Long Music Poems
Long Music Poems. Below are the most popular long Music by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Music poems by poem length and keyword.
When will I get this back
is it far too late
I already stepped on the crack,
now I'm, far too off the map-
Sometimes I wish it were forever,
others, I ponder and regret
but it's a rotten apple, it's spoiled inside
but the outside hasn't been touched yet
Chorus
So hello immortality,
I've quite missed my best friend
you've been gone for too long now
and now it starts again
again when everything rising up
left everyone in despair,
I promise to reject that absence,
cause i'm coming back for good and again
Here I stand again now,
revolver glued to my hand,
society calls, and I repent
this music stays alive again
I wait for the day it's over
I wait for the day it's the end
But unaware, I abide the death
But my timeless meanings occur again
Chorus Repeat*
In her shadow, I feel the presence of a doubt – while in His presence, I know that I’ve discovered the light of One who casts all shadows out. - by poet
In her shadow, I see the pain,
Pouring out darkness, silence, rain
Sometimes she can rage, a hurricane,
But, mostly, she’s still – much the same,
As the gentlest tear, falling softly, to claim
The hesitant heart, the softest of thoughts.
In her shadow, I see the fear,
Risking, trembling, haunting, sincere
Fading beneath the lashes, so real
But, quietly, she leaves a song of hope,
Murmuring beautiful wherever she goes,
Mostly the blessings, always composed.
In her shadow, I see the grey,
Clouds moving restfully, stars sighing,
Glistening softly on the night’s skies,
But, mostly, she’s softest blue,
The hue of melancholy, pure,
Testing the waters of twilight truth.
In her shadow, I see the music,
Playing – she’s dancing, a silhouette,
Without exception, she’s the lissome quest,
But, what my heart and soul regret,
It’s the times when we should reflect,
On the music that is her voice, her flesh.
In her shadow, I see the prayers she’s prayed,
Sometimes in silence or in the voice of praise,
Prayers meant for the One who is our soul’s Savior,
The only One who can ever truly answer,
With words of solace, His word – our solution,
The friend of this heart – in His light, I uncover…
Her shadow’s hope, the love that can’t die,
Love that will forever abide, a fire on the inside,
Love that silences all pain, restores everything,
Love this alive, is a love that will forever survive,
Love that her shadow will never obscure, never dim,
Because this is the love that comes from the One who has no sin,
The ONE who forgives and gives peace within,
The ONE who knows what we’ve done, all we’ve been,
The ONE who goes before us to make a way for us to come to Him,
The King of Kings, the Everlasting Friend, the HOPE that stills her shadow with the light that comes from His priceless presence!
The desolate wasteland of deprivation traversed
by my jagged life that tried so long so very hard
to smoothen the angularities of the serrated mind,
swirling in the egregious whirlpool of indignation.
Sucked into sordid abyss of despondent delirium,
I searched out for myself a path of passion within,
leading through the pulsating portal to my heart,
not yet frozen in the prolonged winter of despair.
The spring of yearning came with fragrance of fervor,
drifting on the dreamful wings of the sensuous time,
from the flowers of my blooming heart where you flew
like a butterfly creating cadence of surreal symphony.
Harmonized with the mesmeric music of my longing,
enthralled emotions danced on the ripples of rhapsody
that rolled between you and me to entwine us forever,
consecrated the concept of concealed craving called love.
You let it bloom with the floral design of fervent desire,
the patina of silky petals would shine till the end of time.
____________________
September 3, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Contest
These are the long depressing walks
It's the sad songs that talk
The missed opportunities that hold us at fault
Nothing but smiles at birth
You didn't think I'd forget
The most precious angel on this earth
Since I entered this world formally
Then I should be able to smile normally
Looking from an angle and you can't see things clear
Write with an attitude and you can't be sincere
Take a piece of this heart
Blood vessels, veins, continuous pain
sprout and intervene to produce this art
Might see you, me at a different height
the things you do when your wings won't take flight
it seems we're all trying to switch our momentum
Without slowing down to stop
Want to find ways of growing up without the drop
Slaves of tears, surfing the waves of fear
At the end of a journey, we start another journey
Go through ups and downs to enter the after-tourney
These are the long depressing walks
It's the sad songs that talk
The missed opportunities that hold us at fault
"too little time, too many thoughts"
Beneath a sky of velvet, deep and blue,
Where stars like diamonds twinkle, bright and clear,
My heart, a vessel, filled with love for you,
Admires the beauty that you always wear.
Your eyes, like galaxies, vast and unknown,
Reflect the universe, a cosmic sight,
Your laughter, music, sweeter than a tone,
Dispels the darkness, fills my world with light.
And as I gaze upon your radiant face,
A love so pure, so deep, I cannot find,
I'm lost in wonder, filled with such a grace,
To have your love, a treasure of my mind.
So let us journey through this starry night,
And hold each other close, forever bright.
In memory of you and all the beauty I behold.
