Long Parchments Poems
Long Parchments Poems. Below are the most popular long Parchments by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parchments poems by poem length and keyword.
Once envoys carried messages, betwixt those Royal thrones of Kings.
Scrolls of vellum parchments, all bearing wax insignia, impressed with signet rings.
These symbols of authenticity, made safe passage, through far flung foreign fields.
Where chivalry of gallant knights gave sanctuary, armed with swords and shields.
While Kings and Queens spoke of those deeds, by proclamation, made them law.
Preventing bloodshed needlessly, upon battlefields of war.
Once, candle flames on red wax, and signet rings, were used in days gone by.
Now those documents of state are stamped, by die and counter die.
Where independance from the past, the President holds sway.
This National Symbol of the United States, hangs proudly on display.
In his cage of thoughts, the captive man writes with wings of ink,
surrounded by crumpled parchments like autumn leaves, he dreams,
of things seen through his tarnished window, a portal to the world beyond,
where the vast ocean whispers its stories with waves of longing.
His canvases are giant ships carrying on their decks free souls,
with the will to move ceaselessly through the infinite blue,
he captures their laughter like butterflies of light,
telling tales of dresses floating like clouds and birds dancing in the sky.
I am a free man, walking on the living carpet of the earth,
my steps take me to new places, I meet faces like stars in the sky,
on my table lie paper and ink, reflecting the past and the pain,
I write about my life as a river flowing through the stones of time.
I paint images of things that haunt me like shadows of an eternal night,
my pain rises like smoke from a flame reaching for the sky,
I know what I must do, but invisible chains hold me back,
aware that this world is an invisible cage that tightens with each season.
He is the captive man, and in his cage, freedom becomes a song,
and I, in my freedom, have woven a web of captivity and longing,
in his cage, he dreams of endless skies and flights,
in my freedom, I have painted the boundaries of a world I create.
Half eaten hearts
pump on three surviving parts,
Loyalty, Lust, and Longing,
thump thump thump,
I was your secret crush
you were my finest rush,
put Poetry in my veins like victory ongoing,
placed your loneliness in a casket of flames,
our language so lustful, demolishing civilized chains,
touching so trustful that asking permission would be aweful,
team work more natural than rhythm to rhyme, a new breed of Angel,
clutching uncharted romance rough & rude we jump,
Strange how we sew, rip and stich the fabric of our worlds,
I can see your constellation in my dreams Luv,
a glimmer for every kiss you clamped on my confident lips,
I told you that my love can be the richest food on earth,
I understand now, that your love is stronger than diamonds,
I already miss you more than my heart can count,
my tears do not fall, suspended in the lock of a love saga,
Lets split the loot babe,
parchments & prizes of Love's plunder we'll divide fairly,
raise up anchors from Passion's Port,
slap and smother each other one more time,
blow on pearls together,
throwing them in this tempestuous sea for Luck,
breathing honest devotion in your ear,
whenever you need me I'll be there,
flag flying fast to you, cannons cursing for your care,
your final stare, the softest I've ever seen -
J.A.B.
Women, secret priestesses of the soul and undying dream,
Whispering ancestral secrets woven in the threads of destiny,
Knowing men like parchments deciphered under the full moon’s glow,
Understanding every hidden longing, each impenetrable dream, and every unspoken whisper.
They weave knowledge from the deep, dark, and luminous recesses of their hearts,
Sensing all that men can become, like storms rising from deep waters or gentle hills,
All they desire, their wishes sculpted in the shadows of unspoken dreams,
All they are, faces shaped from rock and waves, willows swayed by the wind.
Women are architects of destinies shrouded in mystery,
Creating worlds from the butterflies of the soul, laying out landscapes from the beats of our hearts,
Reading us like unwritten verses in ancient psalms,
Dancing their magic around us, crafting cloaks of pure love.
They are those undeciphered enigmas, where each smile is a spell,
Every gesture, a stanza from an archaic poetry, every touch, a sacred incantation,
They know when to lift us up and when to bring us back to earthly realms,
With a love that carries depth and gentleness untold through eternities.
Women are falling stars weaving their light into the horizon,
Reading our dreams and fears like silent constellations,
Nothing escapes them, neither wind, nor storm, nor hidden desire,
They are the poets of life, whose verse is the secret of the universe itself.
In their eyes reflects the entire cosmos, like in azure crystal mirrors,
They extend their soul like a bridge between the temporal and the eternal,
Always knowing what we can become, as they feel our destiny in the silence of infinity,
Becoming our muses and guides, showing us the path beneath starry skies.
Women are those eternal stories, flowing through time like sacred rivers,
Enchanting us with their songs, embracing us with warm thoughts,
Knowing that, in their absence,
We would be wanderers in the night without a beacon, lost in a boundless dream.
Women, wise in silences and dreams, know everything about us,
Like an aurora discovered in a night of secrets,
They read our hearts in the pulse of the universe and the whispers of stellar tranquility,
And thus, through them, we become endless travelers in the eternal light of destiny.
