Long Mysterylife Poems
Long Mysterylife Poems. Below are the most popular long Mysterylife by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mysterylife poems by poem length and keyword.
My life cant be helped but still strike a pose
punch you in the face call for a second dose
i got so much ice hell just frooze
light a fire up under all your noses
im the satanic moses
i dont mean to bost
i dont mean to breag
but im no one to upstage
taste the bullets tang
flowing out your brain
i just blew your mind
you couldn't acomplish bye sneezing 20 times
more lyrical content than 10 of your rhymes
i love to drink hienikens
but what i need is some wights and vitamins
staggering in the door styfiling
piss on anyone who starts tryfalling
hyperventilating levitating
inceneration in creation
Perspective regeneration
do drugs spinal fluid draining
consequences for my consuisness
is like pistil wippin and infant
im rhaspodys presentment
this is my forge
were i can rhyme words like orange
can hold it to them
with my stick of plutonium
your full of bolognium
you are the phoney one
truth is im not trying
my mind is so vulpine
my thoughts are full of crime
i love sending you jerks on trips
im just so Omphaloskepsis
you jerk im the mad scientist
i handle my own buisness
screw all the risk
im not afaid to pop off with a lisp
i bet you jsut wish
yhou were in my position
dammit im a calamity
so damage it even affecded me
wreckognize me i got the spotlight fee
tidiuos incension with a surgons persicion
wording it perfectly is my mission
murdering the masses singlehandedly
sick enough get you fathoming
my phantom wieght ravaging
the pedestrians cranium content
hell is were i was sent
screw satan im a tyrant
never call it quits
to hell with the roof the house ill lift
i got 100 sleeves and more tricks
i have no hook i have syllables
silly cannibles and hannible
im no man im a machine
Astraly beamed to be
a enginering mcee
wizard of oz with my words
docs cut me up im a lost cuaze
were doing science pass the guaze
arjay is half machine analizing
my prognosis is im ever rising
diagnostic check weapons to wreck
i have no guns i got my tounge
slaying beasts and feeling numb
my heart is gone to puns
luaghing at people grappiling
my concept i went timetraviling
my life story were its unraveling
Form:
May 8, 2006 - Monday
i have forgiven you and this is why
Tearing at my flesh you hesitate none, at the taste of my blood you dig deeper into
my skin, the bitterness feeds your corruptness, the terror renders me to a
stagnate state, the darkening haze which you enticed to surround me will clear, I
will battle and struggle until this pollution around me is nothing but a distant
memory behind me, I no longer wish to hate you, I only want to find you and tell
you even though my life misses a beat every day I wake, I still exist, and when I do
locate you do not fear I will embrace you kindly and let you know something
bigger than the story of how I came to despise you in the first place has offered
me peace, the scheme of life has revealed to me an impossible dream as a
tangible reality, the sacrifice, the compassion, the traits of humanity which play
the role of outcast in this modern society, though they go unnoticed they are still
there, we idolize the violence we put destruction on pedestal, we claim to be self-
righteous when indeed we are more self-indulgent nation, we accept despair as
a curse but if we had no pain we would have no appreciation for life and the
pleasures it brings to each beholder, as the seasons change in our journey to
the end we either grow older and realize there is no coincidence coz we all play
a role which affects anothers pathway or we turn colder with age and still without
knowing it we are serving our fate not because of destiny but because our own
choices we are completing a plan that has been designed by human nature, and the
path i haven chosen to follow is forgiveness, though i may not be able to forget i
can let go
Form:
'Twas a timeless and starless era of dense obscurity.
But there! a self-perpetuating luminary--the deity:
Being of old, the first around.
No one knows his age... those numbers abound.
His name subdivides into many.
He can be called by any.
This entity subsisted when nothingness was.
Those infallible feet trod elsewhere made not of mass.
Thunderous lighting flashes he emitted amongst the black void--
the boundless space which was devoid
of the natural lamps now in the heavens--
That sky, base of his majestic havens.
This infinite Universe...his realm,
and it's inhabitants, for ever whelm.
The GOD nearest ministers--Angels, Seraphs, and Cherubim
execute his will verbatim.
These celestial citizens reflect the Omnipotent's refulgency
which allows their physiognomies to remain in juvenescence,
'cause they are the Patriarch's offspring--
Spawns of the King of Kings.
The Matrix of Life molded them and respired in those nostrils immortality.
Personal witnesses are they of his unique ability
as the Creator and Sovereign,
whom decievest not, nor feign.
