Long Masks Poems
Long Masks Poems. Below are the most popular long Masks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Masks poems by poem length and keyword.
Dealing with deep touching issues sleepless nights worried
lovingly do not understand my head anymore teardrops keep falling weakness
cut from finest silk cannot take this heartbreak and disappointment
Enough watching my mother and father crying
respect not into this hurting pain brings joy ends inside
indignity knowing my path was chosen from birth
Goodness knows why through the injustice reeks tyranny inflames scars
unhappy dealing with invisible grief and shame it brings forth
sharing what I must make visible fighting for truth hate manifesting
Opening these eyes a miracle dream bowing defeat comes disturbing news
within great pain and loss not guilty judged pleas unheard story
No say deemed unworthy suffering with the courage to stand up against conviction
What I believe in the end justice peace holds pure the innocence unheard
societies untouchables in this world tyranny hides shame to speak
rising behind pride and greed masks destruction of a heart's dignity
When falling down on my knees burdened heavily patience wounds salted
always stood for what is right speaking up in defense true spirit embracing souls joined love united we sang with freedom choosing our destinies directions join
Dancing tunes always sunshine peace finds the only direction home hand in hand
such friendship forever a promise shines one day to come we have walked
this path golden together shared in this life our dreams kissing sacred gift maiden
unrhymed tercet
A Day Comes
A day comes when people pass by you like smoke of wax,
shadows without face on the glass sidewalks of your memory.
Some have passed through my very life like meteorites through night,
they burned in the atmosphere of my soul and fell into dust of whispers.
I believe that's how destiny wanted it with its fingers of liquid mercury,
for my very half to leave, flower torn from the garden of void.
She left like a butterfly of wax melted in flames of winter,
she left leaving behind only echoes of sifted light and winter.
Since then I've withdrawn into my shell of crystal and amethyst,
into the inner fortress where time flows like honey in the calendar.
I am cosmic snail in the spiral of my own blue solitude,
I am the monk of my own temple where incense of stars burns.
I no longer accept too many in my life of burned parchment,
in my secret garden where only flowers of scattered thoughts grow.
Some are with envy and evil, serpents of steam in the false greenery,
they wear masks of melted wax and souls of mercury that spill.
Better with few or maybe with no one in my desert of jade,
better alone than surrounded by broken mirrors in awakened chaos.
Better with God in the psychedelic silence of pure searching,
than with crowds of shadows that pass like clouds through obscure horizons.
A day comes when you understand that solitude is a precious crystal,
that withdrawal isn't weakness but a dance of light in chaos.
That in your shell of glass and amethyst you can find the universe,
that God speaks louder when you're silent and listen to the reverse.
People pass like waves of fog on the shore of my desolate heart,
but I remain rock of amethyst in the ocean of desolate memories.
And in my crystal solitude I find a strange peace,
a melancholic joy like smoke of incense in a living catacomb.
Better with God in the inner temple of jade and amethyst,
than with crowds of shadows that drip like wax on the altar.
Better withdrawn in my shell where light crumbles into rainbows,
than lost in the multitude of masks that dance empty in the night.
Babies are born everyday
Eyes painted wide, with not much to say
Just basic needs and intimate love
Simplicity, for they know not of
But time surely passes
And questions are formed
The enemy’s kisses pierce like a thorn
Innocence, we were all
Innocent
Before we were taught
Before we knew
Before we ever walked our way through
We were, innocent
Looked to our parents, looked to our friends
Bonds sealed with kisses we thought would never end
Shame in our smiles
Guilt in our bones
Masks painted on us with light undertones
Rejection invades and stings at one's core
Society kills what we were made for
Innocence, we were all
Innocent
Before we were taught
Before we knew
Before we could ever walk our way through
We were innocent
Before the walls and cement were there
Before the sorrow in the air
Before the heartbreaks
Before the fears
Before we ever cried a tear
We were innocent.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written 4-2-12
Under the sky where stars entwine with the shadows of lost days, when sanctity becomes an echo fading slowly,
we bear the burden of time like a heavy cloak of lead, while madmen escape from the prisons of their own minds,
entering social fields like wild storms, their shadows darkening the sky with whispers that God has been forgotten.
