Long Remove Poems
Long Remove Poems. Below are the most popular long Remove by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Remove poems by poem length and keyword.
Im not sure what i did to you
what i've been blaickmailed for
under the rug we swept the page we tore out
dance around what it told us to do
its your gold to figure out
this time, your pain, of the sin for being the creator
did it to myself
pointing out the abuse of my father
whipped and chained
crucified
no enemies
confusion of salvation
weapon for a messneger
for those who choose to hear it
the tower of babel fell
what if we were all wrong together
back to the basics of how i did this to myself
My father gone crazy
scared of mirrors
his own reflection
another gopher hole to remind him
of what you are
remove the blind fold
and see all my scars
never should have trusted you strangers
fictitious lies
graves of danger
holes to dig
in plots to fall into
wrap myself around the obvious to turn this loose
forgive and forget
i forget all the time
the leash on my neck
i dont forgive
choke at the tears i dont understand
fallen from my throne in the clouds
i didnt deserve
into your nightmare
to live a lie
called your perfect life
and who arwe you mad at
judas or christ for saving you from crucifiction
for the crime of the century
where the finger of your god gone awry
realising his mistake of his image altered
has come with an obvious omen to translate
and photoshop you into restrictions, consequences,
ways you werent supposed to bend
judas christ
the only face left to blame
the truth of the game your playing,
three moves ahead opf the game
me in check mate versus a world not playing fair
creating your god, to be the sin, to live your nightmare
way out of hand...
stuck in this corner
without a hand
opiates for mary jane
and nobody complains
fear farmers and desperation
eyes of the shamed
necisary contradictions
to pull you out of the deepend
swimming towards the sharks we keep at bay
what do you think he did to you?
those who walk around carrying a grudge?
lied? died? never ran away leaving you with the bag in a previous life?
or saved a future generation from a future of nightmares
only he could save us from
unravelling now
never to be forgotten
hail to your mercy
which i dont see exist
hail to your truth of who did it
hail to your emptiness
i am forgiven,
welcomed to the family
treasured as the brother
i am judas
judas christ
so knock it off with this kane and abel blitz
Form:
The Truth is the Gift of Gods Word
for it's understanding the habitation has stirred
softly upon spirit we listen to it's call
comprehension to it's voice like a seed is small
Can you understand the wise man's riddle
apprehend interpretation the narratives trail
from beginning to end surround the middle
without understanding it's Truth you may fail
Upon the Truth are your heavens fixed
the hearing upon earth with lies are mixed
to many have reached a state of complacency
the cares of this life has choked ability
You lead upon paths unknown
a flight those having wings have flown
I tell you upon the rise of each day
that you must lead and show us the way
Oh Shepherd like a lamb you guide me
for I am lost to the flock without thee
My Lord and my God you have called us out
faith in you but confidence in self do doubt
With every gesture you affirm the way
yet evermore before me do my sins lay
I look around upon those I do see
whose lives are worth much more than me
The seventh day Jehovah has blessed
where mankind will enter into his rest
abundance of joy will fill the earth
as Gods Kingdom has given birth
The fruit of her labor is worldwide
she will wipe the tears her children have cried
Gods woman has brought forth Life
she will train the children remove their strife
You are God from the womb of my mother
have preserved me from violence of brother
your handmaiden as captive I serve
given more than anyone here deserve
I listen to the music of your call
understand I grace given since fall
for to live is Christ and to die gain
and within the hand of your Love remain
Forsake me not when I reach that hour
frail woman in mankind has not power
give me courage so I don't therein cower
for I have beheld the future from your tower
Oh my gentle Lord your path holds no discord
our seas turned to glass when we do as asked
neath your wisdom do kneel as truth you reveal
all thinking given you and insight given true
Hold me close and in your arms
for hear I do the trumpets alarms
you have signified my death
for those you love I give my breath
Hold my hand on the path you take
for I am weak and easily brake
a thing that is soft and frail
for those you love like Lord impale
Now I know the path to you
by example your loved showed true
willing I am to give you my life
like anointed Son did for wife
source JOHN 3:16 Romans 12:1-2
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
What on earth is going on over there, do you have something to share, what on earth is going on over there, you are acting as if you don’t care. Is there any good news for us? Is there any recipe in the cook book? She always has something new to cook.