Thier kindled eyes contemplates the magnificent Physique of Jewel--
The Source of Life which radiates life's fuel--
The Energy animating all living creatures
from since the moment he formed their features.
That Glory Supreme reverberates an elegant nimbus with spectrum,
thereof, the resemblance of his glow pierces the translucent city of gold and gems and
electrum.
O' even earth and its plenitude are his monuments--
Planet rich with elemental ornaments.
'Tis him and he alone...the Genesis of all.
So praise and gratitude to the most colossal!
Long years back
In a town of brats,
There lived a rich man
With lots of wealth in his can.
He was an architect by occupation
Did all his work with a lot of dedication,
One day of his life took a sharp turn
And he got married to a girl of different Vern.
His wife was very clever by nature
Always tried to be diplomatic and in his favor,
He loved his wife a lot
And was always to sacrifice everything in the pot.
But his wife was always behind his money
Didn’t ever love him and made him happy,
She was always of demanding intellect
So was her husband always ready to get.
These all drama didn’t last for much time
And one day the man discovered his wife’s love for avarice,
For all of these time being
The wife was busy in planning a conspiracy for her wing
She planned a serious murder.
With the help of her female waiter
They both negotiated to share equal amount of money,
Soon after the mission would have been accomplished successfully.
Soon the black night arrived,
When they both were ready to mite.
However the waitress was always loyal to her master,
And had already informed him about their planner.
This took a great twist in the wife’s life story,
And her husband was already prepared with the backup of twenty.
As soon as his wife was going to insert the dagger in his neck,
When he was deep asleep acting like a peck.
A group of policemen soon arrived to the place where all of these happened,
To catch hold of the convict carrying on with her conspiracy wedent.
She was then sentenced to lifetime imprisonment as ever,
And the man lived his life happily forever.
You're only there when you need me
Hope is hanging by a thread
Waiting for inclusion
Or am I imagining it in my head
Waiting for an answer
Your voice I never hear
Still I sit by
And wait...abandonment is my worst fear
You know this about me
But still you sit idly by
Watching my body squirm
With every ploy that I try
Fear is a sickness
Not a state of mind
I sit here and wonder
Why I need you in my life
There is something about you
You captured my loyalty
Still waiting for you to notice
My abandoned soul as it screams
The power that you have
Is only when I give
So closing my eyes now
And in my mind I try to live
It’s an unrealistic portrayal
My life is tied in knots
Trying to figure out where the rope ends
Without getting caught
It’s a never ending battle
Of a good and evil plan
Tiptoeing through disaster
Still reaching for your hand
Who will actually be there?
When my soul finally implodes
Rewinding through the genocide
Of a life that no one really knows
You sit there and watch
This like a movie on a screen
Relaxing in your easy chair
Wondering if it’s a dream…..
My life is not a movie
Or a something in your mind
Why can’t you ever hear me
As I scream on the inside
Facing the brutal truth
It breaks my bleeding heart
But I know it’s the only way
To mend these deep everlasting scars
So I face the truth without you
You were never really there
A figment of my imagination
Sitting in fates nonexistent chair
Form:
Mask of Insanity July 24, 2011
Masks are a masquerade between what’s real and things hidden behind them.
Disguising one’s life behind ornate masks chances the fantasy and real mixing
confusing the two. Mask can be beautiful and filled with dreams brought to life.
What, when the mask becomes you and you the mask. Is this the mask of insanity?
I wonder did I just say that out loud or was I thinking it? Why are people looking at
me? Maybe they know I’m wearing a mask or maybe it slipped. I know someone
called out to me; no I guess no one is there. I am nobody, nothing at all. Have I
now gone mad? I try to check my sanity as fear creeps up on me hidden behind my
life full of many masks, confused and unsure; what mask if any am I wearing?
People and life continue to change around me. Changing mask often desperate to fit
yet filled with screams, tears, and fear more often. Only these masks can hide such
horror and mirror the fantasy from within.
Insanity at times just under my mask waiting to expose me for the world to see! A
masquerade of mask creating a fantasy filled life kept me from losing my mind. Being
safe behind these mask left me not knowing who I am. Always in life I wore a mask
not knowing what to do, now afraid I may be insane.
Life has always hurt and distrust is all I know as pain and sorrow filled my heart and
soul. I put on a mask to escape, to live and fit in. Now I wonder is this another mask
or am I Insane?
