Long Numbness Poems
Long Numbness Poems. Below are the most popular long Numbness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Numbness poems by poem length and keyword.
The mind was an enemy of itself
A weapon forged by its own hands
Every thought a spiral of panic
Every decision a thought out plan
Silence became a blessing when noise is all you've known
It becomes a safe place after a war of chaos
The betrayal of your own thoughts is a tragedy on its own
To not have your own back, in a world against you
Is to have a house not a home
To be surrounded by people, yet still feel alone
A prison of your insecurities
Haunted by the ghost of regrets
Forever lingering in the deepest part of your soul
The mind a vast ocean of dead past selves
Screaming to be heard
Begging to be known
Wailing to be loved
But who could love a mind that's perception of love is non-existent
Fatigue drains the fight from the spirit
Within the mind numbness creeps
Paralysing the mind until it gives in
To a life sectioned by depression
Until the poison of self deprication becomes too much
That you fall into the state of being a zombie
Trapped inside a body you no longer own
Each day becomes a blur
A constant reminder of a life long gone
A sad ending to the person you were
1985. We looked for signs
not so much had changed
Wars in far-flung parts –
the same-O-blame-O.
An acceptable amount of body bag counts.
Was Orwell too early to be this late?
1996. Upheavals are restricted to
marginalized mobs. Heads are talking more,
there is a nameless fear and it's getting near.
Fewer western countries are smoking, though
many simmer silently.
There was this elongated period,
decades drained away
leaving only a vague residue,
a smear of narcissistic self-indulgence
begat a numbness.
Then we began to crave more.
2024. Now we see it.
its head is a swollen tumor,
it talks in tooth bites,
monstrous cover-ups go unchallenged,
its control is iron clad.
The monster is now global,
it gobbles up dissident thought,
it re-imagines the nature of
Jello.
The only way forward now, is through
the monster's ever narrowing ********,
besides,
most now consider
the nature of the beast
to be the same that it ever was.
Trapped in her own body unable to escape her internal scares, she's emotionally drained she's physically damaged.
She takes a blade and cuts her wrist just so that she can take away the numbness of the feeling. She feels bottled up inside, at times it feels like she can't breath.
She looks at herself in the mirror and she wishes she never survived. Everywhere she goes she is reminded of how her innocence was taken away from her. She looks into people's eyes and she can sense how they pity her.
Deep inside she lives , deep inside there is hope but she wakes up to a world of hopelessness.
When she is alone she is crowded with a bunch of problems, when she is alone she recalls on the incident, how he held a gun and pointed it between her eyes and told her not to breath. She closed her eyes for a minute and woke up thoughtless.
She tried to express her pain to people, but nobody believed her, nobody took the time to understand her pain, what she had gone through. Instead they told her how foolish she was to have allowed him to force himself on her, they sat her down and told her that he loved her and that he choose her.
She's alone. She's lost. She's worried. She's fearful of what she might do to herself.
Form:
Apathy, is a state decrepit and cold,
Where emotions no longer hold.
A feeling of numbness seems to imbibe,
Every little thing to which you ascribe
Days go by all in a blur,
As if nothing matters anymore.
All that's left is a hollow shell,
A lifeless existence, a living hell.
So let us hold on and not give up,
Let us fight and try to disrupt,
The chains that bind us to this state,
And strive to find a new, a brighter fate.
Take a deep breath, and open your eyes,
Look around you, see the beauty in the skies.
Feel the warmth of the sun, the touch of the breeze,
Let nature's embrace teach you to please.
Find a new passion, an endeavor to explore,
Something that ignites your heart once more.
Let your creativity flow, let your mind roam free,
And let the joy of creation set you free.
When I now look out far over the hills,
Fondly remembering the days of old;
I see snow on the ground, and my mind fills
With the numbness of twenty winters’ cold.
I reflect upon the happiest times;
Sitting in the sun with my closest friends,
But as we age, our faces fill with lines;
Like trees turning bare after summer ends.
The harsh wind blows, it leaves our cheeks glowing;
Breaking from an innocence that won’t last.
Hairs start to grey and we begin growing
Increasingly frail as time travels past.
Moments we keep for the rest of our lives,
Preserving reminiscence that survives.
© 2012
I can see my breath,
like smoke, when I exhale
An oil and blood concoction
give birth to a wicked smell
Though I can't see the source
I hear a consistent drip
I feel chains around my wrists
but numbness below my hip
The days are long and lonesome
I find myself becoming eager
To see my master and feel his touch
His body like a heater
No matter the hours
I anticipate his arrival
When I see his shadow
I begin fighting for survival
But then his warm breath
Brushes my collar bone
For that moment, I imagine
Myself back at home
Just a child
Snuggled safely in my bed
Awoken by a familiar face
Calmed by what he said
It was only when I became an adult
That I realized he was twisted
And I never in a million years
Thought, one day, I'd miss it
Tell me what does it mean to be free?
