Long Lifewords Poems

Long Lifewords Poems. Below are the most popular long Lifewords by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lifewords poems by poem length and keyword.


It's Amazing What Therapy Brings Up

The mind is an amazing key
With the right guidance words will trigger memories
From anger and rage to double personalities
Emotions will rise like the oceans tides  

Your muscles will twitch with every cellular connection
Hurt, denial abandonment too
Like a looking glass into the past everything is a reflection of you
And not everything you see will be rosy and clean

Tears and overwhelming fears our bodies remember the slightest infraction
Our habits and beliefs play a major role too
Pain and suffering are a big part of what makes us do the things that we do
Without remorse or a second thought we push things to the back of our minds

But all through our lives we can feel something is just not right
We search for those answers like a child playing hide and seek
Sometimes we will get hints and images to help us remember and think
We’ll catch a glimpse from another life as it rises to the top

Like the coming attractions of new movies your mind plays them through the night 
You’ll see your kids, wife and family but as soon as you zoom in to see you
Everything fades to white and suddenly your heart starts beating faster
All the rage and anger start rising up again

Each memory triggers another memory it’s a never ending process 
And it’s not an easy path however when you consider the alternative
And you look at the life you have so far lead it is kind of like neo in the Matrix
Once you take that pill there is no going back. 

You realize the program you’ve been following has been sabotaging you since birth
It’s a negative dysfunction that only supports your inevitable destruction
Debilitating thoughts that are is still playing from long, long ago
These idea’s became part of your core belief and it’s time to let them go!!..

Abusing yourself no longer serves you its time to learn how to heal
Gently open up your heart and allow people to help you feel
As I read my own words I envision a group of healers circling me with compassion
Each one in the there own way helping me to release these toxic fears

I’ve been poisoned by my own family from generation to generation
And I fought for years to stay positive but their abusive habits still affected me deeply
through their yelling, screaming and verbal attacks that numbed me in my years
I am uncertain what saved me but it could’ve been that angel I’d seen holding me dear
© Ron Flatow  Create an image from this poem.
Form:


Premium Member The Water Tower

The water tower stands above the town and can be seen for miles around.  It has a 
ladder leading up to the base of the tank.  This ladder has been climbed by countless 
teenagers, for thrills and mischief and young kids answering a dare.

     Over the years, many symbols and words have been painted on the tank.  From 
Highschool mascots, to hearts of love and proposals.  Flowers and Holiday wishes 
joined in.

     It had always been one mans job to keep the water tank painted and to cover up 
any impromptu artwork.  He always took his time about it though.  Making sure that 
each message stayed up at least two weeks before he would paint over it.
     One day he received a phone call.  On the line was a little boy.  This little boy asked 
the man to please not paint over his message he had written on the tank, as it was 
very important.

     The man explained to the boy that it was his job to keep the tank painted and 
clean.  But, that he would leave his message up there, untouched, for two weeks.  The 
little boy, with tears in his voice said  "Thank you, I hope it will be long enough".

  The next day, as the man was driving past the water tank, he looked up.  He saw no 
message or pictures of any kind on that tank.  He shrugged and assumed that the boy 
had just been to scared to make the climb all the way to the top.

     Three weeks later, the mans phone rings again.  It was that same little boy.  Very 
excited, he proclaimed  "Mister, I just wanted to thank you for not painting over my 
message...It really worked!"

    Intrigued, the man went to the tank with his paint and supplies.  He climbed to the 
top, set down his paint and brush.  He walked around that tank several times and still 
did not see a message.  But, as he bent to pick up the paint can, there it was.  
Towards the bottom of the tank, in crayon with a young child scroll was written:

       "Dear God, pleeze let my daddy come home frum war I miss him
                                   Your frend Mike"

The years passed.  Many drawings and words were painted over by one man and then 
the other, as they took the job over.  But never, the one small patch, with that heart 
felt prayer.


