Long Phantoms Poems
Long Phantoms Poems. Below are the most popular long Phantoms by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Phantoms poems by poem length and keyword.
Under the whispers of gentle twilight, where shadows weave their mysteries,
There exists a part of me that wanders far, a pilgrim in unseen realms.
My true self, a spirit freed from time or earthly ties,
Floats through the echoes of forgotten dreams and uncharted skies.
This essence of mine leaves traces in the velvet embrace of night,
A whisper in the wind, a fleeting glimpse of pure ethereal grace.
It travels through landscapes of forgotten hopes and ancient stars,
Beyond the reach of mortal bounds, where the scars of eternal love lie.
In another world, it lingers in the meadows of unborn thoughts,
Dancing with the phantoms of desires, of fiercely fought battles.
In realms where silence speaks and shadows bear a gentle light,
My essence finds its solitude, its tender and endless flight.
It has nothing to do with the mundane life I lead,
For in this mystical and distant plane, there is no time, no need.
The echoes of my laughter, the glimmers of my tears,
Reside within this boundless place where pain disappears.
In this enchanted wandering, among the stars and moonlit streams,
I am but a phantom whisper, a figure in elusive dreams.
Romantic in its melancholy, my soul forever seeks,
The hidden truths of love's sweet pain, of beauty that time lets flow.
The tenderness of a memory, a kiss that lingers on the breeze,
The murmur of forgotten vows beneath the ancient trees,
These things my true self cradles, in its faraway journey,
A pilgrimage of endless love, where shadows quietly play.
When I walk through this apparent world, where life's demands are met,
A part of me roams freely, where the sun never sets.
It is a wanderer in the endless night, a keeper of the flame,
Of all the whispered desires, that life cannot contain.
In this place, so far from here, my spirit finds its home,
Among the stellar fields of dreams, where it is free to roam.
So while the world sees only the fleeting dance of my shadow,
The true self, a mystical soul, forever seeks romance.
In the vast eternal echo of love, in the pure embrace of night,
Lies the pilgrimage of my true self, a sweet, endless delight.
For though it wanders far away, in realms we cannot see,
It carries on endlessly, my heart, through the mysterious journey.
Ravenous dream, cluttered and unclean.
Aberrant darkness, hideous and unseen.
Raging killer, seething; hardly breathing.
Raving butcher, leaving death and bleeding.
What demons lurk for a murderer in a gay enclave?
Name the repressed desires by which the slayer is enslaved.
How many kills kill off latent amorous specters in his heart?
Craven homophobe assassinates his shadow from the start.
What torrent of torment molds a gay executioner?
What self-loathing this child of incendiary invectives?
What self-shaming open wounds forever fester?
What ambiguous mask to hide the emotive?
What type of culture is so threatened by how we love?
What perversion of fear breeds within so many thereof?
What sinister civilization spreads this hate potion?
What dogma of night terrors releases this poison?
Ravenous phantoms, virulent apparitions,
The shooter never lacking in ammunition.
Delicate petals hold ethereal love and kindness.
The rifleman can never kill them in his blindness.
Crossing a sea of bitterness, voids curled beneath my ribs lie hidden,
I drank from the cup of vices, chewed on stupidity, laboring in vast fields of error.
My mind lay with disillusionment, embraced by phantoms, boundless in its futile thirst,
To unearth the simple essence, through furnaces and the ashes of a world that was once my home.
It was necessary to dance with shadows, through confines where the light drowns,
To look despair in the eye, to flirt with the final thought, without hearing the dawn's song.
Only thus, with a heart gnawed by this mad journey, could I return again as a child,
Able to start from the earth's root, detached from the shields and weavings of the transient world.
In that fall, the dream of death nearly touched my lips, cold and tempting,
But in delving into the depth of the self, I met mercy spread upon a bed of new leaves.
I had to lose myself, to become the nothingness from which all things come and into which they disintegrate,
To ultimately perceive grace in the clarity of the world's first breath.
Thus, with every misstep, with every fear swarming in me like in a wild hive,
I was purified, burned, decomposed, and mixed with stardust and trampled pains.