I find myself not free but locked up in a creation that desires... creation! Freedom is not just to move beyond the walls of confinement. The walls of confinement are not just of mortar, brick, iron or wood. These walls that confine this creation are more than just walls of flesh. These walls are walls of idealism and ignorance. These walls are reinforced not by bone and marrow. But, these walls are reinforced by the unknown. For if it was known then the freedom of this creation would pass beyond the strings of entanglement and would fly to the greatest height and to the lowest depth. This creation would endeavor to dream and create. This creation would move freely from realm to realm and would be a part of the greatness that created it...
The glass of images is just a mere reflection of creation. Images are reflected from the ice of hatred. Images are reflected from the heat of illusions. Images are created from pain, sorrow and defeat, and yet, images are created from victory.
How the heart is smothered in the sorrow of defeat... Yet, the mind soars as if freedom is the energy that propels the heaviest soul. Tell me again, what is freedom? Adventure is the glow that shines from lucid eyes not hindered by life taught.
Life taught? Walls are made from experience, from damage, from the hurt of another creation. A child. A new life. A beginning fresh and untouched by creation. Adventure seen through the eyes of a child... freedom from entanglement, freedom from illusion and images.
The prison begins it's walls of confinement as each day becomes weeks and months. The walls become stronger and impenetrable as the years go by and turn quietly into decades. Hardening of the mortar brings a numbness that reaches beyond the tenderness of kindness. This hardening grows colder as the eyes no longer are lucid. There is no fear in this state of prison... Nothing can tear down these walls of confinement. Nothing!
Yet a sparkle of remembrance goes unnoticed as a new life begins and thoughts of freedom start a crack in the walls of a hardened fortress. As a bubbling brook in spring cracks the ice of a cold winter, a heart begins once again to search for the freedom that will bring to life the adventure that no image of defeat or sorrow could ever again mire the soul...
Tell me... what is freedom?
Pernell Rodocker 8/19/13
Written: July 28, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
Quote: "Be full of sorrow, that you may become a hill of joy; weep, that you may break into laughter. The core of the seen and unseen universe smiles, but remember, smiles come best from those who weep." By Rumi
*****************
When dyspnea clutches
akin to a windless room,
and sorrow presses heavily—
not merely on the chest,
but deep within the scaffold of thoughts—
humor, once a fleeting spark,
ignites as flint striking steel,
a miraculous glimmer
emerges amidst the thick fog.
In this existence
pain is not scarce,
but laughter—
a lodestone,
crafted from flapdoodle tales.
and Falstaffian bravado—
serves as a balm,
not just a distraction,
but nepenthe:
a sacred numbness
with edges that still remember.
My life—a palimpsest,
inscribed in soot and raw chances—
finds footnotes in folly,
each chuckle is a testament to courage.
I, the steward of fractured hours,
have traded tears for joy,
and emerged from despair,
not through denial,
but through the iconoclast’s grin—
a fissure in the facade
that adumbrates hope.
Time becomes horology without hands.
When humor wanes—
a sockdolager silence
where even the apiary hums
with mockery
I feel a sense of nostalgia.
I have been that yokel
stone-faced in the storm,
my mirth marooned,
my jokes are stifled—lost in illeism,
I refer to myself.
as if I were no longer mine.
But even scantling joy
can host a grand feast:
a pun, a parody,
a nefarious, mischievous chuckle
at the universe’s absurdity.
Among my peers,
We wear humor akin to armor—
not to conceal,
but to celebrate.
To declare,
we acknowledge the weight,
and we bear it,
with smiles
so sharp, they slice clean,
through gargantuan calamity.
He thought of all the times he held
her.
The promises he and she broke.
He reached in his wallet to look
one last time.
He thought of the time he gave
her in love.
He was poor but his heart was
bigger than the ocean.
He had a numbness in his heart
because he had to let go of that
wallet picture.
His hand was shaking because he
knew he had to look at her one
more time.
The memories of Niagara Falls,
holding her close, the smile she
had.
But he knew in his heart he had
to let go.
He looked at his beloved and he
tearfully wished her well.
His hand was trembling and his
heart was in pieces.
He went to the dumpster and
it was full of trash.
He didn't want her beauty with
the garbage.
He went inside and got an
envelope.
He placed the photograph in
the envelope.
He than asked her to forgive
him, letting go of the photograph.
It was finalized. He turned,
loosing a tear, and walked away.
11/26/2015
COLD WINTER BLUES
Cold winter blues pasted on hazy firmament.
On snow Sunrays dazzle in aqua glow.
Luster of Autumn shadowed by foggy panorama.
Dewdrops at dawn shine as sapphires on glass blades.
Winter ice glistens nice on splendid show.
Icebergs hidden or open threatens vessels on ocean.
Numbness sensation to hold snowballs in fun.
Terrible frosty weather brings Jolly Jack Frost.
Enters winter with utmost snowy effort.
Reindeer pulls sledge of Santa Claus on slippery snow.
Bucolic site and cityscape covered in cloudy canopy.
Low luminous Sun hides itself in misty dusty sky.
Under drizzling snow couple stepping tiptoe.
Embraced tight, pressed lips not to chatter.
Smoggy ambient as cold winter blues in view.
10/ 06/20
Second Place
'Pick a Title Vol.23 Seasonal Acrostic' Contest by Edward Ibeh
'Completely Your Choice (39) Contest by Brian Strand