Perched on thrones of absurdity, these madmen build kingdoms from shifting sands,
declaring wars from fleeting whims, while our souls dwindle poor and humble,
puppets of jesters who laugh at our suffering as if it were a spectacle of endless shadows.
Thus, we are at the mercy of fools, great fools dancing on the ruins of reason and wisdom,
for their fires consume beliefs and hearts, turning them into relics of a bygone and forgotten past,
and zoology becomes the new sacred script, with geniuses captive in cages, viewed as clowns by those who cannot see.
Values fade under a starless sky, the immortals no longer find their place to be reborn in this world,
only money sings the tune of the times, inviting us to a grotesque and deceptive carnival,
where monkeys without ideals wear only snout masks, instead of unfulfilled dreams and desires.
We are in the hands of madmen, led by great madmen who raise walls between nations and peoples,
turning democracy into a cold void, a balance breaking under the weight of the coming malady,
casting peoples into endless chaos, for they say we are too many on this flourishing, living earth.
And yet, the human race, despite those who hunt it from shadow and darkness, will find the way to lift the lands to the sky,
from stone will bring forth grain, and the shining vision will be reborn from the blind eyes of the eternal Homer,
for we are in the hands of madmen, but in our hearts still burns the fire of hope and the undefeated and pure dream.
In the twilight of forgotten dreams,
Where shadows intertwine with whispers of the past,
I traverse the ruins of gods,
Their thrones turned to dust, their voices mere echoes.
I speak of divinities, though my heart is an empty vessel,
A canvas of belief, unpainted, untouched,
Yet, in this void, I am an artist,
A weaver of tales, a sculptor of illusions.
Do not believe a word I say, for in my art,
Lies the paradox of intertwined truth and falsehood,
Each sentence a labyrinth, each metaphor a veil.
I hold no faith, yet I evoke realms of belief,
I sing hymns of the divine,
Yet my melody is that of a skeptic,
An ode to the void, a psalm of silence.
The truth I speak is but a mirage,
A reflection in the waters of doubt,
For to understand is to lie,
To express is to deceive.
In the realm of the psyche, my words are symbols,
Shadowy figures dancing on the walls of the mind,
In the realm of beauty, they are metaphors,
Elegant masks of the unfathomable truth.
So walk with me through these ruins,
Feel the melancholy of forgotten gods,
And in the silence between my words,
Listen for the truth that lies beneath the lie.
For in this dance of shadows and light,
In the ever-flowing stream of consciousness,
We find the essence of our being,
A fleeting glimpse of eternity, hidden in the ephemeral.
Do not believe in my words, but in the silence I weave,
For in that silence lies the true magic,
The melancholy of existence, the poetry of life.
Devil love is propelling the “deep state”
to stomp on the U.S. Constitution
and deprive us of our God-given oxygen
along with our inalienable rights
by making us wear face masks
on orders from those
who are poised to defund the police.
And those officials
who follow the devil’s law
and mandate masks the way the Nazis
once mandated yellow stars for Jews
will be subject to citizen’s arrest
by We the People
for crimes against humanity.
For crimes against humanity
“I don’t wear a mask
for the same reason
I don’t wear underwear,”
she said. “Things got to breathe.”
“My name is Butch Dias,
and I am an American patriot,”
“See that flag? I would die for that flag!
The Constitution that you are supposed to uphold,
I would die for that!”
“You didn’t listen to We the People!”
“But what’s going to happen when you get the call…
“But what’s going to happen when you get the call…
‘Oh, we got to defund the police,
we got to get rid of them.’... Who’s going to arrest the people
for [not] wearing stupid masks?…
What are you going to do?
How are you going to put the people down?”
It breaks my heart, because I would die for that flag,
I would die for this country,
and I would die for the Constitution.
And you guys are supposed to uphold the Constitution.
But you know what? You didn’t.
You let We the People down.”
You Let We the People Down
Form:
Freedom or whatever
Is it a wonderful idea where we can say what we like?
To act as we like without concern what others might think.
I believe in free speech voicing what life has taught me
and part of this is that freedom carries responsibility.
dare I say, compassion for others.
