Long Mortification Poems
Long Mortification Poems. Below are the most popular long Mortification by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mortification poems by poem length and keyword.
I have no Lord!
I'm in no God!
Oh, I'm the punishment of the opened pains,
the cursed in the blessed world for the bragging
here in the inn of heart
the holy wine glass
filled with burning coal;
I drink it ravishingly as well as ravenously
I'm going to die
death kisses me mirthfully
I regain the life of humiliation
Oh, no mortification of thought
cuddling me
here I'm the me, Sin Refugee
wandering port to city
known to unknowingly
no home I make
on the dew of arum leaf
shining more than rising sun
but after a while much burn
I'm in the burned heart
burning odour I'm in the ghost
likely most living in death
-27/11/19 CTG, BD
Protesting The Moment
Illuminating the night by the light of a bonfire
Captivating the insight before one’s mind begins to tire
Emigrating out of fright as one’s own government becomes a liar
Abdicating all your rights as they burn your life upon the pyre
Procession of a line for food that western lives refuse to see
Intercession of a brooding mood that cannot just let it be
Regressions of emotion that seem to conclude as they’re pleading for their dreams
Confessions of the hungry brood as they’re longing to be set free
Mortification at the living standards of the new elite
Fortification of the mind that’s lagging behind and dragging its existential feet
Unco-ordination of the refined lauding over the times at the banal meet and greet
Insubordination of the oppressed as they will not admit defeat
Protestation of a single cause that someone wants to shed light on
Congregation of the grand applause as they continue to coalesce and fight from
Altercation that needs to be paused as the twisted take strange delight upon
Amputation of the limb that’s soaked in gin as it all lingers a little too long
Unbelievable passages of time that evade fate
Inconceivable ravages of decline that simply will not wait
Irretrievable messages inclined to make the population subjugate
To imperceivable sentences refined to ensure the next topic to debate
The End copyright Elizabeth Moroz
Nothing compares to the stillness of the soul.
Remain dignified
even within the spiral of desolation.
Remain upright
before the arrogance of opulence.
Life,
an hourglass filled with illusions.
The celestial spark
is lashed by the insolence
of fleeting vanities
idolized by humankind,
whenever it strays
from the love of the Grand Architect.
To sanctify goodness
is to divert the apostles of chaos
from the roads of our fate.
One existence
to purify myself
within the darkness of my weaknesses.
I know all my transgressions.
I was born guilty,
but I shall depart innocent.
I fight my demons each day
with the same self-denial.
I seek happiness
in mortification,
like a sacrificial lamb.
Nothing compares
to harmony and serenity.
Failures
have taught me to savor
the pleasures of silence.
My tormented mind
consumes the hatred of my enemies
like a hard drug.
I have but one journey
through this purgatory.
My penance
has not yet begun.
I’ve stopped
chasing after
the illusions of this world
fertile in decadence.
Imperfect,
thus dissatisfied
since the womb
of the one who gave me life.
I am
the sanctuary
of paradoxes
and countless contradictions.
I sustain
a battered shell
destined to die and decay.
I am saddened to have been born,
yet I cling to life
like the terminally ill in palliative care.
I give thanks
to the universal force
for granting me its mercy.
I’ve traveled far
to read
the silences
of human beings.
In my dreams,
my ethereal body
wanders freely
across distant continents.
I hate the Reaper,
that silent witch
who will keep me
from knowing
every country
on this planet.
A woman who lost everything she owns stands there
by the waterfront where the waves beat upon the shore.
The woman-transformed-***** is a prisoner of war
being carried to the foreign land of an enemy general
across the sea; she cries ceaselessly tears in her eyes
for the unbearable sorrow, she barks fiercely in intolerable anger.
In the eyes of the woman who gazes up
the top of heaven from the bottom of the deepest sea.
She sees the last images of her blood-stained husband,
her dear sons and daughters, died in agony.
For her husband, she shared everything she owned;
for her children, she cradled and lulled them in her bosom to raise—
except for one son who was abandoned in the field at the time of his infancy because of an oracular ill omen.
All these sorrows are unwanted bitter memories to recall, crueler than
the cruelest fate for a woman to undergo.
Now, she climbs higher up the mast
to appeal to her deep inner heart’s mortification;
to let others see her transmuted figure, an ugly *****,
her annoying bark reaches to the furthest point of the sea.
Is Amphitrite heard her heartrending cry?
For the ship lists by the billow Poseidon rises,
alas, but then, she loses her balance and falls
to the deck vomiting blood, she ends her pathetic life;
this *****’s resentment tossed by the raging waves,
at the end, was thrown upon the shore and became a standing rock.
The rock beckons the ships that pass the straits to tell her grudge,
but to the heedless seafarers’ ears it sounds like the mere surges
that come and hit the rock. However, at times, it sounds
in their ears, like a ***** barking feebly from her bleeding heart
because of all her puppies are taken away;
that’s why, legend says,
the sailors called this rock “the poor *****’s rock.”
Rather than hiding self
behind fine phrases
and flowery words,
isn’t it time to live a life with openheartedness?
If sad and lonely,
cry your heart out to the end.
If life is difficult,
toss on the ground pounding a chest.
If enraged,
let it be flamed fiercely thereby, reducing it to ashes.
If you hate someone, condemn him, curse him and
wish him a miserable death.
While you are doing so, your tear filled eyes are
falling shut to rest your exhausted body,
your long and dark night’s anguish
gradually alleviates to a soothing air of daybreak light,
the flame of your anger loses its intensity under blazing sun.
Your hatred dies out in the layer after layer of soft moonlight.
