Long Multitude Poems
Long Multitude Poems. Below are the most popular long Multitude by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Multitude poems by poem length and keyword.
Decorating
“But what is real? If you mean those impulses and signals sent by your senses
and which are then interpreted by your brain. Then the real can be anything
your mind desires.”
Morphius.
The Matrix.
When a child opens its eyes
Awareness blossoming
New upon the day
Does it then envision
A clean blank page
To be coloured
To be decorated as it desires
Should all those hues and images
Then be given a name
Yet
What would be
If the child could see
Things that were not the same
In each and every second
These myriad patterns of light
React
To thoughts born from learning
Labelled with a voice which says “this” is
This
And “that” is
That
Yet a blank page emerges
Each and every single day
But written and coloured
By acceptance
In the same new way
But
What if for a moment
You dream
And decorate your world
Differently
What then would the eyes of the liberated
See
Would they see the world
As is
Or see repainted coherency
Or would there be
A moment of birth
Where awareness
Sees through
And beyond reality
And sees with the eyes
of a newly born
Child
A daily place of spirit
Life and light
A spoken place
Where all form
Takes on the form
Of the heavenly blank page
Of light
Where on
Is written
All possibility
And your mind
Decorating
The universe infinitely
Or will mere whim transform
To what it might be
The photons and the fabric of stars
Could we then hold creations dust
In our palms
And with a breath of splendour
Puff beauty into being
Should thought
Become a brush stroke then
Would we sweep and stride
With such a capable hand
The essence of magnificence
A new world
To greet
Our waking eyes
Or is this
What we have come to see
The ballet of light as it settles
Within us
Daily
Some other wonder
Some other hand
Which says
See what I have wrought for you
From the physical tongues of
Eternity
But I know you
People of Earth
And I know the multitude of your dreams
And how
Given the power of your imaginings
You could decorate so diversely
All these things
Which seem now so
Ordinary
Is it but a moment
A second
Of perception
Or a reaction
Predetermined by acceptances
Indoctrination
What where those things
We began to see
When as a new born child
Our eyes first
Opened
Dear Father Abraham,
I Know that Too Much Time has Past, Events Taken, and Choices Made that Forever Changed the Course of History.
I am a Son Not by Birth, but by Adoption, You See I Follow the Teachings of Your Son Yeshua.
A Man Who Came Long Ago, Was Crucified on a Tree between Two Criminals, and was Raised the Third Day, Which Made My Acceptance Possible.
Father I Only ask Now, for without You, I would be destined for an Eternity Separated from God.
The Old Writings State that On That Day You Had Three Visitors, One Whom Resembled The Son of Man, or God Himself.
They Brought Good News that Sarah who had been Barren Till Now Would One Day Have A Son, and You An Heir to Carry On Your Family Name.
Time Passed, and You Both Growing Older with No Fulfillment of the Promise in Sight.
A Choice Was Made to use Hagar as the Possible Vessel for its Fulfillment.
The Result a Beautiful Baby Boy Named Ishmael, Who Grew to be a Wise and Strong Young Man.
All Was Well Till The Fulfillment of Time had Come, and God’s Promise To You and Sarah resulted in a Child also, Who Would be Called Isaac.
Now there exists Two Sons of Abraham, One of Hagar, and the Other Of Sarah, but Both Are Your Seed.
Father Abraham thousands of Years have Passed Now, Since Those Moments In Time, And Much Blood Spilt Pondering the Question Which One is The Rightful Heir?
For Two Great Multitude of People(s) Resulted from Those Choices Made. The Sons Of Ishmael Became the Muslim Race, and the Sons of Isaac Would Become The Israeli or Hebrew.
I Know that as a Gentile I Have No Right to ask, but It was on My Mind.
Looking Back at the Wars Fought, Blood Spilt, Lives Lost, and Time Spent, Between the Descendants of Your Two Sons.
If You Could Go Back, and make Different Choices, Would You?
Is there Any Way To Bridge the Divide?
There are No Easy Answers, Only More Questions.
I Don’t Know if it is Even My Place To Attempt to ask the Question at a Possible Way Forward?
I Only know From the Outside Looking in, that They Are Both Your Sons, and I a Gentile, don’t Know all the issues, or May Never Completely Understand them, or Have Any Possible Answers.
Father I Wonder What Do You Think?
