Long Overcome Poems
Long Overcome Poems. Below are the most popular long Overcome by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Overcome poems by poem length and keyword.
EYES are the light of the body
That leads us to light from darkness in & out.
EYES are the sun shine that bless us with a vision
That pushes us to strive hard to break the ice.
EYES are the twinkling stars giving hope
That guides us in the dense way to dare dreams.
EYES are the ocean of power with pupil & iris
That sails us to overcome the floaters to win.
EYES are the nest of Nature with eye lids
That help us to rest after a tiring time
EYES are the treasure with support of retina
That propels us to view the wonderful world.
EYES are the beauty to our body
That presents us with an attractive look
Leave it here with magnanimity to someone
To have your beauty and be immortal.
Someone saves three from a fire,
but loses his life instead.
A police officer brings a newborn into the world.
A guy saves a man who fell onto the train tracks.
The list can go on and on.
These are the people we call heroes. But heroes
don't just save people from disaster. They give
support and comfort when times are hard.
Most anyone can be called upon to be a hero. It's not just
when one does heroic acts. Being a mentor to another is an
act of heroism. A hero needs confidence and strength.
Sometimes fear can stop them. However, they can overcome
when the situation warrants.
Each of us is hero material. Just wait until you're called upon.
Humanity breeds them. Be a hero to someone today.
Snow falls silently here
On Pahalgam's mourning hills
Pure crystal white turned red
White flakes bear witness to loss
Each one holds a mother's tear
Snow remembers all
Innocent faces frozen
In time's bitter glass
Terror's footprints disappear
Yet snow preserves the sorrow
Through snow-capped valleys
Echoes of children's laughter
Now deadly quiet
Snow tries to blanket the pain
Cannot hide the crimson stains
Branches bow with snow
Weight of grief upon their backs
Nature's silent dirge
Mountains weep in frozen streams
Snow transforms to rivers red
Snow once danced in light
Now falls heavy with despair
Upon holy ground
Each flake a prayer unanswered
Snow enshrouds the empty streets
Snow sparkles, mocking
Joy has fled these valleys deep
Terror reigns supreme
White powder becomes the shroud
For dreams that died too early
Through blinding snowstorms
Truth cannot remain hidden
Justice calls aloud
Snow melts, returns, eternal
Like hope that refuses death
Orphaned children play
Making angels in fresh snow
Unaware of loss
Snow falls gently on their heads
Protecting what innocence remains
Spring will come again
Snow gives way to blooming flowers
Life persists through pain
Mountains keep their vigil still
Snow guards every precious name
In crystalline tears
Snow preserves each memory
Of lives cut too short
No snowfall can purify
This deed so dark and heinous
Yet snow continues
Falling soft on Pahalgam
Nature's quiet hymn
Truth, like snow, shall overcome
Justice waits beneath the white
“In memory of the innocent lives lost to terrorism in Kashmir's Pahalgam”
Unfold my wings, so I can fly to you through and through
I’m too bold to be cold in your captivating arms
I foolishly fell for your trap and that’s nothing new
I’m gold compared to your liberating charms
Oh, you still believe you’re very smooth?
I’m a rotting tooth in your despicable mouth
We were together in the picture booth
I can’t cut the roots…and its continuous growth
I’ve grown accustomed to your touch
Yet, I no longer talk much and such
Please don’t leave me in the dust of a thousand blues
Please don’t grieve because of my lost-forgotten lust issues
You think you’re smooth and can always defeat me?
Well, you know I am stronger than you’ll ever realize
I find myself faithlessly falling again – can you let me free?
You reduced me to tears and they do drip from my eyes
I love the river of bondageless radiance
That has made me overcome the waves of harsh emotion
Seeking ever-soaring, elegant deliverance
That will save me from feeling numb in suicidal notion
You think you’re smooth and invincible?
I rely on God and He will do the impossible
You think you’re smooth and humble?
I can smell your stench of pride from a million miles away…I am an unstable table who made a terrific tumble
(“Mrs. It Dances Through It”, 2014, original pen and ink)
Samsara is the wheel of rebirth
An endless cycle of lives in myriad forms
Endless as long as there is the ignorance
To fuel its engine.
The River of Life likewise flows
Ending up in the sea, to recycle again
Endlessly for beings compulsively carried
As long as there is the ignorance
To fuel its source.
The wheel and the river move in such cycles
An eternal stage for Life to play
And all its being’s enact their roles.
But what of the beings as they come and go
Struggle and overcome,
Drown and transcend their sorrows?
They are none other than us, and us, them
In their forms, parts and roles
Dog eating dog, and man petting man
As well as dog
We have been them all, married to the burden
Of all our wishes and deeds
In sickness and in health
Until death do us part
And we begin again.
(1/19/26)
Overcome with anger
He grabbed a knife
Ran to the front
Of the auditorium
And lunged at the little clown
In the centre of the stage,
What followed was a violent struggle
Between the little clown
And his assailant
Screams and cries
And what appeared
To be a fatal stabbing,
But this was all an act...
The hysterics
The screams
The cries
The knife,
Even the little pool of blood
Trickling from the centre of the stage,
It was all an act...
Graphic, realistic
A very convincing piece of drama,
So much so
That when the curtains
Were drawn together
And the auditorium was empty,
The stagehands came
And carried the little clown's body away.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2006.
Posted 10th April 2019.
SLIDING FROM THE MOUNTAIN TOP
(APROPOS MLK: 3)
Lingering in the spaces of time, standing
On the muddy banks of reality, wandering souls
Chase the dream of Moses: the gleamed glory
From the mountain top veiled by the inept web
Of deceptive policies of the word-weavers .