For the contest:  Story Time
Hostess:  Carol Brown
Placement: 2nd
Form: Narrative

There's Another Side of Me

My gentle tongue,
                              Loosely professes my sorrow
                              Aches and pain fill my body daily

My warm soul,
                              Speaks words of love and loss of reality
                              For my love has gone astray and left me lonely

My crooked feet,
                               Walk the floors of insanity
                               And leaves footprints in vain

My scarred arms,
                              Curdle up with coldness
                              Shivering like a dope fiend   

My friendly heart,
                               Talks to me daily
                               Offers guidance and strength

My bare ears,
                               Hear words, Words that are not spoken
                               Paranoia steps in

My youthful mind,
                               Wonders through and through
                               Disconnected from the world outside
      
My fruitful body,
                               Seeks pleasure, In the midst of another
                               To ignite that fire that burns within me

My glossy eyes,
                                See vengeance and anger
                                For those that accused and slandered me 

My inner child,
                                Is speaking out, 
                                Speaking out loudly for me

 My sense of life,
                                Slowly deteriorates
                                Like a drunk that can't tell the time of day

My thought of love,
                                Increasingly escapes
                                For happiness is not meant to be, Least not for me

My lonely nose,
                                 Smells death , Lurking in the dark
                                 Carrying the scent of flesh and loss of life

My greatest fear,
                                 Of change,  Keeps me bound
                                 Afraid to breathe , This breath of life


I feel like a zombie,     Walking the floor
                                


Of  a lifeless earth,      Knocking on enemy's door
                                


Open up,                    Here I am...

Part 2, On the Other Side of the Mirror, Lit Op 1

Narrator’s View II

12 These words are the last, left by the wisest,
Whom spoke to me from the other side came,
All my thoughts were crumbled to its smallest,
To a state where it differed from the same,

13 To wander, to seek, my eyes were then fixed,
To a Place where all seemed painted the same,
And then my heart whom drummed as if
were tricked,
Did spoke to me from one other side came:

The Statement

14 To you I greet and welcome to the world,
Of light and hope all came from the Real World,
Come herein we give treasures of doses,
And beds coated fine petals of roses,

15 Turn sights to the east, the greatest River lies,
The dreamers, the hopeful, where they arise,
Grows at the footprints the riverbanks hold,
Great trees that soar high, great trees that are bold,

16 Yet then we must walk the River ahead,
But to help, it streams to the past instead,
Dreams must go on with bravery of more,
Shall nature’s force was once rejected for…

17 All torrents and streams of bodies that flow,
Rivers and falls’ destination’s below,
All water will never to mountains go,
But fall from the cliffs to lands of the low,

18 Shores of the West and all beyond the white,
Field of loneness whose bluish white so bright,
Plummet and seek the sights of its beauty,
Or drive the humble raft to the city.

19 Drawn to this world where the artists are we,
To cherish God’s gift, free will it shall be,
Its pen thus we hold, it holds and it tones,
The ink of success that live long with stones,

20 Wise men and their minds, their view is just strange,
For change is nature and nature is change,
But not into thoughts your works will be less,
For all it deserves: frustration; distress…

Narrator’s View III

21 These words are the last, left by most hopeful,
Whom spoke to me from one other side came,
Thrilled to the rage of twilight so fruitful!
Known to the fact: later night will do tame,

22 Seek for time, from the Mirror I supposed,
The clock gave me the answer to it all,
Its fast-paced hand runs east—one faulty posed,
A realm will not move, nor move its men’s call.

-oOo-
Form: Lyric

The Picture I See

I sit alone biggest part of my time,
Writing poems, thinking up rhymes.
I think about my Savior, and the way that He suffered and died,
I picture His momma standing there, and that helpless feeling, and I can almost feel the tears you know she cried.

Why are you doing this, that’s my child, please I can almost hear those pleading words that dear woman said.
Why do you punish Him, why, oh why do you want my son dead?
Then she hears the ringing of the hammer and the futile cries from her son’s swollen and bruised lips,
And wearing that crown of thorns, the blood runs with a steady drip.

They raise His cross to the air so all around can see,
And from those torn and swollen lips He asks his Father for forgiveness for you and me.
And I wonder if we were there and not knowing Him the way we do now, which side of the crowd would we have stood on,
Not knowing Jesus was the Messiah, or knowing He would rise from the grave, or witnessing any of the miracles He had shown.

His own people were the ones that were given the choice,
Free Jesus or free Barabas, and Barabas was the name hollered loudest and was recorded as the peoples voice.
So through the streets they mocked Him, carrying His cross they beat Him, until He made it to that hill,
They cheered and they cheered till our Saviors words were broken then fell still.

Probably His execution was one of the most barbaric that they could do,
But He accepted His fate, crucifixion, to give salvation for sinners like me and you.
The Sacrificial Lamb of God, the greatest gift we’ve ever known,
We still crucify Him, day by day, by not accepting His Gift and the love He has shown.
He will return but no one knows the hour or the day,
But we need to be ready, and choose to follow in our dear Saviors ways.

