Long Life sad Poems
Long Life sad Poems. Below are the most popular long Life sad by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Life sad poems by poem length and keyword.
Lying awake listening to the sounds of sirens, echoing through the night
Alone in the apartment with his younger siblings, hoping his mother comes home all right
Drug addicts pounding on the front door, wanting to buy another fix
Johns looking for what the johns look for; he and his brothers the result of that mix
He hasn’t seen his mother for the last four days; where she is nobody seems to know
But it has been this way for his entire twelve years; the lady likes to just come and go
He cares for his brothers the best a young boy can, he changes diapers and wipes their nose
He dreams every day of being swept away and taken to where the wind blows
“Let the winds blow me out of Harlem
Let them blow me to Paradise
Let the winds blow me away from here
To a life that is really nice”
He finds himself in prison again; he’s been here half his life
When his mother never made it home again, he had to steal food just to stay alive
His brothers have been taken away from him, landing in prisons of their own
A prison cell with a bed inside, is the closest thing he’s had to a home
He sleeps with one eye opened, fearing his cellmates as well as the guards
He has to fight to gain a level of respect from the criminals out in the yards
He reads everything he possibly can about life outside of his prison windows
And fantasizes about the day he can drift off to where the wind blows
“Let the winds blow me out of Riker’s Island
Let them blow me to Paradise
Let the winds blow me away from here
To a life that is really nice”
He lays in a pool of his own blood from the gunshots in his chest
He tried to change his lot in life but fell short of passing that test
No opportunities were ever offered him to live a life free of crime
Nobody was there to show him how; no one ever took the time
Twenty-eight years old is too young to die, but he had nothing left to loose
With the only option of going to prison again, this is the road that he did choose
He hoped to go to a better place as he saw the afterlife glows
And finally let his soul go free and be taken to where the wind blows
“Let the winds blow me out of my body
Let them blow me to Paradise
Let the winds blow me away from here
To a life that is really nice”
Pearl of the Orient
“Farewell, my adored Land, region of the sun caressed,
Pearl of the Orient Sea, our Eden lost,
With gladness I give you my life, sad and repressed;
And were it more brilliant, more fresh and at its best,
I would still give it to you for your welfare at most.”
From the poem by Jose Rizal”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Philippines is fondly called the Pearl of the Orient Sea.
The natural beauty of this island paradise is rich in biodiversity.
A pearl is created without the interference of humans, so finely.
Just as this island wonderland was created so divinely.
This archipelagic state has more than seven thousand islands.
Eleven major islands endowed with beauty from plains to highlands.
An amazing place to visit as a holiday destination for hospitality.
Filipinos are known for industrious attitude, humor and positivity.
Most Filipino foods may not be as spicy as some country’s dishes.
Filipino food will tantalize your taste buds and surpass your wishes.
Their national bird is the noble eagle, and of course their gem is the pearl.
The generosity and friendliness of its people allow its wonders to unfurl.
The paths of my mission would be rows of roses, I thought.
To my shock, in tipsy turvy twists and turns, I got tossed
Didn't I desire to know the known to know the unknown?
Each wish of mine, like worn-out shoes of a nomad, got torn.
The moon of joy in my gains should have been at the zenith.
Struggles, like palms, tall-grow. Bliss, like dried grass, peeps from beneath.
Like iron-rods in saline waters getting eroded
The weakness of my will, like pumpkin buds, is unfolded.
Virtues, as fallen scaffoldings, are disintegrated.
Absurdity, like the blood red moon, is reiterated.
My vigour, before my puniness, like a dewdrop, fades.
Apprehension and anxiety, like gems, I adorn.
Pessimism lifts its head like boom-slang cobras from burrows.
Coffins and graves compose knells. The deceased have no repose.
Death and decay have become the blessed norm of the day.
Despair and disappointment, like thorns, pierce through every way.
Self-confidence is erased like mud paths during monsoons.
Will the Times, like the rainbow chromas, bring multihued boons?
The Gilded Scar
?The world will not see the dark hollow,
left where the steel once had lain,
only the gold, bright and shallow,
that traces the edge of the pain.
?You thought the hurt was a fence line,
a shadow where secrets could keep,
to cover the heart's soft design,
a sorrow you carried to sleep.
?But the light is a powerful force,
it seeks out the place that is weak,
pours itself in at the source,
the truth that the fracture will speak.
?And now the scar is your compass,
a beacon that shows you the road,
the fault you concealed in the mass,
is the gift that light has bestowed.
?The wound is a mouth, wide and open,
gasping for more than just air;
it shines with the promise unbroken,
and proves that the glory is there.
Each day he felt the distance growing,
separating him from where and who
they thought he should want to be.
Though he was adrift in the currents
of prevailing winds, he felt the pull
of strong undertows -- and he didn't know
to which he should acquiesce
or against which he should struggle.