And now, my rebirth—a sacred surrender, an opening of eyes in gentle light,
A wisdom that comes only after the taste of despair teaches you that grace is what follows the storm.
A beautiful nightmare
Holding on to life or letting go.
All the phantoms dream of sleeping away the years.
They now know all that which I know;
I am a braindead dancer, nothing behind my ears.
People sing in groups of three or four,
Beneath the old oak tree; waiting on hidden doors.
Hanging behind them are memories.
Reminders of the shapes they used to be.
Times immortal hand still spins on a clock-face.
Taking their turn in their empty graves.
They have already gone beyond Neverland, to a beautiful place,
Where all is light, with bright blue skies,
Where children run in chase of butterflies.
In youthful good they have all lived well.
A Pleasantville life which remains unstained by sins aplenty.
They are just the chosen few; choices choose Heaven,
But where others may dwell, the hearts are empty.
They have no spirit, nor do they carry their souls;
For their afterlife has already been bought and sold.
They lived beneath the chosen word
And now their screams for salvation are never heard.
They sink into nightmares below the six feet of dirt.
A beautiful nightmare is just a story,
For the faithless people of murder and adultery.
We began as seeds and Great Oaks we became,
But one day the day will come when we all fade away.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Into silence immerse me in the night, as in a grave dug with whispers
magical that invoke the spirits of shadow, the bleeding phantoms of the horizon
ballast on the fairy folk dancing ritually, rags of lunar light,
bitterly imitating white enchanted hearts that betray your secret shivers.
Dowry of those who gathered in life flowers of mandrake and belladonna,
whole bouquets of immortal errors engraved in runes on jade stones,
like winters decayed in mystical vices like honey bewitched by alchemy,
the fairy tales that grandparents lie to us with legends woven from silver threads and wax.
The mirage remained pregnant with sons of dragons and sorcerers without names
written in sealed books, throws into the heavens sacred maces of meteorites,
like the heroes from forgotten epics who build from sacred mountains
tombs that guard hidden treasures, some bitter princes lost in spells.
With the name from an entire phrase of charm and ancient incantation,
that even the blue blood baptizes itself with water from enchanted springs,
in a universe of esoteric verse, where our ritualistic world
matters so much in fate, like a law that our sorcerer grandchildren will invent for us.
One definitive engraved in amulets, against death that haunts in the darkness of time,
pulling together a shift through clouds of incense and fragrances of spikenard,
of love to festively cover the destinies of alchemical gold and celestial mercury,
thunder of my heart - sudden beating of ritual drum in magic circle.
To make sparks of your tears full of radiant serum like the burning bush,
of that heaven an azure temple raised from lapis lazuli and sapphire,
my soul initiated in absolute mysteries sanctifies itself monastically,
to include it in wonderful divine services, always and your sanctified bodily pleasure.
And mystical ecstasy embraces me in temples with walls of black marble,
opens the gates for me with the golden keys of hermetic knowledge,
calls me back to the place where time is woven from astral threads,
and I remain elevated in the grave of whispers that sing psalms of mystery.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Romans 13:8 “…Pay your debts as they come due. However, one debt you can never finish paying is the debt of love that you owe each other.
the mailbox, stuffed~
mortgage payments, car loans
with balances and deadlines
marked in red.
water, gas, and electric bills~
the hungry phantoms of
creature comforts
coldly due.
we chase the spectral zero balance,
dream of that stamped envelope
with the sweet release of
paid in full.
but the other statement
never arrives~
no perforated tear line,
no due date circled in red.
it’s a debt, unlisted, un-itemized,
it haunts no credit score,
demands no late fees~
a debt we’ll always carry.
this bill arrives not monthly
but daily~in every heartbeat,
every hunch that kindness calls
beyond oneself.
this debt, this sweet, persistent owing
is paid in tears dried on a loving sleeve,
with burdens carried, with forgiveness offered,
and in whispered reassurances.
this debt’s non-ending, compounds with kindness~
the interest paid daily—not in coin
but in soulful connection
and ego transcendence.