In Europe’s cities and the USS, people are demonstrating
they do not want their freedom curtailed,
not to wear masks and not vaccinated.
they do not think of people who by their actions might
make other bystanders catch the Virus and die.
Every régime of every description will try to get more power
and they must be resisted, but not now.
When times are right, they must be fought the alternative
is fascism, the enemy of freedom will seduce the half-baked
people to look for leaders who despite fine words
have nothing to offer but autocracy.
...For four years he wandered, a human scourge,
throwing in with the worst type of dregs.
He robbed from so many without a thought,
and when he slept, he saw only red.
He soon was wanted in countless counties,
but he felt no remorse for his deeds.
They didn’t understand their laws were bunk,
that life was nothing but anguish and need.
He threw in with Black Thompson along the way,
a killer who would slayed all inis path,
they had a plan to knock off a train,
loaded with gold bullion and greenback cash.
The robbery went off smooth and easy,
Black Thompson didn’t have to fire his gun.
The gang rode away into Nebraska hills,
dreaming of the haul they had won.
At a small hill they dropped their masks,
and began dividing up the big haul,
when they heard a whinny, saw a rider,
not far off, on a horse rather small.
“Get that bastard, he’s seen our face!”
was the cry Black Thompson gave out.
Anders and two others, Barton and Bill,
charged at the figure with a shout.
The small figure rode and they pursued
for three mils up to a long ridge,
Barton got ahead, cornered the rider,
drawing near they saw it was a kid.
He shook in his saddle, lip quivering,
be could not be much older than eight.
...about the age that Chester would be,
had he not been stolen by fate.
Bill and Barton whopped and hollered,
but Anders felt a cold, surging chill.
“Best not to wait, do the job Thorn,”
were the words of the rustler Bill.
Anders looked at the boy on his pony,
and then slowly he removed his Colt,
he lifted it up, then turned on Bill,
the pistol round made the thug jolt.
He fell from his horse, and Barton gawked,
so Anders shot him square between the eyes.
“Run boy,”he cried,”Ride, do not stop!
I am going to buy you the time!’
The child took off, bawling out in tears,
and Anders turned back to the distant gang.
They had heard the shot, and rode near,
four of them mounted on painted mustangs.
Anders said,”Lord, what have I become?
If you’re out there, listen just this once.
I do not care what happens to me,
but you better protect that little one...”
CONCLUDES IN PART III
They called him Billy—Old Billy they said,
A man of few words, who walked where none tread.
Eyes like the storm, with a soul full of scars,
He trusted no one, not the moon nor the stars.
Once he had laughter, once he had friends,
But betrayal, like poison, seeped in the end.
Lovers who lied, and brothers who stole,
Left empty echoes carved deep in his soul.
He became the shadow beneath the streetlamp,
A silent witness with a heart grown damp.
He spoke in silence, he smiled in pain,
Learned that love often walks with a chain.
“Friendship is business,” Old Billy would say,
“They smile in your face, then throw you away.”
He saw the masks that people wore,
And knew what their smiling eyes were for.
He vanished one dusk, with no goodbye,
No body was found, no time to cry.
All that remained was a coat in the cold,
And a letter of truth, written bold:
> “Dear loved one, love if you must,
But never, ever give your trust.
Let them speak, let them praise,
But guard your heart all your days.
The world wears masks, don’t play their game—
Live in silence, and walk without name.”
Now legends whisper through alley and hill,
Of the man they once called Old Billy still.
But no one knows where his footsteps fell,
For he vanished into silence—and wore it well.
She is creative, but she keeps it under her face.
Wearing masks before this Covid-19 disgrace.
Her imagination parades around at three a.m. some days
Her muse blows a kazoo and throws poems her personalities' ways
She knows her power, but tries to look unassuming and old.
She keeps her opinions to herself, for they are blatantly bold.
She has friends she has had over sixty years.
She is wise enough to know, they each have their own fears.
She used to try to rescue people as if she was a fairy or an elf.
She has finally learned the lesson that others must save them self.
She is a wife, mother, and grandmother to children who number ten.
She writes poetry, cartoons, and paints. Has paintings to her chin.