Sincerely,
A Confused Gentile
Author Paul Cumberbatch (July 30, 2020)
The sun rises this morning with its fresh fragrance
Spilling rays of hope, and love everywhere
While the morning looks proudly at me,
And danced away its aged old misery
The smell of hope lingers beyond the shore
And a multitude of pleasure is waiting at my door
The silent music is vibrating in the sand
And the fishermen are singing a merry song
The wind is blowing over the mountain
Speaking to the silent trees
Awake, Awake, Awake
A loud voice resonates,
beckoning them to come to me
Here I am sitting underneath the big cherry tree
With thick branches crisscrossing one another
And angels sitting around covering me on the throne
An infinite story is wrapped up in the tree but only time
can unveil its mystery.
There is not much cherry on the tree as I speak
As one crop is over, another crop comes on
And as soon as it ends, the cherry cycle starts again
I looked clearly between the shrubs
To see if I could phantom what is really going on
But all I could see is radiant skies
glaring at me through the thick cherry bushes
And humming a penitent tune about the big round moon
Today is a special day, and it is different
From any other day, the heat is a little intense
But I feel victory dancing around the bench
We have gone through these stages before
When courage met face to face at my door
My heart was strong, my spirit was deep
And no matter what you do,
you and I could not compete
I could only understand the vessel on the stand
And the vibrating sound of music all over the land
Elated face gathered at the counter to place the final order
I could never understood how you cross through the thick wood
With blades of grass parachuting up to your waist
When the people rise up and become conscious
They will have to drink from the golden cup
The battle is not over the aces
Neither is it over the deck
The battle is over the sexes
I have so much that I want to say to you
I have so much that I want to do for you
You over there and I am sitting here,
We have a lot to share
Come and dine with me
and let me hear your story
Come and dine with me
and share your glory
A shilling or a pound,
a dime or a dollar
It doesn't matter,
Whether liberty or crown
I have to get out of this miserable town
This is not your story, it is my story.
And it is time to publish it.
Hope always wins.
When you speak to an audience, who are you talking to? The people in front of your screen or those trapped in your dreams? More than thirty thousand people are watching you simultaneously and the language that you portrayed is interpreted in many different ways. When you are on screen, you are not speaking to one person; your multitude of words can rest heavily on the soul for those who absorb them.
I don’t know who you are talking to when you are on the screen unless you place me in a private chat room and direct the conversation to my dream; the universe is blending with you and they will tell you what to do; over a million voices have heard you and ten million ears understand you.
When you leave this place, you will be a better man and a better woman, don’t ever take me for granted because I have ninety-nine lives and I have died and risen many times so get ready for the next journey because we are going to break the box office record and then we dance the shimmy.
I saw you on the screen yesterday with a burden on your face; it is not the regular excitement that I used to see, it’s one mounted with fear and anxiety. It was as if you were speaking and thinking of the journey you have to go, but all the reporters on the scene add compliments to the show.
You use a lot of energy to present the news, do the commentary and analyze the prosperity; the ship is waiting in the dock and the passengers and crew are watching the clock, the cameras are rolling, the makeup is on and you must be on the set before the break of Dawn. The story is just unfolding.
When you speak to an audience let them know what you mean, your body language and tone reveal your countenance for the entire day and even a subtle eye movement will show you the way.
When you are speaking to an audience, you must show variation in your tone. If the point is directed to me, let me know through the constant movement of your little finger because the audience is the art of the show.
We are getting ready for the summer “shots” and we are going to give it all that we’ve got, the equipment is on board the crews are rolling in, location scene shots are identified, analyzed and scrutinized. Security arrangements are put in place for you to completed this final phase, the heat is on and the sacrifice has begun and the queen of the sea has landed.
The Silence of War
Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze
Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.
The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal
Another postcard for Historians to write.
Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory
Now a hideous spectre to man’s intervention.
I wait here with Wilf my captain
Waiting for death to find me
The mud beckoning for blood,
The Canal red like the River Sticks
A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.
A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim
Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips
A last haven for my soul to cling
I watch his spirit fly away,
As the words fade from my voice
Like so many others on this day of carnage
Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918
Yet another contribution to this dark harvest,
Another soul for god to tender.
A statistic, a casualty of war,
To be remembered generically
A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings,
Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece
A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust
In the ranks of the dead
Angels count our losses
What dreams did we lose?
What voices were made silent?
What books were never written?
And how many tomorrows gone,
Lost in the darkness of death?
Under this oak tree, fading from memory
A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too
Unspoken truth in unspoken poems
Silent to mortal’s ear
Another casualty of war
A feast of wisdom for angels to keep?
For His words were far too much,
for the hogs of war to stomach.
His poetry made silent by country’s shame,
Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals
Only now, through peace can we learn
The voice of one soldier,
How I pity humanity
For silence is a killer
Democracy, and justice its victim,
And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.