*Image of Hope Member Feeling by Pixabay
AUDIO: Nuthin But A G Thang by Dr Dre & Snoop Dog
Hope
It begins
from depths within
unmeasurable plunging phantoms down
festerin' the grounds
Lingerin' up sounds
trace
sin
space
sing
Astir the Astros
call on the cosmos play-sures
endeavors
Psyche
assimilators consciousness
dabbles
Wake the dreamers
the unreal
the liars
The dream team
zookeepers senses that
it sucks as it pants in
suspense feeling
the zeal for
realism
Tangibles
hand-all with care
The Dreamer
Ahh! Wakes up now to form
just a tad late yet find I
brave and craving
Echoes from a conch shell
sounds of the see
voice articulates
to be alert and
reassert
Reach for the stars
else, no heaven be
simply permeate
and then create
the essence
It's dope when
one invokes!
HOPE ...
Loves and losses
revives
relived
rejoice.
2022 February 02
*1st Place*
A BRIAN STRAND INFORMEL
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 March 14
Twilight, the phantoms of the past cavort
Willow trees bending to the winds of change
Eternity in the darkness of autumn nights
Never knowing whether I shall live or die
Tell me why my blood must feed the piercing thrusts
Yell and scream at me, I no longer fear my demise
Forever young, I dreamed of love
Over the waterfalls my dreams were tossed
Under the bridge where the evil gnomes live, dreams died
Running over my heart, the cold dark water to entomb me
Killing me they seem to feel, will be a pleasure
Not for me to speak up, for I desire it
Insight and realization that for me, illusions exist not
Visions of my body, torn and carved, replay in my head
Ever and ever and round and round
September’s knives shall slaughter me into the ground
Killing my soul was an easy task
Intended kisses you knew could not last
Luscious dreams turned into cold heartless nights
Licking my wounds and weeping in fright
Intense horrors, as the knives dig deeper
Nowhere to run and hide, no hideout for the forsaken
Gone are the hallucinations of a lover’s paradise
Memories of the 24 knives of September
Entwined in blood I shall take them to my grave
At the arrival of the winter storm, stretching for a mile,
a bockout occurred in a rural town famed for its exquisite wine;
it became very dark as the lights went out in every house...
I felt scarier than a hopeless prisoner in bondage,
but an idea struck me while I stepped on a fleeing mouse.
And while the moonbeams filtered in invitingly, and the crickets sang me
their awkward melody...I couldn't live in darkness and feel safe!
The willows of the reef seemed phantoms moving towards me...
I had a red candle never being used and its glow could have safeguarded me;
at least, I would have had some light shedding on me to keep them away from me!
Didn't poets of long ago write by dim candlelight? Weren't they often taken by rage?
They used quills to make their work even harder writing in medieval style!
I wasn't expecting a return to the past...it could have caused a disastrous fire...
if I had fallen asleep! But for Heaven's sake, I lived for passion, not waiting to flee!
My sonnet had to be written throughout that time for my inspiration to survive!
Entered in Russell Sivey's contest,
" Candlelight "
Incense burning to unravel third eye
Within shaman’s kohl flame, there lies the key
My life embossed in a mystical sky -
Oh dear goddess Kali, come twirl with me.
Within shaman’s kohl flame, there lies the key
Pathways to light grow dark, spill rubies near
Oh dear goddess Kali, come twirl with me,
Let vines of starlight cross this world sincere.
Pathways to light grow dark, spill rubies near
Slaying phantoms of scorn in haunted caves,
Let vines of starlight cross a world sincere
That birthing of lotus seed warms the waves.
Slaying phantoms of scorn in haunted caves
Come, rise upward to hearten all as one;
That birthing of lotus seed warms the waves
Illumine eyes of dawn, from Kali’s sun.
Arms curling up to hearten all as one
My essence kindles the fired coals to glow,
Illumine eyes of dawn, from Kali’s sun
Where vows of eternity you bestow.
--------------------
In Hindu mythology, Kali
is the cyclic Goddess of life, death, and rebirth.
Contest of White Wolf YGGDRASIL ME
5/9/2017