Long Map Poems
Long Map Poems. Below are the most popular long Map by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Map poems by poem length and keyword.
Secrets in the palm,
are revealed in time.
Head line, heart line,
life, destiny and sun,
are roads we travel.
Rising mounts,
reveal one’s purpose;
decisions and plans,
are all there, to be seen.
Attitudes and moods;
beliefs and ideas;
the past and the future.
As the tempests of life rage;
we can see the outcomes.
The the open heart and mind;
comes clarity.
Hopelessness, does not exist,
For the open-eyed.
We have more than two eyes, available.
Rightly utilized vision,
birth’s the sage;
knowledge is finite; wisdom, infinite.
The souls GPS, a karmic road map,
comes with every newborn.
Mistakes and failure,
consume those, who cannot read.
The Map
Hence, reacting to tyrannical rule in 1776,
Delegates from the thirteen colonies met in
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,
To declare independence from Great Britain.
Eleven years later, the ratification process of the
American Constitution began, and it was ratified
On June 21, 1788, thereby creating the framework
For the formation of the “Republic of the United States.”
With a government for the people, by the people,
In three branches—legislative, executive, and judicial—
With checks, balances, and cooperation
Ensuring constitutional interpretation.
Governed by two congressional bodies and a president,
Elected by state and electoral college systems,
And an appointed Supreme Court of nine justices,
“Equal Justice Under Law“ is approved by the U.S. Congress.
Between two oceans, east and west (the Atlantic and Pacific),
And between two countries, north and south (Canada and Mexico),
The map today displays a compression of forty-eight states
And two non-contiguous states, a federal district, and many territories;
E Pluribus Unum, is the American nation of race and heritage,
Ethnicity, and diversity of its citizens who stand to recite
The Pledge of Allegiance while the Stars and Stripes wave in the air
Over the land as the eagle soars, signifying strength and freedom.
***
Note:
E Pluribus Unum: Out of many, one (traditional motto of U.S.A. since 1782). The official motto is “In God We Trust,” which was adopted in 1956.
Draw a map
A course for your life
Examine the stops that scare you
Take on the roads that excite you
Follow your heart compass
It will never lead you a stray
Plan out the routes
But don't over think
Throw caution to a breeze
A calm or raging one
Let it show you it's mystery
Soak in it's sunshine
Never let it be a cancer
There is only one direction
A direction of uncertainty
It gives the greatest challenge
But has the strongest reward
A journey of discovery
A taste of serenity
Draw this map proud
Shed your tears upon its paper
Give it direction Give it hope
See the beauty a map could be
Be free to believe and dream then set that heading for the rest of your life
Then pass it on and let others see a map is so easy to follow.
The Map
On the table... there is a folded paper.
When carefully opened and displayed,
it shows places to go and to be...
Why would anyone want to go?
Because we are unhappy where we are.
Why are we lost?
Because no one has made clear the path to take.
It is right before us in plain speak,
yet we refuse to consider the possibilities
of miracles.
There are homeless now... in the city,
so many you can barely see the streets.
There are displaced people from all over...
embraced by force into our lives.
Rights are vague and misunderstood,
or challenged and then disregarded.
Meteors hit the earth, deep in the north.
The sound travels all over the world,
even if it can not be heard by humans,
it is known by all others living.
The animals, and the beasts they fearfully laugh.
The moon changes and the face makes faces...
but few see the need to question
the reality of our solar system.
They covet the small successes some have made,
in the name of all,
but the truth is they loved only themselves,
and now the rest will pay...
the price, more than known until the end.
War...
Death to the innocent,
while the elite are held aloof...
safe in their mighty mansions.
The judgment of the times
distorted by fake and misleading events
dressed in red.
Tick, tick, tick... tock,
the clock is running.
Every day is a gift,
and every action important,
even if disqualified by the masses.
Look to, the paper on the table.
North, South, East, and West...
God is coming.
The writing in the margins,
speaks of angels descending and ascending.
The reality of today,
a fourth-dimension of tomorrow.
Tell someone,
and embrace the very air you breathe,
thankful for your next breath.