Footnote
On this day November 4th 1918, Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal, 7 days from Sanity
One of England’s Finest War Poets.
September 16 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Mark 7-9
Key Verse – Mark 8:1 In those days the multitude being very great, and having nothing to eat, Jesus called his disciples unto him, and saith unto them, I have compassion on the multitude…
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY SAVIOUR OF GREAT COMPASSION
Lord God, You are my Saviour of great compassion,
washing me by Your holiness’ cleansing
Thank You for forgiving my half-heartedness of shallow praising
I repent from worshipping You in vanity’s enclosing…
To You do I lay my life along Your commandments’ pressing.
Lord God, You are my Saviour of great compassion,
working through me toward spiritual profitability
Thank You for rebuking my lack of dedication midst obvious iniquity
I repent from defiling myself with wickedness’ impurity…
To You do I cast cares that cause my soul’s infirmity.
Lord God, You are my Saviour of great compassion,
wiping me of my filth by Your sanctification
Thank You for purifying my heart against sinfulness and transgression
I repent from breaking my pledge to You because of temptation…
To You do I lay my all with sincere dedication.
Lord God, You are my Saviour of great compassion,
watching me with Your understanding
Thank You for enlightening my mind along Your truth’s leading
I repent from rejecting Your corrections toward my arrogance-bending…
To You do I bring my need for Your gracious attending.
Lord God, You are my Saviour of great compassion,
weakening me of my flesh-powered endurance
Thank You for listening to my prayer, providing for my eternal insurance
I repent from neglecting to prioritize You because of ignorance…
To You do I give my submission, braced by Your assurance.
Lord God, You are my Saviour of great compassion,
winning over me from worldly entanglement
Thank You for securing my freedom against secular humanistic involvement
I repent from seeking enjoyment from temporal, ephemeral allurement…
To You do I surrender my unbelief while clinging to Your promised fulfillment.
Lord God, You are my Saviour of great compassion,
warning me against peace-robbery
Thank You for gripping my commitment by Your miracles’ victory
I repent from offending You with my doubt and worry…
To You do I offer my sacrifice in the ministry for Your glory.
I am just coming off the big stage that was erected for this vibrant age. The energy is still lingering in the ground and the honey bees are still buzzing around; something special took place at united center last night that send the people wild, heaven was cruising with paradise on earth and the people were dancing their hearts out and the world embrace each other close to the midnight hour. Everyone had this catchy rhythm in their feet and the ladies dressed in white looking like young brides some as old as eighty brought back the suffergate movement of the early nineteen century to life. The women were looking smart and happy as they occupy the center of the building and, the whole place resembles congress makeover. Lousi was there staring at the little starlight floating around in the atmosphere; her eyes were fixed on it and her mind was fading with it, what on earth was going on, it was like a party was transpiring on the lawn outside but it was the protesters in the park rumbling with the officer in the dark and the celebration went on and the music rolls on and the speakers enters the stage one by one igniting a thunderbolt across the center and everyone catches on to the fever, some were short and spice, others were long winding and heavy, but it did what it had to do to make the mistress day come true, the celebration mounts with screams and shouts and bickering around and the journalist filled the gap with interview across the floor as the patron called out for more.The momentum continue to build and the multitude in the center begin to chill, I was feeling the energy too but I did not know what to do, and sweat starts oozing out of my flesh and in seconds all my clothes was wet and the energy in the center began to circulate all the way to the gate and the momentum built higher and higher, And when she could not resist it, she came on the stage, the crowd went out of control and flags were waving across the floor and the people kept asking for more, the balloon came down and spread all over the floor and the momentum began to spread like wildfire in the wilderness; keep the momentum going and nurture it with your feeling, keep the momentum going and get some spiritual healing, keep the momentum going and hit the road in a brand new pair of shoe and destiny will tell you what to do.
I was dreading my return to work. There would be a multitude of questions
especially by that sod, Riley. He and I had never gotten along; he was too weird. Death was desolating but an untimely death at the hands of a murderer seemed somehow a tiny bit worse.
I realized with a heartfelt pang that I had mourned until my eyes could not mourn any more. They were so raw already, the damage might be irreparable.
As a kind of glorious consolation Monday was a placid day. The sun was out,
the birds were singing, it felt like the first day of spring; although spring was a
few weeks away. There was a peaceful solitude when I arrived at the office.
The only car in the giant parking lot belonged to my boss, Howard. It was his old red Volvo, a monster car that we had always laughed about when we
were dating. Howard was the best kind of boss, smart, open-minded, friendly,
helpful, a great listener. As a date he had been a dud though.
