Long Prickling Poems
Long Prickling Poems. Below are the most popular long Prickling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prickling poems by poem length and keyword.
Take away my blind walking stick, been stuck with it way too long, Pedals of love, unwraps in my heart, I see light approaching swiftly inside my heart piercing through my eyes, thought miracles ended in the Bible, draw closer the world, miracle embrace of beauty, a Sotho sanamarena, royalty blood now rears the the biblical touch.
Been way too tangled in pain and constant disobedience, my heart grew thorns prickling, every segment of happiness in me, turned into asylum of pain and sadness, the sun ceased to shine inside this heart, for tears and pain has filled every edge and there be no space for lightness anymore.
I hear bars of hopelessness starting to brake, scabs of anger and disappointment fading, something new is assured, refurbishing, if not constructing from scratch, for there be nothing really left to build from let alone refurbish, the damage is way to extreme and drastic, disastrous, they walked in and out, without care , taking and taking, without remorse and conscience, a care I too was human like them, not immune to pain and hurt
Hope has been lost, but this lady dragged the wrecks debris, a war she's didn't witness, busy clearing rubles, mending walls and building bridges she did not brake,
See the halo over her head, hanging like throne, indeed the sun does shine, no matter how hard the storm hits, there in Lesotho God once in while commands angles to fix the broken, the faint and the out, I call her God at work, for her beauty performs wonders in my heart, with every encounter,
She helped construct from start, the true meaning of love, from what was ravished beyond detection, maybe she is love in human form, my love, in human form
#Poetic_Ink
...oooOOO Tears of Gold OOOooo...
Prickling hot glistening tears from the eyes above
Fall in little rivulets round the nose out of pain, thoughts or love
Hot tears roll down the cheeks cooling as they fall
Salty on the lips they pass they don’t stall.
Tears of pain, tears for the dead, tears for the dying
Tears for the newborns the weddings and tears for the sighing.
Tears that roll onto the bared chest with arms open wide
Giving comfort and strength as they try to stem the tide
Tears for the fears unrealised but real
Tears for those lost or that’s how they feel
Tears that flow for those we have not met
They need our tears but they will not know it and yet
They may feel our tears shed for them all
Tears shed out of pity or love they can fall
Tears for the free who think they are not worth it
Tears for the captives that do not deserve it
My tears are falling without knowing why
But the tears that are golden never run dry
They run for the love of all human kind
Wishing and hoping the deserving will find
Some one to bare their chest for them all
And comfort them as their own tears do fall.
Crimson velvet, soft and sweet,
Unfurls its petals, warm and complete.
A fragrant whisper on the breeze,
A symphony of colors, pleasing to appease.
But beneath the silken touch, a glint,
A prickling promise, sharp and distinct.
Emerald barbs, a hidden threat,
Where beauty and danger closely met.
The thorn, a whisper on the wind,
Of pain to come, a truth unkind.
Blindly we reach, for beauty's call,
Unaware of the impending fall.
For thorns are guardians, fierce and bold,
Protecting what they hold.
A reminder whispered, soft and low,
True beauty often comes with woe.
So let us gaze with mindful eyes,
And see the thorns beneath the skies.
For even beauty, sharp and bright,
Holds darkness, hidden from the light.
But still, we reach, with trembling hands,
To grasp the rose, across the land.
For even with the prickling sting,
The rose's fragrance joy can bring.
So let us learn, from thorns and bloom,
That beauty's touch may pierce the gloom.
With a cautious heart and knowing hand,
We pluck the rose, across the land.
And though the thorns may leave their mark,
The rose's beauty lights the dark.
For in the dance of pain and grace,
We find the strength to take our place.
Being pulled under.
Like a lily pad going ‘boop.’
Bobbing around, then nothing.
No amount of clearing my mind will undo it.
A spider whisper.
He likes me.
Prickling like his legs.
As if I’m in a dome.
Pulled under.
There are other people who have the slobbering feeling under their hair.
Faded out.
Like a pinecone with its edges shaved.
Fingers focusing.
With gripping finger pads that do nothing.
And the kitchen is always a mess of weird things.
Bugs and things.
My edges shaved down and caved in a little.
Grappling under the ice, but there’s no water, just feet of ice.
Someone else used to live here.
He was like a centipede to me.
Everyone is like a centipede to me.
Climbing the walls.
So am I.
Always around in the basement.
Depression.
Is when you are a spider, centipede, lily pad, or pinecone.
And could get crushed any moment.
But you don’t.
faint
sinew
Buoyant
Crema
Nutty
So
Sugared
Dark
Tart
Bean
Sup
Firey
Purr-
mm.
sip.
Sup.
Coffee Caramel Macchiato
Cubano Americano grains -sup
A earth in my mug ; -sip
Voyage over Nations -sup
Live, no fed sorrow -sip
Prickling mug.... -sup
Comfort blazing
In tip of my
soul
as I gain what they grow
Hospital forest pricking me not so lightly
Owlish creatures staring at me
Not as a person
but a body
One they knew they could not save
But they needed for experimenting
I flinched whenever I saw them
Knowing their intent was to pretend
They were not there to hurt me
Devil's Minions
Doing his work, evil in their hearts.
Just one little pinch, they would lie
Hoping I would hate them
Not to worry, I did, as they took parts of me daily
Sleeping here was impossible
Whirring machines, laughter of nurses who had no one
to speak to in the day time
Sleep interruption an hourly thing
Here is a new one
Waking me up out of a sound sleep
Devil's they are
Heathens
Infidels.