Till He returns or till the day we die, He gives us a chance for salvation,
If you haven’t made your choice by then it will be too late, cause there will be no more chance for a personal selection.
You can’t be ashamed or embarrassed to call out Jesus name,
Cause if you are then Jesus will treat you the same.
Form:


Temptations Wanton...."flesh!?"

Listen no more to these words I speak

Whenever they have been preceived to be

Dipped into the tissues cup, of bitten agains tainted truths....

Hear me sigh this breath of deepened remorse

Within these pangs of fleshes amissful regrets?!

So turn from me, if beyond my soul your eyes have met

My plague; my thorns; buried in these broken bones

This slashing upon my face

That from my birth has maimed my very world....

These splinters, of my own frailties of weakness 

Tantalizing and piercing, innocent and beautiful hearts!?

But I did not ask for this curse I said

And as Paul once did, many centuries long ago

I pled with "My Father," to please remove this from my sorrows

Oh that I would have been born a crippled or disfigured I pondered

Rather, than to hold these temptations scars....

So please, turn from me if within this mirror you see

The sickles of carnals slaughtered

Rising from the ashes of its smitten burning pit?!

For all I have ever longed for in this life

I have watched crushed, by the image of this reflection

Which buries it blade deeply and unremittingly

Into this why me paved heart....

This portrait of pretty; which melts within its bidden pain

Since the days that I can remember; the crumbling of stars before my sight

Dissolving my spirit, into this crows foot cauldron

Of the bewitching darkness' very own brew!?

There is only one hope within this life I find

And it shall never be found, within this enigmatic skeletals body....

Break these fetters and shatter these eyes "Dear God;" these orbs

Shackled; that I may live, beyond the burning of this rotting corpse?!

Listen no more to these words I speak

Whenever they have been perceived to be

Dipped, into this grave of the craddles repose

The temptations of hades wanton, and, bloodied....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...."Flesh!?"
Form:

She Looked In the Mirror

To: Mandy Jo

She called me her friend. She was one of the few.
She saw in me things that no one else knew.

I was backward and shy, a chess club bore.
I had tape on my glasses. Need I say more?

She was one of the “popular” kids at the school.
But she crossed the line, broke an unwritten rule.

Intrigued by her interest, seduced by her smile,
she freshened my outlook and polished my style.

She taught me to soar like an eagle would fly.
I gave her a shoulder when she needed to cry.

We promised that no matter where life would lead,
we’d always “come running” if ever in need.

She married a friend and moved far away.
Her homesick heart was begging to stay.

With nowhere to turn and no friends to find,
she created a place to escape in her mind.

With an inner-rebellion that raged deep inside,
she barely resembled that beautiful bride.

Her body was ravaged. A self-induced crime.
She’d withered away in such a short time.

She looked in the mirror and actually said,
“I’m so over weight. I wish I were dead.”

Prophetic words from the shell of a soul,
who engaged in a battle and lost all control.

As I ran down the hall to the emergency door,
a shake of his head said, “She’s with us no more.”

Anguish screamed out at this undeserved fate.
My promise was broken. I’d shown up too late.

I wanted to tell her but I was too scared.
I’d practiced the words that never were shared.

Why didn’t she stop? Why couldn’t she see?
Why didn’t I help her like she had helped me?

I saw in her things that no one else knew.
She called me her friend, but it wasn’t true.

In honor of Amanda Jo Abel (Carnegie)

Unfortunately, this is a true story of a very dear friend of mine. Anorexia is a devastating 
and hard to understand disease. I do understand that there was nothing I could do, it doesn’t 
help. The memories of her beautiful spirit does. Thanks Mandy, I’ll see ya' someday.
© Kevin Pace  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Couplet

Premium Member My Beautiful World

I overheard a conversation on the subway train the other day
“This world has become such an ugly place”, is what I heard them say.

Then those words got me to thinking, just why might that be?
What is it that is happening now that makes us appear ugly?

Then somehow it occurred to me, while I was thinking and sitting down
That women all around me were standing there with a frown.

The first thing that was obvious and I was shocked it had happened to me
But somewhere along the way I had forgotten about acting with chivalry.

“Here ma’am have my seat”, are the words that I said,
People all around me looked as if I had two heads.

