Long Make believe Poems
Long Make believe Poems. Below are the most popular long Make believe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Make believe poems by poem length and keyword.
Once, long distant calls would cost
You, your friends and family so many voices
had to wait, anticipate the budget and the worth
of words said out loud to ride rapid electric lines.
Still sentiments of love freely fly on telepathic planes
while prose and poetry remain yours truly.
When present face to face do you speak truly?
Conversations branch out, chip, splinter into stories, that's the cost.
Fish stretch past arms' length and record breaking climbs pass clouds and planes.
Tell me again how it all began, how many voices
sang out from heaven: Forgiveness for sale! Limited supply, form lines.
Greedy practice, selling soul's salvation, who figures out what it's worth?
Fear can make us pay the selfish who decide our worth.
Are our souls and spirits make-believe, a magician's trick or God's, truly?
Conversations of belief from heart or scripted lines
brainwashed or sincerely swayed, choice has a cost---
Cross your fingers, chant the scriptures, sing with all your voices
until it's real or a lie you can live with, insured for your departure in heaven's plane.
If a soldier's plane crashes, angelic eagles soar, swoop like planes,
nose dive to every soldier because lives are worth
remembering. Telephones shoot words-- bam, bam, bam, fire voices
on ears that bleed worst fears, shattering those who love them truly.
Nothing will ever be sweet or innocent again, this is an impossible cost.
War kills conversations, steals final farewell lines.
Songs please draw forgiving lines,
to rise over hatred in unarmed planes
for a bird's eye perspective to consider the cost
of love lost in doubt, its worth.
Love lights up any sort of soul, truly.
It's power hurls bolts through nerves that revive the mystic voices...
Devils, misfits, do-gooders, cherubs and chumps-- let's hear all your voices!
Call out to love, it won't resist, will cross any line
to save who is good or bad-- it desires everyone, truly
Here comes the light, hear comes our flight, listen for the plane
Remember it's insane to worry about your worth,
to be, to be, is miracle enough, we can't comprehend the cost.
Solo fly or get in line formation with you plane
Lift off, blast past hatred to reach Love's treasure of unimaginable worth.
Truly precious, so protect it, Love in all your actions no matter what the cost
No torrid steel rod cauterized my wounds
I could not lick the festering gashes clean
Your sharp-bladed tongue bit too deep
fangs plunged with each vile cursed scene
No mere prick or scratch did you inflict
as thorns draw drops from a finger laid bare
You severed our dangling cord with a stare
Without gauntlet thrown before you swayed
I was waylaid in the pitfall of vows betrayed
I sat weeping upon moistened ground
faintly hearing from ears, a snarling sound
a vile bitterness in your laughter as I stirred
If you have a conscience, I shall be its burr
You turned your back and sidled away
basking in glory; your cruelty had been done
but there is no victory for you, nothing won
for a man whose feet were molded of clay
How often you preyed on weakness of others
while you played at being sanctimonious
Liquid courage brings death that smothers
but I escaped the hold you once tightly held
before my life had been snuffed and felled
I still breathe and I've no fear to speak
I've been set free, and I'm no longer weak
My tongue holds daggers of its own
whetted on the grind stone of your deception
I was hungry for strength, parched with thirst
to take vengeance as my anger grew
emotions that were long past due
Felling you would then label me a doer of evil
which is something I would never desire to be
Vengeance will never be mine to take
knowing this is true is what set me free
Years will pass but I shall never forget
that I was true to you, yet I sorely regret
not realizing the kind of person I loved
I've moved on and no longer grieve
while you still swim in the fiery waters
of your besotted world of make believe
A life that creeps along the shadows Somewhere between dark and light
Another part of fantasy offering courage To the Dreamer’s egotistical plight
Dreams so sweet, so easy on the brain For survival sake, he holds his grip
Lost in a world of Make-Believe He plans his fantasy trip
So, hard living in the real world The Dreamer balances, hoping not to fall Holds to his imaginary powers
In a fight to redeem it all
He shines his armor of dreams so bright. And with mail, reality will never penetrate. But his armor is tarnished on the inside. From dreams he’ll never make.
He only yarns for the prize. The honor, he thrives to receive
Does he not know, to the average eye it's clearly make believe
Humanity is a series of mistakes that have molded society into what it is today. It's important to learn from mistakes—lessons that teach us what not to do. Success is one goal we all have in common; happiness is the ultimate achievement. We strive for perfection, only to fall short and set unrealistic standards for ourselves. Parents guide youth with the tools that they have been gifted—Hand me down apples wind fall from the family tree.