Although life should be simple,
openhearted and indifferent, why are people,
carrying mortification, while deceiving themselves?
Living life disguised with clumsy make-up
as if a crudely painted face of a breathless body
laying in the coffin decorated with a bouquet of lifeless flowers.
A journey rendered, framed, and set
as plaster comic book panels.
Flip through the Way of Sorrows.
Peruse condemnation to sepulchre.
No matter the church, I found and compared
each episode through ten-year-old eyes
that scrutinized every detail.
Digested the mechanics of suffering.
These fourteen were my first gallery.
A restated traffic jam of nudity and frozen
sadism that floated above me as priests spoke
of love, faith and doing unto others.
I recognized violence when I saw it, the cruel
slapstick in the mortification of the flesh.
Thorn in brow, nail in palm, scourge on back.
Gladiatorial voyeurism. Masked in reflection.
The world paid attention to this muscle inside my skull.
It became famous, it became controversial.
It says something outrageous, something unskeptical.
It speaks for what is right,
It speaks what's on our mind.
Sometimes it's like a piece of cotton candy,melts inside my mouth.
So sweet , so delicious,it tickles my throat through my heart.
Sometimes it becomes a sharp blade,
Slashing my flesh 'til I break down and die.
This little muscle seem so strong,
It can break the hardest steel,
It can create a ball of fire.
It can move someone on top,
It can sweep someone in dust.
This one can overruled you,
Has the power to control all of you.
It can separate people in different place.
It puts division, a boundaries for race.
It separates people according to its language.
It dictates freedom, it declares war.
It give some a reputation,
It delivers someone to mortification.
This little muscle inside your head,
It must be handled without ego.
'Cos we don't know where it can lead you.
** 6th place Winner in PD's Contest: Any poem # 20**
Love lets you makes mistakes
Without leaving you
Immersed in the pool of regrets,
Swallowing back tears and remembering
The sins that colored your heart
Hard and darkened your dreams
So they were flooded with quiet details,
Elements like fear and sorrow, pain and guilt,
Shame that wouldn’t let you go,
Free from the humiliation, the disgrace
The bumbling embarrassment
And the indignity of doubt that brings with it…
Mortification
Love whispers hope into your suspicions,
Reminds you that grace is ever with you,
Erasing the panic, the anxiety, the apprehensions
With a soothing tenderness, affection
Peace that respects your wishes,
Lasts in the heart so that there is assurance
And blessings so alive they sing to the spirit,
Whisper serenity into the soul and make the bitter
Into beautiful, the darkness into the dawn,
The melancholy into the brightest hope,
Stirring faith that abides so you know…
Love like this is eternal and more beautiful
Than any love you’ve ever known
This is a love that quiets every wrong,
Promises to go on… even when there is doubt,
Promises to breathe hope through the winds
Soothing winds, on wings of God’s feathery light,
His reassurance – inspiration – promise…
Like a song in the wind, silencing the fear
Reminding hearts to hear the beautiful
In a tear, in a smile, in a heart
Who believes in this music from heaven,
The silence, the flow, the heartfelt
Wonder blowing in the wind, wandering
Through the spirit, singing gently,
Soothing away the past with a whisper
Flowing into the heart where there is faith
A knowing that this love is alive and it abides
Inside the soul who knows Him, the One
Who makes a way for the stars and moon,
Who sends the angels to erase the night,
Who reflects the peace in the morning
With love that is far brighter than any sunlight
His peace glows, more alive than any hope
His love is the greatest joy every known to us
I’m so thankful to know Him, the One who holds
The moon and stars and reaches beyond the sun
To take hold of my hand, pouring out a love into me
That silences the past and replaces doubt with victory!
It’s cold.
It’s cold in my lodes.
It’s cold in my cells.
It’s cold in my lobe.
My ears, blessed with plagued tint; your windmill of everlasting exasperation, pacifying the turmoil beneath my dermis.
Again, again, and again.
The recurring depiction inked onto the dip of my lips, the pink waning into the virtue of my ward.
The tears gash as I attempt to pelt away from the ceaseless predation I reluctantly melt into.
The eyes scan me head to toe; I remain a simple dispute to the contrary of my dearth.
The eyes strip me head to toe; I remain a simple fiction to the turpitude of their obscenity.
The eyes scourge me head to toe; I remain a simple anathema to the excretion of my blasphemy.
The exploited nudity travels beneath my tangible, under my demeaned stance of a humiliated vermin.
Nothing but a figurine carved into flesh.
Nothing but a mannequin scribed into skin.
Their degradation caresses the mortification of my fragility.
And the epithelium of my delicacy probes at me;
I’m not making it to 19.
MIDNIGHT’S BLUE DRESS
Midnight’s blue dress -
modem of her physique,
molded immodestly,
married to monumental
destiny of desires,
elongated as if clinging
to an Amazon warrior.
Blue dress props up
her spectacular breasts,
high and mighty, tinged
with reckless success.
Mortification of the madonna.
Fabrication fraught
with embellishments,
bells and whistles of gold
stitched like chains
into the hem she must wear
in eternity’s flamboyant furnace.
Ferociously blue, lips tremble
and pout, pretending to bleed.
The triple X dress sways
in ebb and flow of the mastery sea,
blowing holes in seasoned captains
who dread the siren’s revenge.
Presidents and dictators fall
at her knees, sliding their beggaries
over velvety weave, thoughtless
to her treachery - they make believe.
Midnight’s blue dress invitation
squashes them all, as
she looks on from the cliff
where eagles ogle their prey.
Ejaculators* best blindfolded as dusk calls.
12/28/2019
Blue Dress Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin
*other than the obvious meaning - to utter suddenly and vehemently