Long Quot Poems
Long Quot Poems. Below are the most popular long Quot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quot poems by poem length and keyword.
If I were a child again, I would learn to draw worlds from lines and curves of dreams,
To breathe life into paper with colors intertwined in a silent and pure symphony,
But as an adult, I don't even know how to draw a boundary between desires and reality,
Letting the outlines fade into the fog of days that pass relentlessly.
If I were a child again, I would learn to say "no" as an incantation of freedom,
To protect my soul with gentle yet firm refusals, like the walls of a fortress,
But now, as an adult, I struggle with my own hesitations, a battle of politeness and fear,
Unable to refuse, burying myself in promises I cannot keep.
If I were a child again, I would learn to maintain order in the chaos of play,
To carefully tend the fragile gardens of intensely lived moments,
But as an adult, I have only learned to unravel things, to leave everything in disorder,
Trying to find balance on a thin thread of desires and regrets.
If I were a child again, I would learn to let go of what no longer fits,
To let the wind take memories away like the leaves of late autumn,
But as an adult, I cling to candy wrappers, to small gifts,
Kept as relics of love, fearing to lose what once was.
If I were a child again, I would learn to truly live, to breathe joy,
To dance through days without worries, to rest under a sky full of living stars,
But as an adult, I merely survive, with nights of broken rest and shattered dreams,
Searching for meaning and peace in the tumult of a life always on the run, always uneasy.
If I were a child again, I would learn what is truly necessary, essential,
So I wouldn't have to unlearn what isn't mine, to shed the false ballast,
To grow with a light heart, untouched by useless burdens and hollow dreams,
To embrace life with the pure innocence and courage of a beginning without end.
You don't have to rewrite the story of your life, you are not a broken glass,
waiting to be glued back together, but just a being in search of a corner of the world,
where you can sit without being strong, like a flower letting the rain embrace it,
without the fear of wilting under the weight of time and expectations.
You just need a small chapter where you can breathe without fixing everything,
where your heart can rest, like a tired bird finding peace in its nest,
without apologizing for being tired, without asking permission to be.
Sometimes, you don't need answers, you are the ocean, vast and deep,
you can be calm without knowing why the tides are high or low,
you just need someone to say "you're okay" and truly mean it,
like the sun whispering, "Rest now, I'll return tomorrow."
You want to remember how to laugh without guilt, to cry without shame,
to feel like you belong somewhere even when you're lost, like the moon
wandering in the dark sky without needing to explain its glow.
You don't ask for eternity, you don't ask for much, just a pause between noises,
to feel human again, like the wind stopping to let the earth breathe,
a moment of silence in which to find your essence, to feel that you exist,
like a star that shines just because it remembers how to glow.
quot: "The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind.".. Khalil
I met him at a square dance, beneath the stars,
A square of joy where laughter filled the air.
Not long before he saw beyond my scars,
And asked me to change my path with care.
His lessons weren't just found within the class,
But in the way he taught me how to see—
No pressure placed, just guidance when I'd ask,
A teacher, yes, but more—a friend to me.
In the darkest days, he stood by my side,
A mentor, a teacher, a steadfast guide.
When pockets were empty, and hope ran thin,
His hand reached out, pulling me in.
Through trials and pain, his smile remained,
A beacon of light when all else waned.
How can I forget the strength he gave,
The reason i survived, the way i stayed brave?
With every step, he lit my way,
His kindness helping me seize the day.
In this foreign land, I owe so much,
To a heart so warm, to a soul’s gentle touch.
A guide suspended by the thread of time offers itself,
Where the soul clothes us in garments of flesh and beginnings.
The filigree of words breathes on the parchment of eternity, intertwines,
Speaks of sunsets as embraces of gods falling into sin,
Of celestial concerts, where the wings of dawn fade into shades of oblivion.
Of bursts of laughter woven like secret torrents from deep within the earth.
Of love, of the nebulae of the heart stretching over an infinity of realities.
But the guide to live it—routes lacking the breath of life,
Like maps to a continent of the soul, born from mist and dreams.
The brochure, like an oracle, speaks in whispers of shadows dancing on walls,
And of failures, perhaps like frosty days taking root.