A boat brought a great many across a sea of hope. Hoping for a better life that free will facilitated, melting into a pot of a culture that didn't exist; simply because it hadn't been created yet—blind faith driving the dream—only to be awakened by the existence of real life. Too good to be true was but a distant saying; undoubtedly manifested due to murderous mutiny of hope and solidified within treason. Free willed men killed in its name for a better way of life, only for it to get ripped apart through amendments that dictated through loop holes. Debating words that they themselves do not even understand, all while blowing out the flames of the dreamers' candle.
Left in the dark, men lower themselves in desperation and mistakes teach lessons. The shadows of the past follow us; whispering in our ears—stalking our every move; surrounded in good intentions.
Standing in the way is a judge named, Society. Bright ideas bully beliefs and feed us full of modified foods. Money making morons make believe. Lying and cheating the very fabric of morality—testing integrity and eating the most forbidden of fruits. Mistaken men make choices based on instant gratification; ignoring the whispers in the wind; completely aware—stepping on innocence all the way to the top. Judgmental and critical towards everyone else yet internally evaluating feelings of inadequacy; projecting his personal outlook with deviation—secretly insecure...
Ashamed of himself, he is constantly tormented. Plagued by his inability to shake the tail of The Stalker Named Genius . . .
Written in Feb. 2015
Some poems
they are sacrificed
and not meant
to be written
Some poems
are not too nice
and talk of Hell
and smitten
Some poems are the center of
attention to be told
Some poems are not worth the cause
of sacrificing old
Some poems are for me to say
and keep them for myself
Some poems are for you to see
and that is left to quelf
How will I ever know to write
what I am feeling for
How will I ever sell what I
am ever looking more
How will I save what I am to
a God I make believe
How will I ever be as him
When Satan takes the lead
How will I ever know to be
a man he wants to see
How will I ever go with him
unless I come to me
I'll go unto a man and say I'm fine and tell him how
He'll say he never saw me and I'm pretty sure that's Hell
I'll go onto a patio and tell him I am late
He'll say a lantern has been left for you as fate
~It's a Beautiful Day~
Under every star,
A smile waltz-like no other
Once a simple cherry blossom girl,
enjoying puppets and lullabies.
Sitting in front of the screen
Anxiously waiting for him to come in
through the front door, whistling a song,
trading a suit jacket, for a zippered sweater;
made with love. ---My day just got better---
***It's a beautiful day***
In a charming little town square
A servant, serving a friendly atmosphere
Welcome to the land of make-believe,
where all my friends are real.
Here comes the speedy delivery
Mr. McFeely and his letters.
Prancing puppet skin in love with
Beautiful Lady Aberlin.
Henrietta, a mighty and feisty pussycat
My favorite strings are the king and queen
Before the show ends, Trolley's a friend
tooting around from make-believe to reality.
***It's was a beautiful day***
Oh the innocence of my childhood,
My neighborhood is gone
By: PD
I just hear bugles i just hear trumpets and horns
I am the fool a slayer of rule an androgynous clone of make believe
thought a trance, sometimes not knowing what's real as free a rational ability
I have barely cried and yet cry more everyday for the equinox of tyranny and hate
selflessness and greed, A story of Kuwan-Yin
were you the mind or the body or neither, or have you gone too fast around that bend and
do you have answers that don't end
he is not of this earth as sin does fine within a wreckless statesmen's stride,one left for homi
right for sui's, putting it all on the Ritz
fat crackers on paper plates and moving cars where there ought to be people
our savior will not be driving a beam-er
balls crushed by these crippling cars, from my first cigarette to my car stereo
aways thinking she's my girl. I'm sure i was a taxi, with loneliness my meter
look the hundreds we save foregoing the gas pumps and those
no duty fags that bust your ass
the privilege to put money into a bad deal until someone buries you at the wheel like a good
captain you go down with your hero's grip ,down with your ship
look at those campers who like nothing better than plug in they're bug zapper and radios, we
plug our brain into some machine, that spits us out in search of gold
drowned this system from it's consuming desert
decide what time forgot, before we 1st decided life was more and we have less
and lesser chance to strike, let's split on a cheap camel, it'll carry your gold