I have a blank map in my head
Searching for love with no direction to be led
There is no street road or avenue
Nothing that will lead me to you
No town city or even a place
To lead me back to see your face
No state region or a country
No compass to guide me to thee
Without north south east or west
I cannot find you so my mind can rest
I need a globe index or even a chart
To locate the place of my soul mates heart
Then I remembered how I found you before
So I headed straight out my lonesome front door
I looked up in the sky to see our star
Then I wished and gazed ahead and there you are
Families, Legacies and History,
Things are known,
Rumors told,
And secrets hidden.
Yet hundreds of years pass in time.
The legend passes thru,
The lips and ears of the descendants.
The stories that are passed down,
From generation to generation,
Are given new light when,
One piece of a document is found.
All of the rumors,
All of the stories,
And all of the secrets are found to be true.
One ancestor who is known to be a robber,
A hero, a father and a brother.
He holds all the gold and buries it,
With a treasure map like none other.
Mother Nature holds all the secrets.
We call her Mother Earth.
She knows his secrets.
She knows who he is but not his name.
But in our family we just call him Jesse.
He is my cousin and it's a true story.
I stand with a treasure map,
no X to mark the spot.
A scattering of clues,
roadmaps of endless dots.
Your name is on an envelope,
surely that’s proof enough?
But it’s faded, invisible ink,
a hollow past calling my bluff.
I search drawers for clothing
and scour shelves for books.
Trace desks for fingerprints,
scroll through snapshots for looks
between us, you and me -
that one I swear you took by the lake.
Rain clouds forming behind my head
like dirty Papier-mâché, a grey fake.
I stand with the treasure map,
aged in spilt argument coffees and tea.
Scribbles of forests and mountains,
a cabin, a cliff edge. Pebble beach and sea.
I stand with this treasure map
searching for a hint,
that you were here and I was loved:
for just a shimmer of gold, the faintest glint.
Sleepless, the body becomes
a mind map strung out on a bed,
color coded in degrees of pain.
Each movement sends an update,
a glowing patch of deepening red
or a lava line of heat solidifying
into a poker branding plunge
with a white hot X.
Staying still is only a temporary
reprieve, a lull for nerves to reset
and crank up for the next assault.
Inhabited space pressurizes
to send throbs pounding
on the walls of each weary cell
accompanied by waves
of relentless ache.
Thoughts clamber upwards
looking for a way out
but fall back into a dark
gravity, consumed by
that agonizingly slow countdown
when the next dose of oblivion
can be dribbled out of a pill
which, with any luck,
should get you through
until morning creeps across
your bed
with another installment.
Her skin drinks light like rivers take rain,
each dappled edge and sun-struck curve,
a landscape under my hands, soft yet severe,
where desire meets the edge of breath.
Fingers trace the small hollows of her hip,
catching sunlight in each soft valley,
dipping, trembling, as if they might slip
into some dark, endless tenderness.
She is a map of quiet fires,
a fever I can barely hold.
I find her pulse in the hush of thighs,
the places where words lose themselves.
My mouth opens to meet her skin,
each kiss a tender bruise of ache,
pressed and perfect, lush as wine
that fills, that floods, till reason splits.
We break where passion's blinding flares,
colliding in waves of sweet surrender,
so fierce the ache it stings like glass,
we drink of each other, ravenous, undone.
In the silence after, breath upon breath,
her skin still glows with sunlit trace,
and I am carved by the strength of her
in places I never knew could break.
The colony rehearses its certainty—
feathers ticking like metronomes,
breath rising and vanishing on cue.
Ice remembers every footstep
and forgives none,
yet here life proceeds by agreement,
a choreography older than language,
each body a comma
in a sentence that ends in survival.
One bird pauses.
Not dramatically—
no prophecy, no cry.
He turns inland,
toward a blankness the wind has not edited.
The snow does not argue.
The horizon does not blink.
Instinct loosens its grip
like a glove dropped without noticing.
We watch because watching is all we have.
There is no word in our mouths
that fits this angle of departure.
Nature, usually so fluent,
stammers.
The camera keeps its distance,
as if reverence were a form of ignorance,
as if explanation would be a lie.
He becomes smaller, then theoretical.
Not broken, not heroic—
simply unsponsored by reason.
Some creatures follow maps.
Some discover that the map does not include them.
The ice closes its book.
The wind keeps walking.