Hospital forest.
Where the
Evil ones
lurk
It has long ceased to rain here.
The embers of drought are fanned by the merciless
Hands of hell.
The air is stifling,
The heat insufferable.
I cringe from a long wait on a queue in the narrow
Trench at a fast-drying
Brook.
I wait from the crack of dawn to vespers time,
But not an iota of liquid
The size of miniaturised Sri Lanka in a children’s atlas,
Has creased my aching tongue.
Not one drop.
My chances are scuppered by the returning terns
Who must refuel in readiness for
Another chaotic Atlantic crossing.
A mild squall renews hopes for a pluvial onslaught,
But clouds chose not to weep.
The petulance of spring tempts our fortitude.
As the days stretch with sloth’s speed
In the face of a prickling drought,
I could only drink from an hourglass....
The jaw of Time has broken.
Waves of seas clash on each other and welter
By way of crimson froths.
Bleached by salt,
They taste like mordant fruits,
Biting and scourging my cheeks to the
Fulfilment of stalking and waiting.
There should never be any time that matters
More than any season, no matter the name of
The Calendar — Caesar or Gregory.
As I wait, I finger my hair,
Now whittled by damnation.
I dream according to my visions....
If only opportunities came as regularly as the
Milkman!
I opened the top drawer of my mind
and carelessly took out some words.
I threw them about with little thought
of where or on whom they might land.
Many bounced when they hit becoming scattered and lost;
Some stuck like burrs holding fast where they fell;
A few jabbed like barbs causing prickling and itching;
One flew straight as an arrow into the heart of a friend.
But I was amused at myself and filled with conceit,
there in the midst of an admiring crowd.
Caught up in the wonder and pride of it all
I gave no thought to the missiles I'd fired.
But wait, the crowd grew quiet, and
suddenly I knew something was wrong!
They were all looking at me with disbelief and fear;
then the circle parted and I gazed on a terrible scene.
My words had become visible, each ugly one of them,
glinting and mocking me everywhere I looked.
I ran from the crowd, from their jeering delight
thinking only one thing, disappear, disappear.
It was then I saw my friend.
Fighting for breath and losing the fight;
impaled and dying on my careless word.
I cried, "Oh my dear God. Please, what have I done!"
And I ran to my friend saying, "please, please hold on."
Then I opened the bottom drawer of my mind
and carefully, so carefully took out some words.
I carried them to my friend and gently held them out
hoping, praying that they would be enough.
My friend lived that day, no thanks to me,
and forgave me for my awful deed.
But oh what I'd give if I could recall
that word and the pain that it brought.
To you who, like I, have been careless in your talk,
take care what you say, set a watch on your tongue.
Else you too some day will see effects you never meant
from words you can't get back, ever.
Submitted 5 Sept 16
I may never know what exactly happened,
but I think I know the why of it
Tadhana…Fate…Destiny…Kismet…
Put it in so many words,
but it all boils down to that.
Tadhana…
shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
She was being stupid,
crashing into the waves that day
just for the thrill of it
He was being pensive,
reflecting on how those waves
just somehow seemed to soothe him
People slowly left the shores
as dark clouds loomed in the horizon
save for these two souls...
She wasn’t even supposed to be there,
just a spur of the moment thing,
forgetting her other worries
she loved storms, she loved the beach
combine them and for her it was bliss…
He went there for closure,
the 10th year of his brother’s death
trying to accept that he did all he could
he loved him, he loved the beach
but guilt drowned him…
The rains then came down in sheets,
winds whipping, storm waves crashing
she was almost at shore though,
when the undertow pulled her back
He thought he was imagining things,
his brother’s ghost perhaps?
When he saw her again,
and fear was tossed like jetsam
Was she the answer he was seeking for?
His redemption in another form?
Was this the reason why he was here now?
Her only hope for salvation?
Rushing out to sea,
adrenaline rushing through his veins
Faith and Fate working together,
he swam towards her
and as they reached the shore
the winds dropped to a whisper,
the waves went back tickling sand,
the raindrops trickled into drizzles
She was breathing, thank God
He lay beside her, exhausted
She could only thank him with a smile
well, a smile that could match the Sun
and she took his hand...
and put it over her heart
It was not so much that their hands fit perfectly,
but there was something else...
mole on her right ring finger
perfectly aligning
mole on his left ring finger
Tadhana.
Shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
and of why I am here.
** tadhana is a Tagalog word, it can be translated as fate/destiny/kismet
July 25, 2010
You are a lustful Pharisaic shark, who feeds voraciously from the sea of corruption.
You turn your soul away from the righteousness of God's ordinance, and now your head is sick with greed.
Your flesh burns with desire.
Your heart becomes laden with iniquity.
You wear an integument crimson as you let the tide of immorality navigate you to an equable rookery.
You are trapped in a world of get rich, stay rich syndrome.
So, at will, you summon your false devoted mien when you assemble the sheep.
You are a rhetoric genius.
You are brilliant in systematic explanations of the biblical text with theatrics and thematic expository narratives.
With an unpurified soul, you instill in yourself the force to be personable and charismatic as you sink your articulate fangs deep into the throats of your faithful sheep.
You gave birth to yourself and you live in a realm of narcissism.
You live with no prickling stings of regrets.
January 16, 2023
1 Timothy chapter 3 verse 8
2 corinthians chapter 8 verse 21