Long Melancholic Poems
Long Melancholic Poems. Below are the most popular long Melancholic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Melancholic poems by poem length and keyword.
Dutch upbringing, melancholic
Suffered love’s rejection throes
On the verge of deep frustration
Fought the waves of mental woes.
Painted orchards, blossoms, landscapes
Where sunflowers reigned supreme
Bold the colours and rough beauty
A post-impressionist dream.
Vivid rushes of emotion
With concision, grace, displayed
The dramatic, the spiritual
Vibrant strokes on canvas laid.
Life aborted, sad conclusion
Was it peace or hand of shame?
Only then he was acknowledged
To immortal heights of fame.
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19th April 2014
Contest: Your Favorite Artist
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Placing: 6th
The beginning of the world was a whispered verse,
In a cosmic silence where stars barely dared to flicker,
All that exists in the world was created by poetry:
Gods and myths, legends and religions,
Morality and politics, ideologies and history,
Psychology and literature, art and culture, science and the infinite.
In a primordial morning, the word was born from chaos,
A song of creation, a symphony of existence,
And from that verse, the universe began to unfold,
Like a canvas upon which the dreams of gods are painted.
Gods, sculpted from stanzas, descended from the heavens,
With thunder and lightning, they shaped the earth,
Legends took form in the murmurs of leaves,
And religions were woven from prayers and hopes.
Morality bloomed in the heart of humanity,
A poetry of justice, of good and evil,
Politics, a theater of ambitions and dreams,
Ideologies, verses of change and revolution.
History, a ballad of time, where heroes are born and die,
Psychology, a sonnet of the mind, of hidden thoughts,
Literature, an ocean of metaphors, where souls are lost and found,
Art, a dance of colors and shapes, the echo of an unwritten poem.
Culture, an ode to the collective spirit,
Science, an epic of knowledge, of curiosity,
And thus, everything returns to poetry,
For in the beginning was poetry, and in the end, it shall remain.
We wander through life, carrying within us this melancholic magic,
Each thought, each dream, a verse in the universal symphony,
And in the silence between heartbeats, we listen,
To the echo of the primordial poetry, reminding us,
That we are part of an eternal song, an endless dream.
O dark thing behind me,
So close, yes, so near that I can see.
Wherever I go, there you are.
Not allowing me to get very far.
Stupidly, I pretend I don't see you,
But silly me, there you are in full view.
Sometimes you're on my left or right side.
It's funny, but when I look back, you still reside.
In the dark, slowly plays the piano,
A melancholic blues song that leaves the heart sallow.
Certainly, this is why I wallow in my woes.
Darkness begets darkness, I suppose.
When the luminescent light shines,
There you are, the darkness that binds.
Hiding in a dark, sullen place,
Photophobia is heightened, now feeding disgrace.
Bound to a past, whether short or long ago,
Oh, how light still increases the shadow.
So, the question remains,
As darkness looms over my brain:
Will I embrace the light and be set free?
Or will I follow the shadow that clings to me?
When amidst broken equals, we approved,
Ere a freed grain of nomadic sand slipped,
Melancholic surrendered, whole reproved,
Monitor the saved life single and stripped.
Two separate paths once joined normally,
One courses happiness, opposite naught,
Depraved, unprincipled, lived lukewarmly,
Blossomed languishes, internally fraught.
Provocative commencement surefire fade,
Arrangements, invites, sent cancellations,
Heartbreaking embattles a soul betrayed,
Evoke mother's "time out", do causations.
Solely talks like being ere his gravestone,
Passersby ask he says, "Gauging my own."
It's raining again, grey neon skies,
washing away suppressed surfaces,
to reveal unhealed wounds,
to scars the eyes cannot see
sometimes they bleed.
Some say words heal,
but I resist to express them,
because I'm afraid of my vulnerabilities,
anxious about tears I've never cried.
You only see the smile,
no one remembers that naive boy,
waiting at the window
for the shepherd who forgot his flock,
and he was no black sheep
if only I could reach him now
so he would not grow up like he did not belong,
stop searching for something,
he did not know how to find.
Stop composing that melancholic symphony,
recycling emotions, he did not understand,
I would tune his piano keys,
repair his violin's broken strings,
but
there are too many silent secrets,
blood stained walls will never reveal.
You left me behind,
with an empty toy box,
taking with you childhood hopes,
so ensued a vacuum of darkness -
sucking me deeper into confusion.
I remember watching you walk away,
along a path of overgrown weeds.
If it was not for the gift of mum's marbles,
I would not have laid an alternative path,
creating my protective bubble,
so I could float away, from all the troubles
until I lost them too.
Tell me father,
how was I to become a man?
You pushed me upon my knees,
like a cherry blossom in the wind.
A victim of your sins,
struggling to rise in adolescence,
I kept faith in the path of marble,
grateful for the guidance of my bubble.
After years of silence
upon your final sighs,
watching you die without words,
tears exploded for a stranger,
forgiving broken promises,
forgetting your crimes -
cursing stubbornness and bitterness,
thinking maybe it was me,
not just you
questions that will never be answered.
Today I stand before your bed of marble,
no need for a bubble, I feel no emotions.
After all I am a product of my childhood,
and you were a result of your own.
Silent One
18 August 2019
Holding her head high
with a resolute look;
possessing dauntless courage and wisdom,
She never feels subservient.
