Long Remembrance Poems
Long Remembrance Poems. Below are the most popular long Remembrance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Remembrance poems by poem length and keyword.
If you think I am mad
Then you are wrong
I am indifferent to how my ancestors were done
Raped, beat, slaved and hung
Yet you say we still singing yesterdays song
Babies scorched in cotton fields
Farming and harvesting for someone else's yield
Nationally known as Willie Lynch
I'm dropping facts I'm not giving hints
This is about what they did
Not what they didn't
We are the true decendants
They stole our very remembrance
Once they took off the chains
They left psychological scars and stains
Yet they got no repirations
Can you equate to their pain
Let alone this conversation
Not meant to offend
Its about ancestry dividends
Every nation had its hand in America's
Melting pot
When Christ returns things will get hottt
No more identity theft
They painted his face
And tried to hide what was left
War=America
Prisoners of war = 12 tribes of Israel
We got a bad deal
Don't get upset I'm just keeping it real
They took the natives land
Then offered a helping hand
Put them on reservations
Called it social meditation
They took ships to reach the 12 tribes
They came with ruffles, bullets and bribes
Africans and Arabs sold them out
For spices, wine and guns
Nothing is new under the sun
This is not just another poem
So if you think I am mad
Then you are wrong
I am indifferent to
how my ancestors were done
07/13/2018
Your indifference is the abandoned torch that scours old bridges,
Hiding in shadows the echoes of each tremulous and cold step.
Your wounds, coppery reliefs that lure me dishonorably,
Urge me to explore how I pretended, burning, turned into dust of a severed star.
I return to the field where your scorching heat fosters germinations of the void,
To gaze upon how my soul became ashes in vain, yet still flutters from roots of light.
Your scar, a constellation on the sky of sadness, guiding astral navigations,
While I seek you among the ruins of the fire bequeathed by your regal flame.
In silent evenings, when the stars fold into themselves, your indifference tickles my dreams,
A somber choreography of shadows that encircle me and whispers a refrain of bitter legends.
It's the dark moment that terrifies yet transforms into the portrait of resignation,
A chimeric dance, where the distance between us weaves its endless and unreal wings.
Your indifference, a frozen lake in a land foreign to the warmth of day,
In a world where your memories fly like migratory birds to other summers.
In my palm, the ash of us – a dust of vigilant moon,
That tempts me to create from your absence a monotonously white world – the memory of a yearning's death.
And yet, in my heart, where nameless love still burns,
Echoes of your voice drift, as if wanting to sweep away time,
Like a broken link from the cosmic chain, a symbol of a secret unknown,
Every star's twinkle – a remembrance, each comet – a doubt, within which, mystically, I seek you.
Time to understand and learn
by changes that not return.
Applicable and unforeseen
remembrance of what have been.
Giving the selfish shadow a rest
and nourish an ethical best.
The force of life the gift to care,
replace that machine what keeps you stare.
Time to return to a sacred glance,
taking the leading role in the living dance.
Enrich those smiles as long as you can,
with tears of joy where it all began.
The waters of integrity carry every reach
while the waves of false hope dissolve at the beach.
Time and all one can give so silently,
living stardust by the future to see.
Then by natures law in splendor swore,
this sacred dust carries on and nothing more.
When in doubt in all that gaze,
to remember a rainbow in that haze.
The individual light is the myriad of a struggled world,
where the great soul knows to dwell impearled.
The music was lively.
The young dancer, unable to restrain
herself, stood and shuffled slowly to
the dance floor. His eyes followed her –
hopeful, but with sadness and concern.
Her gait unsteady, her cane little
help, she began to move – awkwardly
but determinedly – until her eyes
filled with frustration, fear, and
finally resignation; and she stopped.
His eyes filled.
She slowly lifted her gaze from her
uncooperative legs – until their eyes met.
Their painful frowns slowly morphed
into a wistful expression…
And they danced…Across the years,
In sweet remembrance of times
held as tightly in their memory
as they had once held each other…
And they smiled.
Most will say that fateful day was much like any other.
And most assumed that it would end the same.
Now we see it differently. We look back and we shudder
Remembering the images of flame.
The innocents whose lives were rent by this malignant act
Must never be forgotten or ignored.
Don’t overlook the lives they took, the terrible attack,
And don’t forsake what we are fighting for!
Together we must rise and overcome the threat.
I swear our memories will not be bound.
It’s so important that we never do forget
That awful day they knocked the Towers down.
We were not sure what had occurred, the what, the why, the how.
We only knew that everything had changed.
In our heads we stopped and said, just what do we do now
To rise above the fear, the loss, the pain?