I like wild boys - bad boys, not nice guys. I have no idea why, but if my adrenaline is not racing, you are not the one for me. Howard’s innocence made him seem dull to me. Yes, I think that was it. He was so quick to flush, inexperienced, I did not want him to know my wild side. I thought
it might jeopardize my job.
I would not mind having a few seconds alone with Howard
this morning. Dull was something I could do after this last week of hell. I raced up the concrete steps. When I reached the glass door my badge did not work. Dhram! I thought maintenance had fixed that.
Howard was in his office alone. I spoke to him briefly, as I could see he was not in a conversational mood, which was odd for him. His eyes were red, so I left. Sometimes work is not the best place to unleash a bunch of grief. When I reached my desk all of my things were gone. Cleared off.
I looked up and saw a giant picture of me and my boyfriend
Spider, on the other side of the room. What the ….? Irritated, I walked over there to get a closer look. Spider had been nothing but trouble lately.
A bright light surrounded me as I approached the painting. An angel was standing in the middle of it. You have said goodbye to Howard now. It is time, she said gently. I nodded. Ready now to take on a new endeavor; my real life. This one had never been what I was looking for anyway.
What would it be like if you lived in paradise, what would it like if you didn’t have to work for the rest of your life? What would it be like if you could travel the world on a speed boat and have breakfast in a luxury car between the stars? The moon would watch over you and the sun would adore you and clouds would protect you.
What would it be like if you walk in the street and greet all the people that you meet, you will tell them a story of how mankind came from glory and how the chipmunk sleep for fifteen hours in the deep and comes out on groundhogs' day to say that Spring is on the way when winter has just begun.
What would it be like if you had another shot at life and get the chance to write the music of your dreams that keeps bubbling up in the stream. Your lyrics would be true and your ex would come back to haunt you and when you go on stage the crowd would adore you. All the people would follow behind you and every town you go the multitude would go with you.
What would it be like if you go to London to see the show and you met King Charles the 3rd at the Wembley stadium door, you will tell him to bring out all the people from the commonwealth and pack the stadium with a solidarity event.
Music is the life of the town, and it will lift mankind sorrows when the temperature falls down, you would tell him to restore Prince Harry to the throne and cover Megan myrtle with a diamond crown; the meeting must be brief, and you must have food galore in street.
The bars and the pubs will be open, and the beauty queens will come riding through the clouds with golden horses and splendid robes. I can see it in living colors, and I wish I could bring it to life’ once in a lifetime this moment is awarded to mankind, and they will never forget it for the rest of their lives.
I have sat down for a very long time to record this magnificent sound. It is the song that I will sing when my dream invites me to come in; the circle will celebrate, and the square will vibrate, and we will read the odyssey and travel through history.
What would it be like if you board the next flight and meet the owl in the middle of the night? There is so much to say, I have to leave the rest for the next day. Destiny is inviting you to join it for supper, what would it be like if you come today, don't delay.
The windows are closing in, and gaps are getting thin, mankind has paid the sacrifice for useless pollution on the surface of the earth and their lungs are filled with dirt.
I look above the benevolent sky and search for the big lie, Fossil Fuels supply eighty four percent of the world’s energy and you want to phase it out in a hurry, what alternative do you have to supply the world with clean energy?
The scientists don’t know this and the chemist cannot prove it but the physicist can narrate it. Their work is outside but the formula is embedded inside and the philosopher is their guide.
Hydrocarbon is lining the throne and natural gas is homeward bound. The coal is floating around in abundance and the oil is shooting through the pipes what the row is about is to bring it to net zero or phase it out?
They come from all over the globe to listen to the multitude shout and have joined the climate change choir and expressing their innate desire. The band is in place and the musicians are on the stage, they have composed the fossil fuel hymn and everybody began to sing.
But the rhythm and the harmony are not right and there is a silent internal fight, the heavens are standing tall and the mountains are rubbing against the wall.
The chief is singing the base and Opec giant has entered the debate and blocked the fossil fuel phasing out scheme and have shattered the green minded countries dream.
What alternatives do you have when the world demand for fossil fuels doubles every twenty years? Why are you in such a hurry when there is no other voice to join the choir.
Climate Change is real and you have got to have continuous negotiation to generate a practical solution to appease your fossil fuel ambition. You must knock off some of the theory and stitch the entire loose edges together.
Carbon emission reduction is on the agenda too, it is causing controversy for me and you and if you put fossil fuel and carbon emission all together the internal combustion will move the engine around the world.
Tomorrow when you meet and start to greet you must come up with a solid plan to moderate carbon emission and fossil fuel demand on the land without causing power outage and fuel shortage around the globe. The row will continue until you figure how to sort it out.