I will listen to the laughter's and discern which one was yours
I would play the music that I know you would wish to hear
And dance on the same footsteps wearing your shoes
As I float dancing with you just one more time
And when we are done, I will hold your hand
Pull you towards me one more time
And see forever in your eyes
And when tomorrow comes
And it's my turn to dance again with you,
I will flow you to the Milky Way
Where all the stars will look upon us
With coruscation envy
6/29/2020
Poetry Contest: In Loving Memory'
Sponsored By: Regina Riddle
Listen to the heart who knows how to pray
With faith, hope and love that will not dismay.
Listen to the spirit who knows to wait
Pausing to praise the God who did create
Listen to the whisper of His sweet grace
Painting hearts in hues of a kind embrace
Listen to the joy in a child’s laughter
Promising bliss lives in the hereafter
Listen to the music that calms the rain
With comforting hope that slays every pain
Listen to the breath abiding inside
Purring serenity that does reside
Listen to the dance that is like a fire
Shadowing the world with life I admire
Listen to the dream of an aching psalm
Gazing at the stars who apply a balm
Listen to the light who sends gentle rays
Covering hopes with grace that does amaze
Listen to the passion that feeds the soul
Igniting sparks of love to make you whole
Rhyming Couplets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Janice Canerdy
April 24, 2021
In the store, I pick up a globe with a beautiful scene.
On a park bench, a couple is cuddling.
Red ribbons and bows adorn the street lamp next to them.
Christmas lights hung cheerily are encircling a pine.
What might this couple be discussing?
What joy might they feel?
I long for the bliss they seem to share inside that globe.
I shake it, and snow sprinkles down so prettily.
Closing my eyes, I hold the globe and shake it again,
seeing the scene again in my mind’s eye.
Then I open my eyes; I’m inside the globe!
Music of Christmas from somewhere is playing:
“But as long as you love me so, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”
There’s a stranger at my side; he is dark and handsome.
His fingers are twining in and out with mine.
No words are needed; this is the language of love I adore.
I am youthful again, feeling fresh as the crisp winter air,
stirring with dreams and reveling in romance.
This feeling – how long can it last?
I’m stuck inside the Christmas globe.
Should I want to get out?
Suddenly snow is drifting down on me and the wonderful man.
Some entity outside our sphere has found the Christmas globe.
It feels like my whole world is shaking,
but it matches the quivering deep in my soul,
and I know that
I do not want out.
Dec. 1, 2019 for Bobby May's Stuck in a Christmas Globe Poetry Contest
1
We say the word, “mental”,
like we would spit.
But there are no pills
for waking dreams;
the pills that we
could only take in dreams
to take us to another place
as yet imagined
as everything the tortured soul
could conjure.
And perhaps we are so strong
the torture
is our heartbeat.
The waking dreams
like baseball bats
might beat us
into ditches
of self-loathing,
then lie with us
the way dark friends would do
and tell us there is comfort
in familiar suffering.
We can touch the mental
like a weed
and treat it
with the swipe of energy
that only comes
when arms react
to smite the one
that would threaten them.
2
All things come to those who wait,
the adage goes
and so we do
as we are told
and hope there is trust
in the world.
But as we
twiddle thumbs
and scratch our names in wood
that never was a tree
we are the silent ones:
the kids of parents
who imagined
that what they'd heard
and spoken and done--
the slap, the strap--
would do the trick
in place of hearts
that never cared to beat.
3
“Mental Illness”
is the phrase they use
for ignorance; not knowing
what to do
or how to do it.
“I did all I could”, they say
in the face of ruin
and imagine they are right
because the cannot know
responsibility or competence
or caring.
Art is colors on a wall.
Music is notes pounded
on some keys.
God died the day
he was invented
and the children of the living
must now wander
as the spawn of negligence.
We can only hope
that somewhere souls remember
and that through the years
they grow to be an army
to claim what bodies have survived.
4
“F**k you”, I say to beauty
or anything else that passes
for conviction
or truth
or hearts we tell ourselves
that we possess.
Beauty is masturbation.
Love is the perversion
we ejaculate in darkness.
I would be glad
for one true voice
that says that heaven
is at hand
and mean the painted streets
as gray as any dawn
we'll ever see
is all we can expect.
Tell me one good cup of coffee
is Nirvana
and I'll drink it
and be thankful
to be free
of chains that bound me
to the rock of longing.
We paddle through small talk,
I like her, she has style.
I imagine we have a history together
back in an old movie that I have yet to see.
I begin to construct a lost and anecdotal life.
In another place we’re a vaudeville act
wisecracking between meal tickets.
Our home, a trunk covered in Midwest decals.
We share the occasional Spam sandwich,
theater gossip and sleaze; we cuddle
as we trundle along
long defunct rail tracks.
We date in elevators,
make out in a battered Oldsmobile.
In Bangkok, we share a ride in a Tuk-Tuk
careening down narrow streets.
On any sidewalk, we meet regularly
as reflections in windowpanes.
Today you’ve gone to Guatemala
to fight for a right.
Marimba music plays
as you climb up my spine.
Time now to rent more space
outside these traveling dreams.