Dew-clawed changes have lost their mesmerizing
Magic; reality having waved its wand of truth
Revealing the smiling facades of justice.
Yes we have overcome cowering iniquities
And have reached the valley of the promise land;
But Aaron’s reprieve does not abide here: its asphalt
Altars soaked and stained with the dried blood of our children.
Here in the shadow of the valley of death, we continue
Marching and singing anew; our feet wearily worn
With the mud of deceit; vague chants mimic lost
Freedom songs blowing in whispering winds.
Today, the Movement is just a passing scene
Played out on the roller coaster stages of history:
Praising maids, butlers, buses, bridges…ghost cities…
And the nation mocks the birthday of its Prince of Peace
With black sales days; stirring the painful blood flow
Of memory of buyers feuding at the auction block.
But steadfast we must stand; our audacious God cannot be mocked.
The Dreamer lies dead but the spirit of the dream soars higher
Than the fist of clutched hope; and Sartre’s are still ringing
And their resounding echoes cannot ever be undone!
This is still the land of the free and the home of the brave;
Sweet land of liberty; and where love and peace abide
Evil injustice cannot hide; the dream is everywhere:
May we forever be worthy lamplighters of the trust in the Dream.
In this psychological warfare,
where the fate of Romeo and Juliet
has not discouraged lovers
I was warned,
"tread carefully, only move forward if you are prepared
to battle against satanic adversaries not seen before."
But I'm a veteran with an amputated heart,
as my lion nature roars at 'tug-of-war' conflicts
and she keeps pulling at my heart strings.
Welcome to the circus of darkness,
where spirits rest in a silent surrender.
In my phantom kingdom
the queen of hearts is an outcast
upon an isolated island of misery.
Her life is a concoction of paparazzi and propaganda,
where serpents manipulate her innocent dreams.
In the illusion of separation,
an internal choir sings a siren's symphony of sorrow,
echoing through oceans and mountains between us.
In this haze of hopelessness I hope to be found,
but we are cursed with different shades of love,
where tears are melodramatic melancholy,
bleeding in black rivers of perpetual pain -
but her savage beauty is my favourite kind of madness.
In the unfairness of circumstance's wicked ways,
the Grim Reaper has auctioned my soul for sale.
I search for anonymous angels among us,
but in the graveyard of blasphemous bliss,
tattoo tears create crimson cracks on broken statues.
My immortal emotions drift like butterfly breaths,
imitating a bare brokenness of rags buried in paper coffins.
Before the euthanasia of time will you return that stolen kiss?
Gift me a kinder reflection from self entitled mirrored salutes?
It all started with a poem rebuilding a sanctuary.
in my poetic secret garden of confessions.
When my metaphors stole the moon for you,
fate had my heart held hostage to your infatuation.
Not everyone can see with open eyes,
but in the empathy of distant entanglement,
love untangled the tips of your tangled heartstrings,
then burnt them in ashes of enkindled embers.
Now that I've overcome your obscured boundaries of sanity,
placing lanterns upon midnight trails you follow,
I've defeated every malignant spirit.
Before words become tired and meaningless,
will you comprehend the innocence of my insanity -
forever love me where it hurts?
I was feeling grand like the leader of the band,
But you departed south to a Caribbean island; and it was
Just about the time I fell for you and was quickly set aflame.
I thought you would return, but back to me you never came.
Nevertheless, I got over you and never pouted or cast blame.
And then, after a long season, by chance, I saw you on a bus.
That's when I knew for sure; that was clearly the end of us.
So yes, you broke my heart, but I was able to make a new start.
Yes, I managed to overcome you, but I'm not saying that it wasn't hard.
You were very high class, but things started to unravel so very fast.
I had no reason to think that the joy we began to share wouldn't last.
No, you were not the first, and as time unfolded, you wouldn't be the last.
There were others who whispered sweet sounds into my ears and quietly passed. I'm no iron man, but this heart of mine became experienced in the school of aching, and it seems that each of my heartaches and breaks hurt differently than the last breaking. It hurts real bad when love ends so soon, striking at noon, and the flame is out by the entry of the moon. Maybe it was Memphis, or perhaps Sioux Falls or Chicago, or was it San Juan, Puerto Rico? The time came when it really didn't matter anymore; when I slowly closed the door and let it go. Funny thing about heartbreaks; they are unique but all feel the same, so filled with pain. I tell you, there is no shame, and I think that like the butterfly, I learned to fly from lessons 'in cocoons of strain'.
020121FBPSCtest, 'Break My Heart, Why Don't Cha', Edward Ibeh
There was a church in Asia minor
Sardis with a reputation of life
but God saw into every heart
cutting open with His sharp knife
He had a important message to convey
John the apostle was given this task
to bring God's word to the angel in charge
this divine truth not hidden behind a mask
For God's eyes saw all their works
nothing can be hidden from divine sight
seeing that their life was a sham
in reality death full of darkened night
But despite this condemning verdict
the Lord had hope for certain to bring
reminding them their need to repent
look unto God to Him alone cling
For God would come like a thief
you won't know when this would be
but the Lord knows those who are pure
their garments are white as He does see
His promise is to those that overcome
for their names are written in His book
confessing their names before His father
hold strong to these words it's no mistook
(“And to the angel of the church in Sardis write: ‘The words of him who has the seven spirits of God and the seven stars.
“‘I know your works. You have the reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up, and strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your works complete in the sight of my God. Remember, then, what you received and heard. Keep it, and repent. If you will not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what hour I will come against you. Yet you have still a few names in Sardis, people who have not soiled their garments, and they will walk with me in white, for they are worthy. The one who conquers will be clothed thus in white garments, and I will never blot his name out of the book of life. I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.’)
Revelation 3: 1-6