we grab what life throws, and now it takes to prolong a species cause. It knows a life so
brutally evolved, our memory could succeed where others failed,
but one, frankly it had to start with a mom a manger was as pod and the wisemen robots
On being emotionally bankrupt
Sentient beings distraught
psyche rent asunder
courtesy false accusations
heated words exchanged like gunfire
pox upon the house of Deborah Hunter,
a vicious vindictive
girlish looking septuagenarian woman
buzzfeeding unfounded conspiracy
that the missus steals packages
ever since we moved here
at Highland Manor Apartments
force core and seven years ago
July first two thousand and seventeen
thee wife accused
unfounded rumor circulated,
she brought in snakes
courtesy whom I hashtag snaggletooth
blind as a bat
mistook large make believe
as voracious very hungry,
albeit friendly stuffed caterpillars,
nevertheless possessing
an insatiable appetite
for rumor mongers
especially for bony thin
older bonnie lass
or similar facsimile thereof
such as a small number of tenants
housed here at above mentioned
low income low slung building
formerly an elementary school
repurposed many decades ago
into accommodations
mostly catering to senior citizens,
and/or those receiving
social security disability
the latter classification pertains
to yours truly,
a psychologically tuckered out
egalitarian, libertarian, nonsectarian,
sexagenarian, solitudinarian Unitarian
frazzled, grizzled,
and puzzled wordsmith
who knows not why the wife
singled out and bullied, hastled,
intimidated, and threatened
creating hostile living environment
impacting me
indirectly caught in the crosshairs
wishing upon a star
to acquire monetary resources
to hightail out of
insufferable toxic shock
system of the down
slipping into the behavioral sink
suffocating - impossible mission
to catch my breath
brainstorming for solution
while pitched upon
horns of a dilemma,
whereat I shout out
thru the corridors of time
calling Bull Moose and Rocky
my childhood fictitious cartoon heroes
to deliver salvation out the maws
of an untenable situation
threatening life and limb
hankering for life, liberty
and the pursuit
of happiness birthing
nirvana linkedin to soul asylum.
I hold my breath as lights go down
adrenaline overflowing
red curtains part
a shot in the dark stills my pumping heart
Transported to another world
of fantasy and make believe
music permeates my soul
mind and body feeling whole
Before too long the end is nigh
euphoric I'm still on a high
I rise for a standing ovation
extolling with total elation
Amphetamine of choice helps feed my addiction
my malady fixed with a weekly prescription
Written 8th April 2019
Contest: Your Amphetamine
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin
7th place in Premier contest
Contest: May 2019 Premier 4 14 Lines
Sponsor: Brian Strand
“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.” - Emily Dickinson
Her soul, composed of poetry
Breathed light and reflected mystery
In shadows secreted deep within
Where silence seemed her only friend
Her heart, colored in hues of hope
Prayed peace through the innocence
Abiding where the stillness was lost
In the wonder hiding beneath her thoughts
Her soul, stirred by each make believe
Dreams faithful to the rumors so unique
Rich and vibrant hues of eternity rising
Through the stardust raining across a life
Her heart, erasing every doubt with truth
Beckons for the laughter, the graceful
Sincerity of a kindness so deep and good
Falling gently, like fresh snow, in whispers
Her soul, singing merrily of joys buried
Beneath the silhouettes of sadness and sorrow
Leaving imprints, notes of encouragement
Wounding the doubts with serenity, assurance
Her heart, conquering all the faded feelings
Who guided her to listen to all she’s concealing
The beauty and grace, the inspiration and faith
All of the soft winds who beckoned her to hear
Her soul, heeding the light – the lingering love
Sent down from above, where His kindness
Grows smiles as He gentles the trials, the hurting
Becomes like a long ago dawn who recalls the night
Her heart, aching to understand the breathtaking
Stillness, lasting through the storms, delaying
Suspicions and promising that His way, His blessing
Will bring only good things, miracles to believe in
Her heart – Her soul… they’re an open door
To the marvel, the mercy, the message…
That love from above will always find a way
To pierce the uncertainty with a belief that vows…
Forever is found in the peace that comes to life
Just beyond the kiss of sun, the caress of moon,
Where Jesus walked and talked and gave each one
The opportunity to believe in His everlasting life!
Let His love flow…
And grow – a light
That never fades