Long Pretend Poems
Long Pretend Poems. Below are the most popular long Pretend by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pretend poems by poem length and keyword.
songer.co/song/epzclpaimyh9s5cai9h5ub15
[Verse 1]
I cried in the kitchen, you looked through me
I asked for your heart, you gave me your need
I stayed through the silence, through cold and pretend
But love isn’t love when it won’t let you in
[Pre-Chorus]
I held it together, threadbare and torn
You only looked up once the feeling was gone
[Chorus]
You miss me now, but you never saw me then
When I reached for your light and was met with the end
You feel the hurt now, like it came out of nowhere
But I lived with the leaving long before I left there
You miss what you lost, not the woman I was
You love me in sorrow, not in our love
[Verse 2]
I whispered my fears, you turned away
Called me too heavy, too much in your day
I gave you my quiet, I gave you my peace
But I lost myself trying to help you release
[Pre-Chorus]
I broke without breaking, I begged without sound
You’re grieving a silence that’s always been loud
[Chorus]
You miss me now, but you never showed up
When I needed your soul, not just your touch
You feel it now like it’s suddenly clear
But I begged you to listen for so many years
You miss what you lost, not the woman I was
You mourn in the silence, but never heard us
[Bridge]
You say you were scared, that you didn’t know how
But I needed someone—not someday, not now
You found your emotion the day I moved on
But I cried like this once, and you told me be strong
[Final Chorus]
You miss me now, but I needed you then
Not the ghost of a man who comes back at the end
You feel the pain, but you never took part
In the loving, the holding, the hearing of heart
You miss what you lost, not the woman I am
And I won’t come back for a half-hearted man
There is no excuse. Nothing to blame
So I hide my tired eyes and exist in shame
I'm ashamed to live, I'm afraid to die
I find, I'm unworthy to look in the eye
So I hang my head low
And pretend I don't see
I pretend not to know
You recognize me
I come across rude, it seems I don't care
I run and take cover, the truth is, I'm scared
I feel forced to unclothe
Sacrificing my dignity
Short comings exposed
I resist, beg and plead
So when you determine what you think of another
Remember their journey has been like none other
Though your pride will tell you lies
There's always a story behind blue eyes
Sometimes we rush around far too much for sense,
in desperate persuit of pounds, shillings and pence;
no wonder that we're falling down like finished flies,
I'm outa here but I don't know about all you guys.
No pressure now since I just resigned myself to fate,
I only do modern art like a pile of bricks at the Tate;
occasionally I see Tracey Emin who did the 'unmade bed,'
it's no longer on view now, so we slept in it instead.
Thinking of a memorial for that iconic sycamore tree,
for the unenlightened, in north England, cut brutally,
perhaps a statue of Dawn French with a group of blokes,
she can no longer deliver her usual cheap sexual jokes.
We pay our respects to these memorials, disingenuous,
you pretend, procrastinate, which applies to most of us.
Everything has an END
The time I spEND
And sentiments I intEND
With my family and friENDS
But not with Jesus
Everything has an END
The breath I expEND
Trying to drive a point to its END
Maybe just driven crazy as one may contEND
Jesus I need you now
“All things must come to an END”
Said Chaucer as the 1300’s would dispEND
Never say never: be always ready to defEND
Your faith in the One who descends
Everything has an END
Up around the bEND
Heading somewhere to pretEND
Or an email that I sEND
Even our sin, that nasty trEND
Everything has an END
From the day’s blessings I lEND
And thoughts I comprehEND
And the clothing that I mEND
But not the spirit Jesus’ commends
Everything has an END
The time that lovers spEND
The hand that greeters extEND
Can you step twice into the same stream that bENDS?
But not numbers and where they extend
Everything has an END
My anger and things I rEND
My laughter and things I sEND
My sin and the thoughts I fEND
But in Heaven with Jesus there will be no end
Everything has an END
My time on Earth and space I bEND
The musical (and truncated) crescEND
The Suffering Servant and what that portENDS
Even this poem and the words I blEND
~The Male Menopause~
Did you know girl's, men run on hormones too?
They are not so different girls from me or from you
But when a man reaches his fifties he becomes unstable
To blame it on the woman though, - that he is still able.
He never likes to think that his hormones are shot
He fancies all the woman, and still tries a lot.
When his fancy lets him down it never is his fault
He blames the woman he’s with - she’s not worth his salt.
They like to talk dirty it gets them aroused and all hot
But talking about dirty clothes and dishes, is what we have got
They have strange fancies and talk to each other
“What I could do for her never mind her mother...”
They never once think, that what they have got
Is certainly what all the girls want - NOT
Their hair grows in their ears and in their nose
But from the top of their heads that’s from where it goes.
Their brains seem to disappear, along with their hair
Gosh hormones are hard - life isn’t’ that fair.
The male menopause it tends to be of a shorter length
But they think its your fault when they begin to lose their strength.
