning mind that feasts like a beast
on being detail oriented. The morsels I consume
are what others think of as simply a waste of time.
But when gathering more snippets, I find room.
Most often it's a curse, denying me any answers.
In my mind queries arabesque and whirl like dancers.
For example, there's a beach ball that's been stuck
in the rafters of the pool house where I vacation.
Seven years it's been held hostage there. Just my luck
that I've no clue who blew it up or why it's still inflated.
I think next time I'll find a ladder and have it liberated.
I wonder if someone would do the same deed for me.
The places I've traveled, those I've memories of,
I think I've left a part me in all the ones I love.
Those faraway cities where memories often roam,
and even the ones close to home that I often see.
Sometimes I wonder... will I visit those places again?
Walk with the sun warming my face, or in drizzling rain.
I recall time with friends who treasure something I made
or a silly remark I quipped that in their mind remains.
I'd question them to discover who I was then in my life.
Was I vagabond who didn't seem to have a care?
Would I have even noticed a beach ball caught up there,
or given a thought about whose lungs filled it with air?
I ponder if people get sentimental sometimes like I do
when I hold a keepsake from days gone by in my hand.
I smile when I think that some do... those who'd understand
that memories linger in my mind; links to who I used to be
that tether me to that person who now has answers to questions.
At least one... I'm going to take the beach ball home
and release what little stale air is still trapped inside.
I'll give it life with my breath until it's recovered and full blown.
"As the mind is permeated by the darkness of despair,
in the sanctum of my soul God’s blessing lights the lamp".- by Poet
The formidable mountain of life I’ve to climb,
the summit to be reached on the track undefined.
I surrender to the designed will of the Almighty,
and in His prescribed intent I repose my trust,
for I know faith will pave the pre-defined path for me.
The tumultuous ocean of life I need to sail CALM,
for the last anchorage on the TRANQUIL shore I’ve to reach.
I’ll kindle the beacon of hope at the edge of twilight time,
in the stormy sky of despair I’ll see the silver-lined cloud.
The pole star in the dark night will shine STILL and bright,
help me chart my ordained course to the destination,
the divine light will take me to the shore of liberation.
The darkness flooding fallen sky of suffering I’ll illumine,
find flowers bloom in the debris of the broken heart.
I’ll light the candle of selfless altruism laced with love,
see it radiate PEACEFUL divine glow of God’s grace,
perceive my liberated SERENE soul find infinite solace
in the QUIET abode of absolute bliss in the eternity
_______________
May 11, 2021
Contest : Writing Challenge-Calm
Sponsor : Constance Le France
I treat love as a rare art, a bold banner fluttering in the wind,
Only those who have fallen off the map of the world, the barefoot kings of the sky, are worthy,
Weavers of warm words, who weave webs of dreams and pure hopes,
Where girls come to immerse themselves in the boundless spring of poetry.
Then they discover the secret thrill, the bud that gently opens to the light,
And let the unspun thread find its destiny in the world like a liberated river,
To these dreamer kings, exiled from concrete kingdoms into freedom,
Only the poet's path was destined, dancing on the edges of the universe.
They walk on the branches of the stars, building bridges between chasms and unseen abysses,
Without courts or castles, only with a heart like a palace of thoughts and longings,
And there's no way to gather them, for they are the wind, the rain, and the song of the night,
They are the nomadic kings of dreams, eternal wanderers on the hidden map of the soul.
They travel through galaxies of words, in search of pure and luminous truth,
With eyes toward horizons where the sky and earth kiss in deep secrecy,
Each of their steps leaves behind echoes of light, falling stars in the night,
In a world that cannot contain them, but owes them the magic of existence.
Another "I Do," Another Pledge**
I found myself confronting mortality in the guise of the viper on the day my heart was irrevocably broken. Deep within, I understand that he liberated you, much like the Meadowlark’s song.
Once again, I utter "I do" and make another pledge. The deceitful viper adorned himself in the same black suit. He donned the colors associated with malevolence during this second endeavor, for it is indicated that "strait is the gate and narrow is the way."
His countenance radiates as he feigns a smile, resembling a contrived pose for the camera. I observed the specter of death in his expression, reminiscent of Pinocchio’s nose.
The well-wishers murmured, "No discernment; what a disgrace, what a waste! A lamentable image of a man." The pastor solemnly proclaimed, "Amen."
I perceived death upon the visage of the haunted individual. The fissures in the antiquated brick wall emitted a haunting melody: "You stand before the altar as yet another fool."
Is this a wedding or a funeral—an evening fraught with foreboding? The middle-aged groom reflects a decline in love and kindness. Love, indeed, is blind.
Invoking bliss magnetism, let heart sing,
aware at all times of this simple fact:
the idea or thought is not the thing,
of the fruit we taste and deeds we enact.
We are merely one of the many forms
manifest upon this earth realm dual,
wherein each entity goes through life’s storms,
suffering unless love be soul’s fuel.
Futile and needless are ego spawned tricks,
deludedly engaging in doership,
since it’s love alone that resolves conflicts,
so let heart’s mindfulness be our worship.
Behold birds cross hemispheres without fear ~
Our heartbeat signals God’s presence is near
Our heartbeat signals God’s presence is near,
warming this form made of organic dust,
so by lending strobes of silence our ear,
in time love replaces animal lust.
In our life, needless is struggle and strife,
for at end of days, love alone remains,
so if we but let God be the midwife,
soul’s liberated from ego spawned chains.
In silence there is no energy leak,
enabling God’s spirit to manifest,
so getting out of our way, so to speak,
as witness consciousness we simply rest.
Nothing need be done, save coming undone ~
Recognise dear heart, God and we are one
Recognise dear heart, God and we are one,
simply feeling His breath in us that flows,
restoring our light, shining like the sun,
repaying debts of love, which our soul owes.
All doings are done by God’s hand alone,
wherein all He asks is that we be still,
awestruck beholding inner light full blown,
whereupon all dark voids within us fill.
Just as we’re immersed in dreams every night,
shrugging it off on waking at sunrise,
from this world too, one day we will alight,
if we but release each offered surprise.
Dwell not overmuch on soul’s broken wing ~
Invoking bliss magnetism, let heart sing
The whispers of the soul, in the modern desert, are like white fireflies,
Reflecting the sky of forgetfulness, where thoughts flow like rivers of wax.
Left in your exile, a traveler among the misunderstood stars,
You search for your lost essence among the shadows of ephemeral days.
Even in this world, with its bitter taste and faces of stagnant clay,
There exists an uninterrupted silence, a stillness like a mute song.
There, by the waters, morning is reborn like a blue flame,
And the trees whisper old secrets, like wise old men.
Birds fly through the clear air like a liberated soul,
And the lilac raises its flowers to the sky, like a wanderer's dream.
In the meadows of spring, time stops, becoming a paradox,
A sacred place where blood ceases to be just a flow.
Regardless of everything, there are sacred places where you can escape,
When your heart beats slowly, like a forgotten bell in the night.
Go there often, breathe the centuries like an old and fine wine,
Rejoice in your solitude, like a ship on a calm ocean.
Let nature be your teacher, to teach you the art of silence,
To bring you into the light of things, like a child of immortality.
Your sacred space is where you can find yourself again and again,
A realm where joy springs from within, like nectar.
You don’t have a sacred space until you find that personal corner of paradise,
A field of action where ambrosia springs from you,
Where will becomes queen, and desires find their kingdom,
There, in small, where the Kingdom finds its eternal home.
Everyone, consciously or not, needs such a place,
A refuge where the soul rests, like a stag in the forest.