The tergiversation against King Jesus is appalling
All the fiefs and land and margraves are falling
Even the ancient parchments of the Holy Roman Empire
Are being burnt in the Eclectic Funeral Pyre
God is Overseer of all antiquity: from the fall of Adam and Eve
All the way up to and include the resurrection of you and me
All the kings and queens of the middle ages
All the seers and the corrupt sages
Are the chess pieces, as each one ceases
Become deceased (don't think you can do whatever you please)
As God slightly bumps the chessboard and causes reprieves
With nothing but direction of HIStory up His sleeves
With fair maidens along for the ride
(Some of them have something to hide)
And they don't know what resides in their wombs
That one day the offspring will fill the unholy tombs
Only God can move and direct incomparably
The comprehensibility of and panoramic of all history
Satan, the old serpent
A snake with blue eyes, won’t repent
Is the prince of the power of the air
To me there is no evil that can compare
I have usurped God authority on Earth
I tempted the Son of Man with an alternate birth
“You don’t need to go through the shame and degradation
Of the cross and all that humiliation”
“Do you really think God wants you to suffer this much?”
I have given lies their velvet touch
And I have taken a third with me
In my suzerainty
Every vassal and fief
I lead them to and through with my drum and fife
I conduct the confusion of the Middle Ages
I confuse the lords and the sages
(He maneuvers with his doubt
Those who move about
On his chessboard, (overall the board of the Lord)
He has bishops and kings fighting for the ring
The ring of sovereign authority over things
Over duchies and vassals who scowl
In the age-old dance of crown and cowl
I start the funeral pyres of all empires
And I delight in the aftermath of war’s destruction
And the smoldering of the ruins and all the corruption
And over the above ground open tombs I swoon
I laugh and unfurl my wings
Along with church and state I sing
(I am devoted to both sides
That’s how I ensure both sides collide)
I point the Lombards at the papal spire
And began the fall of the Hohenstaufen empire
I created the Investiture Controversy
To get to the bishops and abbots
To unrelentingly reveal all their bad habits
I’ve promoted the mote
By saying “the parchments are out of date wrote”
I have walked the holy stones in the garden of God
And where angels trod
And the Earth to and fro at any hour
Waiting for someone to devour
I honor the unholy trinity and the sinner in you and me
In its silence, my love sings softly,
Like an autumn wind that gently caresses the slow-moving leaves,
Without grand ideals or hidden violence,
Just a deep stillness that embraces unspoken words.
There's no need to swear allegiance on gilded parchments,
For its truth is pure, like ice sparkling under the sun,
And like the fire smoldering quietly in the depths of the soul,
People hold roses in trembling hands.
They weave promises like a spider's web,
Fragile and ephemeral in the face of fleeting time,
And my love laughs, like flowers opening at dawn,
With a simple joy that cannot be bought.
In the depths of its gaze, endless stories are born,
A world without borders or barriers of time and space,
Words are lost in the silence that speaks deeply,
While my love floats, a melancholic dream.
Oh words, such words, so highly prized
Tuned melody of mindfulness
Entwined in raucous revelry
You cause all present to feign blush.
Casting petals of pure praise
Love’s scented aura on display.
Echoes haunt the pendulum of time
As season’s dim the memory of youth
Passersby still nod – subtle salute
homage paid with quiet hearts not hands.
Those with ungrayed heads must wonder why
A hush ensues upon your passing bye.
Oh, words, pure words, unsullied song
That lingers on the lips after you are gone
For age has dulled the pen but not the mien
Carried over time the yellowed scene
Of glory etched upon a parchments face
A eulogy that time cannot erase.
John G. Lawless
©5/7/2021
In the quiet rooms of the unseen,
Where shadows dance with ancient secrets,
A choreography of reality is woven mysteriously,
Created by unseen hands, the puppeteers of the world,
Threads of truth and illusion, like stars in the night sky.
There, in a hidden sanctuary in Washington,
Unknown shadows draw the contours of existence,
Not just events, but their mystical essence,
Shaping the lens through which we view the universe,
A Ministry of Truth, like a silent oracle.
Whispers of power float like sacred smoke,
Invisible ink on the parchments of our destinies,
Dictating the story of nations,
The rise and fall of empires,
Not through swords or incantations,
But through the silent pen of divine interpretation.
Through the media, the message flows like an enchanted river,
Unquestioned, uncontested, an elixir of certainty,
Carrying with it the weight of authority,
Asking nothing, answering all,
A symphony of controlled chaos,
A ballet of faith and doubt, woven by gods.
Yet, beneath the surface,
The heart of humanity beats like a sacred drum,
A pulse of curiosity and defiance,
Seeking the cracks in the facade,
The places where light penetrates like a divine ray,
Revealing the raw, unfiltered truth, like an unveiled oracle.
In this mystical dance of shadows and light,
We find our place, our purpose,
To question, to seek, to understand,
To write our own choreography,
In the endless, ever-changing spectacle
Of life and reality, a sacred dance of existence.
If I had met you in another age, when time flowed more slowly and solemnly,
I would have written your name in vivid ink, on parchment that preserves eternally,
I would have escaped to secret libraries, where silence embraces stories,
On the margins of old volumes, I would have laid down my devotion.
But here we are, in this age of screens that silently shine,
Where affections are mute, yet my soul recognizes your rhythm,
Even now, when the cold light surrounds us like a foreign mist,
The bond between us transcends time, a secret dance of hearts.
In the flow of thoughts, I feel how time trickles like a quiet river,
Every moment with you is an eternity engraved in pure gold,
The world seems to forget the magic of words written on old parchments,
But we find each other, two souls traveling through endless ages.
Even in this century of technology and pointless noise,
Our souls meet, vibrating at the same eternal frequency,
Love and devotion are not bound by time or fleeting form,
But by that deep connection that finds its way to the light.