Things start to fail and they may look elsewhere
But whoever would have them - has already been there
They are too old for the young, yet to young for the coffin
So just carry on loving them and try to stop scoffing.
Tell them they are still - muscular and hot
They do it for you, even if they do not
They will repay you your kindness when your turns comes around
They will show you how to shave, when your beard does abound.
They will pretend that your sweats, is them making you hot
Just let them get on with it because it happens a lot
When your hair goes thin they will say they love it more
That’s what a loving relationship and growing old together is for
©~GG~10/07/2012
Why do I hang onto your every word?
When I know I am merely the shame you play
The controlled part of the wanting to be loved game!
The ever changing rules,
keeping me tethered close to my false hope
Me the cup of empty that fills you up for a while
I know you want what I want,
but you want it from somebody else....
So I pick up the bread crumbs of your attention,
ignoring the being ignored part
The "not tonight I'm too busy" part
The "You can come over later and be with me" part
Then there's the clinging onto you till morning part
When daylight comes you can't pretend I'm him
You shower to rinse away the achy dirty feeling part,
Those feelings seemed less relevant in the dark
That pleasured pain that somehow tears us both apart
Me the proverbial fool
Taking
Needing
Accepting
Settling on less than nothing
Knowing that if he changes his mind
I will vanish, disappear, evaporate like the sweat from our bodies
Like the stench of our desperation
So I hope your pathetic wanting will merge with my own
I keep waiting and hoping
Dreaming and pretending
That somehow
Somewhere behind those vibrant eyes
you do
Really want me
Even though in my soul
I know
This is all I will ever have
This not enough bit that I cling to
That voice that knows one day you'll be gone
Hopefully not today, for without you I fear my tomorrow
Oh how I wish this heart wanted something else
anything else
That there was someone else
other than you
Why does it have to be you?
Don't be concerned friends, I have the one I want!
For Alfred Vassallo's "How does it feel to be Unwanted" contest.
Increasingly ob sure
A world not meant for me
My eyes are slowly fading
Slowly fading away
A crowd if people all around
But not a single face
I cast my eyes onto the ground
But not out of disgrace
My vision now is failing me
And escape js far away
Inside is a wailing plea
Don’t let it all go gray
Hazy at a breakneck pace
I live in constant fear
The prettiest part about my face
Wells with lifeless tears
Will I ever see again?
Will I ever read?
Can I put my words to pen
In ways others can heed?
Fear of the unknown
Has never struck my heart
But knowing is what has been shown
To give me such a start
I wish to see the the world again
So vibrant bright and true
No matter how hard I pretend
This plight has got me blue
My eyes are failing rapidly
And frankly I am scared
So I have the capacity?
Am I so prepared?
To face a world without the light
To face a world so dull
To know my lamps are a blight
Rotting inside my skull
Always, my golden muse of subtle secret entertaining
If comes, it is not my fault to see her even in the soup;
It seems you stealthily descended from a famous painting
Of the same blond season of hope caught in a magic hoop.
First, the leg, long and discreet barefoot touches the carpet,
Then, the feline jump in the pantry, and I pretend to be asleep,
And the only verse that comes to my mind and I can set,
With big eyes and a look dumb so happy digging deep.
It is an attempt to touch her, this unwritten poem with blue eyes…
I want her danced or her shoulder strap silently slipped somewhat,
But, only the echo sounds as your name, I repeat countless times.
Each morning, I find her footprints remained everywhere, but…
The poet`s hot tea is there, next the morning` embers;
Someone sipped a bit from it, perhaps the morning star:
Here's the lipstick trace, and -I think the perfume is hers.
She also tasted from my pretzel and the rhyme. I know you are…
How, oh how, can some endow
A building wing? Well, holy cow!
So many millions must impress
All comers, thanks to their largess.
Such lavish generosity
Is well beyond the scope of me,
For sums like that I won’t pretend
Are numbers I can comprehend.
Yet so much more than any bank
These benefactors we should thank,
For their donations help us out
And that’s what giving’s all about.
Of course, they get some tax deducted
When their building wing’s constructed.
Plus, they get their just acclaim
When on the walls, we view their name.
Endowments, though, will hardly drain
The cash their bank accounts contain.
It must be nice to scratch that itch
And give, but still be filthy rich!
Every day he'd sit and pout,
The Ambassador of Doubt.
Come dine with Melancholy Smith,
Was born to eat your heart out.
He was raised a single child,
His emotions were defiled.
Both parents saw a mental flaw,
That made sure he never smiled.
No one saw him as a friend,
And the girls would all pretend.
Cast from the crowd, they'd laugh out loud;
And berate him to the end.
On a broken course he'd follow,
The self-pity that he'd wallow.
A sad affair with no repair,
Only left his spirit hollow.
Till one fateful day it's said,
Moist tears in a lonely bed.
Still aching, with hands shaking,
Put a bullet in his head.
Not a soul was there to wave,
Since no soul was left to save.
Without a sound, tucked in the ground,
Now lies in an unmarked grave.