The emerging modern woman
fabricates her own traits,
by obliterating the customs
of engulfing in murk named ignorance;
and suppresses the routine
of living a melancholic life.
******
This is the translation of a verse from Mahakavi Bharathiyar's poem "MODERN WOMAN". He envisaged Modern Woman as a leader, law maker, savior and an independent person. Women were treated as domestic slaves in ancient India and his writings kindled women empowerment and gender equality. Remembering him on his death anniversary(Sep -11)
The original poem was written by Bharathiyar, one of the greatest Indian poets.It was written in Tamil. I am an ardent fan of him. He died so young(39).
He was fluent in many languages including Bengali, Hindi, Sanskrit, Kuuch, French and English.
Wikipedia:
Subramania Bharati (11 December 1882–11 September 1921) was an Indian writer, poet and journalist, and Indian independence activist and social reformer from Tamil Nadu. Popularly known as "Mahakavi Bharati", he was a pioneer of modern Tamil poetry and is considered one of the greatest Tamil literary figures of all time. His numerous works were fiery songs kindling patriotism and nationalism during the Indian Independence movement.
Too often, I fell in love with you, like falling asleep—slowly, then all at once,
my heart warms every time I look at you, my gaze lingers,
every time you walk past, now I find myself always remembering you,
all the love songs and late-night scenarios are covered with thoughts of you.
Yet I wonder, am I helplessly in love, or is it just a fleeting phase?
I lose myself in the magic of moments when our hearts seem to touch in silence,
in every smile, in every gesture, I seek answers in the echoes of my heart,
a melancholic magic intertwines with the desires and hopes that haunt me.
I try to decipher the mystery between us, to understand if our connection is real,
or just a beautiful illusion that will fade in the morning light, like an ephemeral dream.
But every time you think of me, I feel time stop,
and in that infinite moment, I am caught between the desire to love and the fear of losing.
So I let myself be carried by the wave of emotions, by the magic that unites us in silence,
for even if it's just a fleeting moment, it's a moment full of magic and light.
And perhaps, in this journey of the heart, I will find the answer I seek,
an answer that will bring me peace and reveal the true essence of love.
Line of enquiry:
“God within me is the enjoyer of the aroma
As also this dopamine boosting flavour I taste
I surrender all pleasures to the dweller of my heart
Breath by breath thus that my soul presence be chaste”
When ego controls a soul's mortal direction,
some remain asleep without a spiritual connection.
I count my blessings upon dawn's resurrection,
as an orchestra of robins compose with affection.
But curse of Seasonal Affective Disorder infliction
leaves a heart feeling melancholic in rejection.
Pills can take time to ease hormonal dejection,
so a tongue is mute when mirrors show dull reflection.
Some turn to the universe in times of retrospection.
Some prostrate in faith through silent genuflection
Some seek nature or vitamins to aid meditation.
Some clear angst through powers of intellection.
There's a sacred solace in morning contemplation,
soothed through the aroma of dark elixir elation.
Intense notes with sweet tones to relax abjection.
Each sip of potion is a symphony of perfection.
A clay chalice acting as a vessel for protection,
holding liquid nectar of your desired selection.
Awakening senses to transmute a mind's complexion,
igniting your spirit with wings of phoenix projection.
Toxic thoughts plagued from internal interjection,
now flow in smooth positive harmonic introspection.
In a brief existence a heart struggles from imperfection.
Brewed philosophies are a bridge to divine intervention.
New born baby was tiny and tender
A beauty to behold!
It had soft silky skin and sported a sweet smile
Family loved it very much
All were euphoric at its birth
Enamoured by it's beauty,
huge hands came
snatched it and
walked away
Hard hands hurt the new born.
Family watched helplessly
Later throwing it on pathway,
Hands walked off
Hurrying humans crushed the little one again and again
Mindlessly walking mighty muddy feet mashed it mercilessly
Sharp spiked slippers stamped on it pricking and scratching
Thud, thump, thwack stomp, scratch
Blow after blow
Miserable, melancholic, disconsolate, doleful, distressed
new born baby was lying helplessly on the path
Early morning sweeper came with
sharp spiked broom swiftly sweeping
gathered it and dumped it along with other garbage
Garbage truck took the new born child away and
BURNT IT ALIVE
A mute life met a miserable death
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Note: New born baby refers to a fresh bloomed flower.
Plucked flower is still alive, feels pain.
Even insects in ground feel pain.
Treat all forms of life as you would treat humans.
NA in Break My Heart, Why Don't Cha by Edward Ibeh
4th Feb 2021
Coffee and skimmed milk
Fortifying supplements gulped;
Morning hit parade
Fragrant scented dawn
Plumeria flower burst;
Yellow and pink and white wows!
Melancholic me
Stripping sad self;
Indulging irks I...
By and by
We get to then;
Cremated ashes
Be nothing
Do nothing;
Love something
Sensorial rapture
One flinging moment;
The fatal finale
Skyscraper plot ratio
Builders in cahoots;
Pricey real estate
And in the end
Death rewards all;
Beyond insignificance
Truth is bitter
Gall to the body;
Phoenix to the soul
Moments offer
Magic and mystery;
Do you believe
Timeless
Rapture;
Sublime now
Leon Enriquez
14 May 2014
Singapore