Even the woman stared and glared at me not moving toward the seat
“I am no weaker than you are”, she said, “I can stand on my own two feet.”

And just for a moment of time that seemed like an eternity
Nobody dared make a sound as eyes stared at the seat empty.

Than an older lady standing nearby said, “I’ll take your seat, young man”
“I haven’t seen some one so polite since I lost my poor husband.”

“It’s so nice seeing in this world gone mad someone still has courtesy.”
And suddenly, right then and there, a beautiful feeling started growing in me.

This world may seem ugly to us when we look out through our eyes
But the beauty still remains in there, we’ve just locked it deep inside.

If we want others to be beautiful, first it’s something we must be
And we still have the power to confront all the bad things that we see.

I held doors open and smiled that day and have forever more
Even for those liberated souls who think I’m such a bore.

Although this beauty is lost on some and probably forever shall be
I still find that one-hundred in one who appreciates my chivalry.

And every time a women or child smiles a smile right back at me
It makes my world seem beautiful and so much less ugly.



Entry in the A Simple Reminder contest
© Joe Flach  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Game Over

Life is nothing, but a large over-sized struggle,
Broken into many pieces, like a complicated jigsaw puzzle,
 There's no light at the end of my complex life tunnel,
I'm stepped on, beaten up, eating words through a funnel,

No such thing as true love, all these females want is lust,
They all need a man who's paid, and treat them so rough,
Living life as a criminal, my hands always in cuffs,
Gang banger, drug dealer, must try and stay tough,

My life's so screwed up, man, its a monolithic mess,
Can't even leave my house, without a bullet proof vest,
Five oh's in my house, got a warrant for my arrest,
But as each day past, i find myself caring less,

Embarrassment to my family, got them all feeling ashamed,
Can't look me in the eye, cause they found out about my color game,
Kicked out of my house, got me roaming these streets,
Starvation comes around, I've been hungry all week,

Slinging dope, sniffing coke, popping pills makes me choke,
Not a cent to my name, god i hate being broke,
I steal the stuff that i want, and take the things that i need,
Not a night of real sleep, feel like my eye's about to bleed,

Relationship problems, making me super pissed,
Haven't talked to her in days, thought i would be missed,
But she treat me differently, like she's losing all her love,
Why would she want a guy who's always high on some drug,

Grandma's in the hospital, she can't even walk,
I saw the look on her face, she didn't even need to talk,
Her grandson's a mess up, he's a true loser,
I wanna change all for her, before i might lose her,

On my knees, praying to god, to keep my family safe,
And hope that one day, they move away from this place,
Fake friends say fake stuff, then later laugh in my face,
Life's beating me down, man, I'm losing this race,

But I'm a survivor, I'm life's game soldier,
And i rather be dead, then to hear the words game over.
© Lee Nguyen  Create an image from this poem.
Form:

Premium Member Slam Hurts!!!!!....

.                  Slammed by
Mother...President...Teacher...Poet...&...Form


            A MOTHERS LOVE
Mother always called me a lousy kid, with a shove
I was the only kid she wanted to get rid of
On my head she always smacked me hard.
She would always slam me calling  me a retard
My mother gave me the best slamming love.

((( my mother the best slammer there ever was)))
_______________________________________________
           WE ARE THE WORLD
Slam back at any country, at any given event
I feel bad for any so called President.
"WE THE PEOPLE" the Republic and the Democrat.
Slamming each other talking crap. 
In a world full of slam and argument.

((( The world toughest fight is slam not war )))
_______________________________________________                 
              TEACHERS PET
Our teachers kept on and on how we where wrong with a fuzz.
She just stood there and slammed each and everyone of us.
Making us write an essay on broken rules.
Kept us all after school calling us stupid fools
Who knew teachers where allowed to slam and cuss?

((( Teachers words of slam can ruin any future )))
______________________________________________
             ROAD BLOCK
Have you ever heard of a poet blocker.
All they are is a slam stocker
They over abuse their blocking right.
Trying to make other poets fight.
Always trying to slam a point across, like a mocker.

((( Hating against any form of poetry is a slam it self )))
_____________________________________________
            JUDGING CONTEST
Can you guess that slam is just a risky business
Picking out the best slam words from the rest.
Testing out a form we don't know how to let it  flow.
Darn the soup for putting slam on the box below.
Even the best have join my slamming contest.

((( Thank you Soup for SLAMMING us with your A-Z list-form)))
_____________________________________________
Form: Limerick

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