Death is but a signature, a nail placed in the wall of fate.
We wander through the odyssey of words, seeking the essence, a candle to burn in the darkness of uncertainty,
A guiding star to wrest us from the march of clay puppets and breath.
And we find, finally, serene upon the scriptural horizon line:
"The realm you build is yours—beyond the gate of beginnings, time is a river without bridges."
Good evening, my love, in the pale light of memories that settle like a gentle mist over the soul,
I await you with the impatience of a traveler lost on the platform of a station forgotten by time,
Hoping you'll bring with you continents of mysteries dancing on the starry sky,
A train of lonely thoughts whistling melancholically through the tunnels of the heart.
Good evening, my love, my words trickle like autumn rain over the barren land of reality,
Few and rare are the sacred things that still shine in this universe of shadows,
Fragile loves, extinguished before finding fulfillment, buried in premature graves,
I wait for you to bring that spark that can reignite the flame of eternity.
Good evening, my love, invisible walls rise between us, trying to enclose in cages of silence
The word "longing," struggling to escape and find its way to our hearts,
Many are those who want to lock our love in a labyrinth of oblivion and lose it in nothingness,
But we, my love, know that our love is above any bolt, stronger than any lock.
Good evening, my love, in this world where illusions unravel like a dream at the break of dawn,
I wait for you as if our love alone remained steadfast in this realm of the ephemeral,
A guiding star that shines beyond falls and rises, beyond words and silences,
I wait for us to dance together to the eternal rhythm of hearts that refuse to fade.
In the labyrinth of knowledge, my steps hesitate,
Echoes of unspoken thoughts collide with the walls of the mind,
I am a wanderer lost among open books and prefabricated truths,
A pilgrim in search of sacred doubt.
I see around me spirits educated just enough to believe,
Not to question, souls caught in the thin net of certainty,
And I wonder, who are we,
Those who swallow false gems,
Believing them to be imperishable treasures?
In the distance, I hear the roar of an ancestral struggle,
The echo of science's first steps on unknown terrain,
I see the shadows of giants who dared to doubt,
To defy authority, to demand the right to be unsure.
And I feel within me the seed of that struggle stirring,
A tiny flame flickering in the cold wind of conformism,
I wonder if we still have the courage to question,
To doubt, to be uncertain in the face of received "truths."
I float on the waves of collective memory,
Among fragments of knowledge and shadows of doubt,
And I realize that our freedom to doubt is a precious gift,
Born from the sweat and blood of those who fought for it.
In this night of thoughts,
Under the starry sky of unanswered questions,
I pray we never forget the struggle that brought us here,
That we don't lose what we've gained with such toil.
For in doubt lies the seed of true knowledge,
In uncertainty hides the key to progress,
And perhaps true education is not about knowing,
But having the courage to ask, to doubt, to always seek further.
So I leave behind the comfort of certainty and step into the unknown,
With a trembling heart and an open mind,
Seeking not answers, but better questions,
Not safety, but creative doubt,
Not limited education, but the freedom to think.
Let's play with our hearts under the sky of an endless night,
to exchange them like falling stars losing their brilliance,
asking for nothing in return, just a silent dance of fate,
to feel how my heart beat in silence and longing, to know how yours did.
Let's play with our hearts like children sharing secrets,
but you're afraid to step on the unknown path of love,
I to learn to let oblivion dress my memories in thin veils,
you to learn how to love without reservations, without chains.
Let's play with our hearts for a day, just one day of eternity,
you to cry with tears heavy like rain on dry fields,
and I to laugh at them, turning them into rainbows of hope.
Let's play with our hearts without words, just with the murmur of blood,
you to listen to how mine beats like an old clock in an empty house,
I to listen to how yours lies, weaving stories of light and shadow.
Let's play with our hearts and then take them back,
you to receive your heart empty and cold like a stone under the moon,
I to receive mine full of echoes, full of "Us," like an old song.
In regnis verborum, ubi somnia avolant,
Versum componam virtute purissima.
Calamo in manu, cor meum flagrat,
Narrabo fabulam, notissimam unquam.
Super tabula caelesti gratiae,
Colores amplexus amoris exprimam.