He neither acquiesced nor struggled.
"Didn't he think he should shave, shower
regularly, get a hair cut, lose weight,
shine his shoes, change clothes,
and show up early?
Shouldn't he set an example?"
He wanted to imagine a "but"
to refute apparent logic,
could do no better than to scribble
description which drifted across
the pad, influenced by other
undertows. He tried to last, having
once believed in the universal
flux, but could no longer. Finally,
he avoided mirrors and others'
eyes, kept to the rooms' darker
corners, and no longer engaged
in conversation -- not even with himself.
In a storybook long long ago
The pages filled with her and her tears
Boy meets a girl in San Diego
At a lowly crossroad of theirs
Like tumbleweeds blowing in the wind
Both walking aimlessly along
With no destination in mind
Yet whistling on the same sad song
Two hobos hitching a ride on a train
Like two ships passing in the dark
Are united in the nomadic terrain
Where their anchors touch, there's a spark
Both twenty somethings, lost and found
Share that ride in box cars across the state
Where their love grew they pledged to be bound
Only thing stopping them is bad fate
As the train cut thru America pie
She awoke one morning and he was gone
Her heart broken she began to cry
Her picnic red anted, and played on
,
She cried on a shoulder that wasn't there
And made her way home to start anew
She finished law school on a prayer
She weathered the storm the best she could do
Sad to say she received a note from him
Sorry I needed to stretch my wings, girl
And athough her life sad and grim
She held back that his baby girl was a pearl
10/25/22
A Note In The Wind Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Charles Messina
Notes-2nd line her and her refers to
mother and daughter
N/A
There has been oh so many
And many are still around
They surround us old and young
For in our hearts they can be found
They can be members of our families
Who inspired us in many ways
It could be a writer on the Soup
Who displayed their way your ways
They could even be in the field of sports
Or even on a movie screen
But the ones who are heroes much more
Are in the places we will never have been
They are the ones who fight for our future
For when they are lost, we cry
They are the ones who lay down their lives
For they are " Heroes Who Never Die "
Inspired by Bryan Josh of Mostly Autumn who wrote
" Heroes Never Die " in memory of his father
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-7.php
Father's fell in the ages of stones ,
Then I was given names by companions .
In me there grew a pain none could see ,
As I watched back in the days ,
Others were bought Christmas gifts ,
While I sat back ,with burning wishes
I recall slowly ,the path itself was a war
With that little hope I grew, daily.
Everyday storms would sneak in the little shelter that Momma gave us
I watched as she swam in pains and coldness with love protecting us her cubs
Ohh dear Mommy ,indeed love was only you
I knew nothing of bread and beacon ,
That steak and burger were all I wished to taste,
But my wishes died a painful death .
As I watched the children from neighborhood jollying at the corners of my streets
Wearing joy with warmth of seeing their dear Dads ascending from Jozi
I came from nothing
The very same place I was born ,
Where the richest played kings
And us the poor watched with grieve
That same place I was raised ,
But in return it swallowed my grandparents so is my uncle
Do you know that pain endured ,
I watched families vanish with deaths unknown
But nothing I could do afterall .
The pains of pains was watching my mom stolen away from me
But I was toddler then
I carried the pain by heart
But I made my self a solemn
To never back down no matter what
The door of my bedroom is closed
Sunlight filters in through the curtain
I quietly lie down in bed
In this my sweet little haven
My cozy warm bedroom is safe
I feel my soul is truly free
No one dares to harm me in here
The whole world can just let me be
I pull up the covers real tight
As I hug close my teddy bear
I revert to being a child
A child with no worry or care
My eyes wonder around the room
But focus on a memory
My rapid breathing evens out
As I relive sweet history
The people outside of my room
Leave me filled with stifling fear
I am left confused and unsure
As I brush away a stray tear
I’ve forgotten how to mingle
Socializing just gives me stress
Whatever I may say or do
Leaves me an emotional mess
Yet here in my room I am free
To converse with great eloquence
I talk to me, myself, and I
With such amazing confidence
I simply write and write and write
I resolve to love, laugh and live
I have not a single worry
About what I should do or give
Do you think that I’m a recluse?
A modern day hermit, you say?
It could be, but this I do know
I’m having a wonderful day!
And when it seems, the last of Springs
has blossomed in my garden
A barren wasteland now resides
like sins without a pardon
The emptiness that that floods my heart
seems never to be shaken
A dream that haunts me in the night
from which i can’t awaken
It’s then and only then, I learn
just what it is that makes me
For strength is not dependent on
a whim that just forsakes me
Though gardens whither in our lives
and sorrow grows to follow
It means not that the rest of days
are destined to be hollow
Though giving up is easy when
the best seems far behind me
Determination stays the rain
and soon the sun will find me