Long Recovering Poems
Long Recovering Poems. Below are the most popular long Recovering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recovering poems by poem length and keyword.
The loss of memory is forgotten in the wind
The moment we die before our breathe falter,
We are a fading Spectator struggling to the end,
And life flushes out the things we cannot alter.
Stand to surrender and wave the battered flag,
On chosen fields of love serenade career misery,
Some battles we win, but in others wearily drag,
Our soul from the ground to win unlikely victory.
Taste the peace in whose arms we are thrown,
The lifeline we find a sonnet of solace to climb,
Happier days of virtue spent recovering at home,
Leave the cares and thoughts for others to find.
Adventurous world resign from gaining riches,
Embrace serene sense of peace and happiness.
Long has I danced on these floors of lovers, my dancing routines lil rusted and outdated, yesterday was the day I fell off and broke my ankle, and sworn to return no more but here I am today, obliged to follow into my human nature, it was weeks ago when my recovering ankle led me to this scene, now my play run unscripted, this time around met the unexpected, believe that's what coincidence refers to
So off guard, my expectations caught, I speak philosophical jargons now, with my vocab out of context, my Inquisition drops me continuously, hope to find stand to fit my feet, my sweet struggle commence, I smile in my heart plight, so long had I pondered of such, now this is my jungle to cross, my adventure steady, hope she meet me halfway, for so long had I tried, this mile I soldier to travel,
So many controversial complexities, I fail to follow, even to some little acts, I strain my antics, so empty handed I forever return, she keeps her cards to her chest, this blind fold on my expectations exhaust my patients, so much had I put in place to work this garden of her heart but still she remains unimpressed, sigh in my endurance, what ingredients should my mental chef try?
My quest, still a mystery, how without I'm of her calibre, wish God leaks to me her heart manuals, my request is simple; just wanna learn to love her her way, for I have failed my way. Her name means happiness, so dry has it been in my heart for such, I too just wanna have a stake in her name, hope she heed my quest and grant me justice.
#Poetic_Ink
When the starless nights are bleakly opaque,
and the sunless days desolately misty,
to steer the astray life across an ambiguity maze
within the miasma of misery is not easy.
As life searches for the escape route in earnestness,
the whisper of humor dispels ludicrous haze from gloomy recess.
Time flounders in the cauldron of harsh reality,
storm of strife surges with shredding force of discord,
blowing away the shards of the mangled mind.
The splinters fall morphing into drops of tear abhorred.
In those moments of slashing friction
a shared laughter is the lubricant that eases the abrasion.
In the quicksand of expectation hollow inside,
remorseless dangers of desolation lurk.
As the demolished desires subtly subside,
failure makes the life’s tortuous pathway dark.
A flash of humor lights up the gloom of loneliness arcane,
fosters the human spirit in life’s absurdity domain.
Life with tentative future in tormenting times,
writhes in the crushing clutch of stifling suffering.
The bearing of being breaks and bleeds in pining pain,
finds no solacing arms to dedicatedly grasp recovering.
Humor does not refute the pangs of pain sowed,
its relieving support reduces the emotional load.
Unfulfilled wishes damage the dormant essence,
futile promises smother the rays of fading hope.
Shrapnel of words lacerate the lattice of the mind,
actuality turns life into epitome of animosity to cope.
A good sense of humor blunts the sharp blades of reality.
It doesn’t just render life endurable, it makes it a beautiful entity.
What could become relationships
between Matriotic
Whole EarthViews
and unheavenly patriotic
nationalistic worldviews?
Violence
oppression
intolerance
suppression
disrespect
repression
negative first
is last shunned impression,
Lack of compassionate communication,
narratives of excommunication,
unstoried devolution
and restorying revolution experience
Of deep listening
born co-empathically again
before responding
to ego identified
leftbrain labeled
evoked rightbrain universal
non-languaged intuitive feelings
Of needing more
deeper
wider
higher integrity,
co-empathic health
checking for more curiously cooperative wealth
Exchanging values and disvalued positions
for healthy and rewealthed resilient
GoldenRule win/win principles
of global peace work
and con-celebrative
curious
courageous play
Discovering,
recovering EarthHealth Wealth
Without unilateral
elitist
devolutionary
dissociative
anthro-supremacist apartheid
Walls,
Revolutionary Wealth Without
ego-social v eco-hostile
humane cultural v divine climates historical
inclusive political v extractive capital economical
matriarchally spiritual v patrilinear natural
civil creolization v violently colonizing
competitive divestment
bipolarizing Walls.
Recovering from a bridge that's been burned
depends on who lit the match that started the fire."
~ by poet
I stood alone, watching as our bridge was burning
His words were flames growing higher and higher
Ashes fell as if they were dust from dying stars
I was completely lost and disenchanted
mesmerized by the fire's golden glow
Darkness loomed over me in mourning's hour
as dawn was slowly waking beyond the hills
I was seized with the chill of being in pain
Thinking never again would I trust in love
Why should I when it ended like this?