Debbie Knapp
If 2012 prophesies prove true
And Earth’s life cycles again renew
Mysteries of man will be more than a few
Challenges may await future life forms
With intellects far surpassing our norm
Created to live without doing harm
For if they decipher man’s history
What will they make of our great mystery
The one we refer to as bigotry
Black labs, gold retrievers live side by side
Wild stallions and mustangs on prairies ride
Both red ants and black, free to colonize
Man’s refusal to accept differences
To wiser beings may make no sense
What in man’s makeup can give it credence?
Earth’s subsequent creatures may reproduce
Not needing two sexes to call a truce
So mating rituals may be pursued
A single-sex species might not comprehend
Why women workers were paid less than men
And why “free speech” was not just a given
Questions would most certainly arise
How a believer in God denies
Rights to free worship without compromise
And how could so many wars be waged
Evoking God’s name in death-march crusades
With killing, torturing in every age
Indeed such mysteries in man’s history
Would leave a perplexing legacy
Sure to confound any new species
New cultures may thrive on diversity
Of religion and genealogy
And speak of our inferiority
Note: This is dedicated to Christopher Higgins whose poems about prejudice inspire readers
to do more than just think about one of the greatest ills in our society.
This is the number that some men dread, and some void
From the intercourse of life. But I, indelibly now, reclaim
Its place in universal order and the sweet conceit of pride
For C13 was the boudoir where our bodies did once flame
Like the poincianna's bloom. Evening was my special time
And the waiting for your knock on the door; O, your smile
Was my hibiscus in that room, your eyes the rose sublime
And your body my lignum vitae, rare, rich and softly mild.
Thirteen is a flower garden to me ... fresh beauty in a seed
And a thousand fruiting trees to come from it, I suckled
The morning glory of your tongue, felt you fed in me a need
For the glory of a seed. From our skin the water trickled
Irrigating dreams of generations to come, and then a drought
Sudden and fierce, and then my sadness through the years
To search for you, in school-less days, everywhere about
To make you grow rich again in the pasture of my tears
And some the number would blame for all the hapless things
But I, my faith to heaven clings, and honor Him for purposes
Unseen, for my life is not an accident, but ever love springs
To make me what I am; our life is as heaven sweet disposes
And in all things I learn to trust and to wait, for the seasons
Of the flowers may go, but his promise like a rainbow remains
My life is beyond mere chance, our love above human reasons
And C13 stays as the cloud that brings sweet summer rains.
There are harmless ghosts, who wander, seeming to seek their past
as though they’re looking for themselves or a life that didn’t last.
You may just get a glimpse of her as she wanders in your way.
There’s no need to fear nor run. If she sees you, she won’t stay.
But there is another kind of ghost and such was Katy Batt.
She was feisty and vicious when alive, a regular hellcat.
Alive she was angered by John Bell, on her deathbed vowed to haunt him.
True to her promise, all his life she managed to torment him.
She came back as a poltergeist, threw objects at his head.
She pinched his nose and stopped his breath, and truly wanted him dead.
Andrew Jackson was President; he heard of Kate Batt and her tricks.
He called on John and Kate was there to put him in a fix.
She glued his wagon to the ground so fast no team could move it.
She wanted full credit for John’s trials and took this way to prove it.
When Jackson cried “It is the witch,” the wagon wheels came free.
They heard then an unearthly screech. It came from a nearby tree.
Jackson and party stayed the night but the President had no rest.
She came in to pinch and poke him, pull the blanket from his chest.
John Bell died from poison administered it’s said by Kate Batt.
We hope that now he’s free from her, wherever he is at.
For Carolyn and John's contest "Ghosts" Won no. 4
I am born in this world, but I know not why;
Yet is a plan of mystery, a project in the mind of God.
He is holy and I ought to be holy,
I am His property, and He's my Eternal Designer,
He hath made me in His Image, and I ought to reflect His,
He hath made the world for me, and I ought to live for Him,
He's the ONE dwelt awhile on earth in flesh,
And I ought to know this mystery in which my credits lie.
His plan of redemption is the grand project,
And my life for Him ought to be my credits.
But where do I stand with my'credits'?
I have no virtues on my part as engulfed in desires,
I dream on earthly 'values' gripped in fear,
I lay projects on my own; but crumpled in debits.
I reap failures with my self-styled ideosyncracies,
For I deny the Truth of the Eternal Engineer.
How can I earn credits if I incline myself to myself,
And forget the statutes of the Maker of the Life Project?
My pains will turn joy if I add my projects to my credits,
My failures will turn success if I do my projects without debits.
What if my projects are done in selfish motive?
So, here lies the way to escape debits without Self, but with HIM.