A primo mane ad crepusculi fulgorem,
Tapestry conficiam, poetae somnium.
In pratis aureis, ubi flores saltant,
Rhythmos in dulci somno congregabo.
Odor jasmini, aura mitis,
Arcana flatus inesse susurro.
Cum metaphoris vividis, caelum depingam,
Siderum symphoniam in habitu concors.
Earum tremulas melodias, coetus caelestis,
Ignem aeterni desiderii excitabunt.
E profunditatibus incognitis, animam extraham,
Arcana solvam, spiritus integrabo.
Per gaudium et dolorem, triumphum et desperationem,
Aperiens sensus, sine timore communicabo.
Humana miseria, thema aeternum,
Hae versus decorabunt, vividus rivus.
Cum misericordia et compassione, calamus meus fluat,
Revelans veritates subditas penitus.
Per fabulas antiquas et narrationes fabulosas,
Heroes dierum antiquorum excitabo.
Eorum virtus et sapientia, in aeternum sculpta,
In poeticis stanzae, in perpetuum conservata.
Ab altissimis montibus ad latissimos oceani sinus,
Perambulabo terrae spatia, longe lateque.
Verbis ut navis, maria navigabo,
Narrationes aperiens cum clavibus infinitis.
In echo risus, lacrimarum retentarum,
Historiae patheticae suum nexum invenient.
Melodiae vitae, tam lenes quam clamosae,
Cantabunt carmina sua adoranti multitudini.
Quot verbum scriptum est, universum floret,
Infinite possibilitates, extra aulas nostras.
Nam in regno carminis amplexus,
Mundus expergitur, ornatu gratiae.
Hoc ergo carmen fiat testimonium verum,
Potentiae verborum, magiae quam efficiunt.
Nam in his versibus, studio compositis,
Inest poema maximum, oceanus aeternus.
In the twilight of her mind, where shadows play and memories twist,
She stood before the mirror, that ancient oracle of truth and deceit.
A reflection, elusive as the morning mist,
Dancing on the glass, a ghost of what she sought to meet.
Through the corridors of time, she wandered,
Echoes of voices, like whispers in a cavern, shaping her form.
"Who am I?" she wondered,
As definitions and narratives stormed about.
They told her stories, painted her canvas with words,
Doubt, like a silent serpent, coiled around her heart.
Each utterance, a brushstroke on her soul, absurd,
And yet, they wrote the script, a play in which she had no role.
Timidly, she fought the chains of prescribed identity,
Casting aside the shackles of meaninglessness they bestowed.
But uncertainty, a shadow, lingered persistently,
In the labyrinth of her mind, she struggled and slowed.
Seeking solace, she turned to the mirror,
A moment, suspended in the amber of time.
Her true self, a silent prophet,
Gazed back through the veil of grime.
Confusion, a dark cloud, veiled her sight,
Words and pains, the sculptors of this enigmatic figure.
Unrecognizable, a portrait of suffering,
A mosaic of scars, each a silent whisper.
At the heart of reality, she stood,
Her essence, a mystery even to her own gaze.
Unaware of revelation, misunderstood,
A life of echoes, a distorting haze.
The mirror, a portal to the depths of her soul,
Reflected not just her face, but the storm within.
A journey of discovery, a path to make whole,
To find the self beyond the skin.
In the end, the mirror held no lie,
She saw her true self, unaware of the revelation,
While a lifetime of heard words distorted her image.
In a universe of lights flickering on the edge of consciousness,
The desire to possess becomes a hypnotic melody, cold and painful,
Binding our souls to the shape of objects, captives under a mechanized sky,
Where the thirst to consume flows through veins, a "biological" need that consumes us.
The market, a labyrinth of exploitation, weaves the unseen class structure,
Advanced capitalism hides its fangs under a technological veil,
Transforming class interests into glittering commodities, their enchanting shine,
And it is not the machines that suppress dreams, but the unseen masters who decide their numbers.
It is necessary to remind that science and technology are couriers of liberation,
Only their use in a repressive society makes them tools of domination,
In a world where the sky is covered with endless desires, we find ourselves captive,
Seeking answers in the darkness, melancholic dreamers on the sea of illusion.