Years spent together would belong to the past
and memories dim like the last breath of twilight
but come unbidden when I'd least expect them
Unwanted intrusions in reveries and dreams
of scars and wounds scorched across my heart
Each breath I took became a struggle
One I wasn't sure I could continue taking
I wondered if this sorrow would ever end
and if there was no tomorrow, would I care
since the bridge between us no longer existed
The world came together as one —
Or rather, acted as one, like in the
Days of Noah, in the first lockdown
Following the first pandemic of flooding.
There was the smell of a virus.
Thick and heavy, it held the lungs hostage.
There was a confraternal mass, and between heaven and hell
An iota of odour, bigger than the sinking sun, hung in the stratus
Dour moments followed us to the bedrooms
Where we cringed without facial masks.
As we sneezed, the earth caught cold and shivered.
I never knew that viruses were also weapons.
Vaccines became the new baptism.
Darkness descended quickly every evening
With patterns of winter during wars of attrition
Global hate paused as the clocks ticked loudly
Hostilities ceased.
Material envy retreated to
The back pews of desolate churches,
Fragile and lonely with the silence of the wilderness.
The beasts of the earth visited on tiptoe — as hard times
Would come and go;
We were reborn, and clutched at the saddened minutes of
Borrowed sanctity.
Holed up in lacerated mattresses and hovels of death,
Many made music alongside silenced choirs
That hummed trembling hymns from distances brought nearer home
By visuals of horror.
The earth was on her knees,
Addled by the haste of her own funeral,
Subdued by a thunderless, voiceless rainstorm,
Cremated without the need of wood and fire.
The smell of the virus came with the intensity of balmed sin.
It was sin itself.
Recovering from that attack, that invasion, that lockdown
Would require the touring strengths of the dove and raven,
Who would cruise on the wings of passing time
To secure a landing word of caution,
With or without olive branches on their beaks, displaying
Redrawn maps of fumigated paths and ravines of earth.
My wife was in the hospital with a condition rather severe,
Her mother came to care for our son so I could visit her there.
After several days and a few long nights I suddenly needed a break
And headed home late one night for a dip in the hot tub to take.
We live in the Pacific Northwest so you know it was rainy and wet,
But with the hot tub being outside it hasn’t stopped me yet.
I didn’t want the towel to get soaked so I hung it over the chair,
And tiptoed across the deck completely and utterly bare.
Now, our back door locks with a bolt or by the handle on the door;
My wife and I only use the bolt and never used the handle before.
I forgot there was a stranger in the house who didn’t know our usual ways,
So I guess telling you I was locked outside is something I don't need to say.
The guest room is in front and she didn’t hear me from the back;
Around the house I had to trek so on her window I could tap.
Our backyard is very private so skinny dipping is our usual norm
The front of the house, not so much, a bathrobe I wished I had worn.
My mother-in-law got quite the sight when she opened the door
I don’t think we have to worry about her visiting us any more
My wife is now fine and back at home recovering oh so well
And about three thousand times a day this story she likes to tell.
True story that just happened about 2 months ago.
Twenty-four hours ago,
the wind ran across the lake searching for a place to land.
Some shingles followed, torn from their topless roots.
This morning there is some abuse,
feathers fly on their own,
the mallards are whispering in the huddled reeds,
however, daylight stubbles upright
into a high-rising sky.
The television is predicting clear sight soon.
The radio coughs, and stutters, its talk
flutters from a loose tongue.
Behind closed doors
we gather wool from clouded minds.
Ropes of rain tangle the already tangled,
yet the air is not short of fresh breath,
it recovers
in the untrammeled stems of the living.
Tawny is the hair upon the slim vixen's back,
it is as sleek as ever; she goes to the water,
to sip the last few drops of a homeless storm
long past.
never been here before
driving with the hippomouth feeling
i am starving and hungry for more
24 hours can be so cruel at times
however it's okay because we worked our behinds off to get here
we are in our respective modes of "where i don't care"
when we get back to the luxury oceanfront condo, we each kiss the itinerary
tomorrow will be equally fulfilling
we pray once again for protection, positivity, safety, and good health
we thank Him once again for Every Blessing Bestowed upon us
we then begin the daunting task of recovering from the hippomouth feeling
however we decide that it is simply no use
the whole of the experience keeps us locked there till possible lockjaw and pulls us back in like reluctant godfathers
The spring awakens
From beneath frost the earth warms
As sun rays alight on the rocky surface.
Dormant and waiting, so patient,
Just biding time until it's right,
Embryonic shoots break through
Blinking in the bright, clear air of revival,
after winter's stark fingers laced the land with ice.
Petals punctuate the burgeoning grasses.
Soil recovering from frozen depths,
As winter's kiss becomes a distant memory.
As our ancestors 'afore,
the women who fought with
The purple the white the green
And at her centre, in the image of the weak sun.
Our star cimbing across the southern sky
Brings hope to the eye of the day,
Widening, following and closing,
As the day ends so the daisy closes her eye
Once more to sleep, yet tomorrow comes soon, And her eye once again shows the soul of the earth,
Her window opening through the petals.