Long Quicksands Poems
Long Quicksands Poems. Below are the most popular long Quicksands by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quicksands poems by poem length and keyword.
The hunter knelt to check the muddy ground.
He was perplexed. The tracks were heading north.
No bears had caves on this slope of the hill.
The quicksands were not very dangerous
but deep enough to block the wild beast.
The seasoned trapper smiled. The frightened bear
would be an easy prey, an effortless fur.
The huntsman stepped carefully through the scrubland.
He knew the thick bushes and thorny briars
could conceal venomous spiders or deadly snakes.
He was an ace. On the hilltop, the wind,
with fury, made the limbs of scattered trees
wave in a frantic and infernal dance.
The hunter saw the fearless bear — a king
presiding on a rock — staring at him.
He armed his rifle and picked up his cap,
fallen between the perfectly still weeds.
There was no wind. Not even a slight breeze.
He raised his head and realized with horror
that the dancing branches were the heads of
a hydra. The man tried to catch a knife.
But with his feet no longer on the ground,
he knew he was its helpless prey to strangle.
Each time soul’s reborn, it begins anew,
with memory of its past life wiped clean,
feeling vividly each hue as though new,
truth of existence attempting to glean.
Love’s the only rule in this earth life school,
so on blank canvas of soul, we should ink
colours of joy but then lust makes us drool
and in quicksands of desire, we soon sink.
It seems then we are doomed but there is hope,
for God has provided us with a guide,
being voice of conscience, that we don’t grope
in darkness, reclaiming soul’s light inside.
The table is laid for joy readymade,
if we but opt in stream of bliss to wade.
If we but opt in stream of bliss to wade,
being flow of soma nectar within,
cravings of ego soon begin to fade
and our heart is purged from demonic sin.
To embrace magnetism is up to us,
simply since love employs no use of force,
so melding head with heart, making no fuss,
currents divine sublime steers our life course.
Love’s the magic that has no opposite,
resolving within its womb, past conflict,
making mind, body and soul composite,
provided we are not by ego tricked.
In void-centric stillness, witnessing life,
animating silence, our heart’s bliss rife.
Animating silence, our heart’s bliss rife,
tiptoeing softly in the void unshod,
allowing love to act as the midwife,
revealing inner light that leaves us awed.
Life is the fabric upon which we paint
emotes of soul, inked by our childlike heart,
so treading gently, mindful like a saint,
let us then make each breath, a work of art.
Born in the aether, God’s magnetic heat,
enlivens head to toe, our feeble form
refrain of love that always does repeat,
imbibed if we surrender to this storm.
Just as each morn, we’re graced by pristine dew,
each time soul’s reborn, it begins anew.
Each day we wake up with grace
We know not how the day will end
We walk by death time and time again
Unaware of our feet in quick sand
Some of us slowly sink in
Unaware we don’t fret or worry
Some of us are acutely conscious
That we sink and move in various ways
Perhaps quickening deaths grip
Perhaps not if one believes in destiny
We have various choices challenges that
Grab our focus and like hocus Pocus
Our death dance is transformed
Do you waltz beautifully to the music
Do you sing along and try to diffuse it’s sting
Do you embrace and trace your steps
As the death rattle settles in your chest
And fastens like a lead violet vest
Embracing the best and lovingly dressed life dreams
Bubbling upon the quicksand like a silver sonnet
How do we know enough about it to fear
What if the other side is more clear and honest
We all sink in quicksands of life and perhaps
It is the only worthy way to have lived
So put on your best dancing shoes
Lace them up with love
And strut your stuff
There are, there is, there once was, red inside the red
A doubt arose regarding that which is behind the walls
What lies between, below, above the objects olden clear
Structures must be more than surface tension purple
Designed on future's night, darker than the pink within
Red above the upper surface red clings on
All things being equal in between
Blue is in trouble when it sinks into the quicksands blue
That is all there is when brown dries out on olive black
On solid ground near by the rusty trees with deeper roots
To take hold of truth collapsed on gray and orange
Nearly unearthed by rainbow explosions taken out alarmed
The end could just as easily be green
Standing behind the stagnant walls
Red holds on to the bitter whatever
Whatever that might be
It is not yellow
Operating from our corridors in this oasis
We sit or stand concerned about passers by
To wave farewell or badmouth
To smile clearly or grumpy
In this globe full of confused folks
With catastrophes hinged on sentimental posts
Bigotry borne of greed and jealousy
Hard faces masked with friendliness
As handshakes extend beyond the elbows
We carefully watch out for falling rocks
On our canopies we expect them to litter
The slightest noise we stand at an attention
Seem too careful but helpless
Cus out of luck we huddle over thorns to step on thistles
We crawl beneath sight into quicksands we drop
Just mean to say
Carefulness is just an avoidance of blame
Only God could have taken us this far
The phoenix has died
I can see that now
I can see it in your eyes.
Those bright blue, youthful eyes
once so hopeful, now restless...unfocused.
Once you were a phoenix
on the precipice of flight
with the promise of love and life
oh, how I yearn to see
that life in you again!
She pulled you back, yanked you
strangled you with her apron strings
hung you, squeezed the life out of you
clingy, whining
a cesspool of anxieties
belched out and incessant.
Too caring, too conscientious to resist
you conceded, and the promptings
the promptings of obligation
overwhelmed.
So you froze fast in a nightmare
a nightmare of anxieties
trapped
sucked into a black hole
believed the lies
kept the security blanket
and sank in the quicksands
of stagnation.
The phoenix's wings were clipped
no longer a phoenix... no
but a goldfish in a glass bowl.
Now you languish in anonimity
never to make your mark
mugged by a mother's insecurities.
The phoenix has died.
Written on 2/11/2017