We stand transfixed, disgusted, sick, at what occurred that day.
Together we all bear the awful scar.
For all the dead we bow our heads, to God above we pray
That they forever rest beside His heart.
Together we must rise and overcome the threat.
I swear our memories will not be bound.
It’s so important that we never do forget
That awful day they knocked the Towers down.
Do we recall the awful fall? The Towers all a-flame?
The smoke and dust that hid us from the sun?
Don’t ever say that it’s okay, that we deserve the blame!
For nothing justifies what they have done!
As time goes by the tears may dry. Still vigilance is best.
We wouldn’t want their memory to fade.
In times to come we’ll stand as one, and we will pass the test,
And show them all that we are not afraid!
Together we must rise and overcome the threat.
I swear our memories will not be bound.
It’s so important that we never do forget
That awful day they knocked the Towers down.
When my breathless body returns to the earth from which it came,
Let it be known that I tried,
In the face of damnation,
With the manacles of propriety digging deep into my flesh,
And the corpulent greed of the contumacious seeping from every open door,
Let them say that I tried,
Inside this strident existence that we call our own,
Where the fastidious prey on the guileless,
I just wanted to be a luminous beacon of intransigent truth,
A munificent solace for those In need,
I just wanted one zealous moment to make a difference,
And as the remnants of me powder and dust into the soil in which I lie,
Let at least one person say that my life was worthwhile,
That my existence was heuristic,
Because if I am to become just another sorry loss,
An echoed memory only deserving of a sorrowful after thought,
Then what was it all worth,
And more so,
Why then would anyone else bother.
Because if we cannot make a difference,
Then I would rather not be remembered at all.
The time seems to wander, languishing here and there, jealous of the wind.
Sometimes it flies, to almost find it's end, even when you have barely started.
The terrible ones, they seem to standstill, so you can live them for a lifetime.
The boring ones, are not appreciated, yet can be missed on those wild rides.
The day listens, to no man or woman, it knows well what to surprise us with.
There are a few, in everyone's life, that will be remembered, that have no equal.
When all the luck, works its magic, to lift the spirits high, and love comes to call.
There are days when, we fly too close to the sun, that melts wings made of wax.
Some are breathtaking, when death is standing near, but it's just not your time.
The guardian angels, swoop low to carry away that day, that took a piece of you.
Every single day, we should live as our last, for each is the gift of a jealous god.
There are the nights, that follow the day, when the gods dream, of being a man.
And all of the days, when misfortune arrives, and you cry the whole night away.
Then comes that one day, you won't survive, when you pray for just one more.
And all that's left, is to drift off and relive the ones, you wished would never end!
Sitting snugly on a smooth,soft slope
Surveying a stretch of sea eternally still
That moment memorialised in my mind
As the sun- sinking silence soothes the trees
Stand the monuments to shrunken lives.
The plots define within strict limits
The tales of beings whose remembrance
Provides what amounts to no more
Than their names ,ranks and serial numbers,
Their joys and sorrows only to be surmised.
Gloriously the sun bathes the glistening stones
Giving them their moment of glory
Resting softly upon the chiselled legends
And then plunged into the darkness
Of the dead of night
Until their resurrection with the rising sun.
In you are articles of remembrance,
Objects of years gone past,
I wish you could harbinger life's furtherance.
Bring back the times you preserve,
Awaken all that has gone into the night,
Let dawn bring to the fore all that you reserve.
Oh! How fleeting are our days,
Unknown is our mileage,
Veiled are our tomorrow’s ways.
Oh! Some days how I refrain from coming close,
From awakening rested thoughts,
From the gloom symphony that flows.
Let recollections still be archived in you,
Recollections that rebirth mirth,
Until all with life is through.
Box of memories,
A treasured keepsake,
Box of family stories.
April 30, 2023.
Writing Challenge - Words with 'X' - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
Years roll on,
Independence Day returns,
A flag unfurls, and memory burns.
From Delhi’s skies to New York’s cheer,
India’s spirit echoes clear.
Tea is poured in distant lands,
Cultures meet with gentle hands.
A sip in New York, 2026,
Global voices in harmony mix.
Work once rooted in India’s ground,
Reaches to height when values found.
In U.S. halls, the lens is true.
Massive seas, wide roads that bend,
Streets and bridges without end.
Civil marvels, steel and stone,
Give weary eyes a resting tone.
And through it all, a soul will see,
The journey’s more than geography.
Each step, each day, each fleeting view,
Is history lived, becoming new.
21 Aug 2026
Rashmi Pawar, India