There is food in the pantry but the drain is clogged up, you have to get the technician to remove the plug before the day is done so that you can get the food from the pantry.
The wine is fine but there are few berries on the vine. You have got to put in a new crop before the autumn ushers in. They have the grain, the water and the drain; they just need a helping hand to clear the land.
The drums are leaving the town and the villains are homeward bound, the oligarchs are surveying the place and the customers are running all over the place. Everyone is looking for the best price before they roll the production dice. The season for the “bleeding” can be so demanding when you have twenty meetings in one day and nothing positive is coming your way. Negative energy will make you sick, and kinetic energy will throw you off the cliff.
Oh, I almost forget the shares; India has rice and beans to spare some people dislike the frosting on the cake because some flavors are out of date.
The Indian rice is white and it is piling up to the sky, the people will starve to death if you don’t act before the break of Dawn.
Narendra Modi, the King of the East must gather his administration in front of the beast, to discuss the rice ban before starvation devastates the land.
We don’t understand the reason for the ban, is it to purge the bad people from the land? You cannot allow the good to suffer for the bad or you will leave the entire world sad.
Prime Minister Modi is a good man and he need all the rice to feed the 1.4 billion people on his land .
This has caused some disruption in the global supply market. This is what you should do to protect the horse and the shoe. Export half of your rice to the globe and keep the other half to nourish your people’s soul.
You can add an extra dollar to the price to compensate for the ruthless sacrifice, consult your loyal customers and apologize for the rice ban.
You must put the politics aside and serve the people with much delight. Send the people to plant more rice and rescind the global rice ban, Prime Minister Modi…lift the rice ban.
I am a monster
A tormented work of God’s hand
I will roll over you
Like a storm
Because that I am
My energy will attract you like a swarm of bees in spring
Into your lover’s bed
Where I will remove tranquility
From you mind
Before you reject me
I am a Tesla
Coiled
My fingers set to spark
They will suck the life out of your longing
You will desire to burn again in my hell
But you will remove me
And keep me at bay
For I am too strong in field
To leave close to your heart
Yet I will possess you
Not because I own you
Only will I own your desire
To wrap around my tongue again
And from inside your womb
You will grow a hand longing to pull me into your core
Yet I will unwillingly shake your bed
While you try to sleep
Because I cannot stop
Even when I rest
A storm I am
Cursed am I
With a double vortex of pain
That rips at my muscles
And makes them twitch
When I want them to relax
There is lightening inside of me
That longs to be kissed into a deeper slumber
Just once, so that I can rest in bliss at your side
Will you do that for me, just once?
Or throw me away before the first dawn, as is my fate
My tormented soul
Wants the electrocutioner’s pulse
To leave me alone
And let my limbs recline
For just one night
But instead I must sleep awake
So I do not unleash
Another crushing wave
Against your brain
As my twitching arms attack you despite my love
For while a storm may intrigue you to watch
You will not ride long in the funnel of this tornado
I will become your toy
And discarded after a few shocks of my constant sparking
Have burned your precious fingertips into charcoal
My place will become as your sworn servant
When you require another grinding
And remember the reason your millstones have worn thin
Desiring another load
To render into stardust
And while I just wish to rest my weary head
Upon your swollen breasts of honey
While you sleep against me in pleasure’s afterglow
The storm that never sleeps will jar you awake
And your pointed finger will show me out the dog’s door
Creep that I am
Requires his mask to be kissed away, but it will not yield
No one can endure
A lasting embrace
Because I will bump your arms away in the night
You should be warned
As upon notice be you now informed
My tic ticking heart
Will demand its daily toll
Sending me to sleep alone
Infallible
I fall into the rain, beneath me;
My sky a glittery dust to thee,
Calling the joy I hath not met,
Thou cometh sweetly, but late.
I fall into the cold, and just me;
Only I understand the clouds,
Oh! I cannot seek that ‘tis so loud,
Too much noise, sickly around me!
Those fallen tears around my head;
The soundlessness of one’s fate,
And hark, in such quietness,
The decrepit being of hotness!
Those ragged stars about my hair;
Closing in on me, and my air,
With hues dyed in drowned sunshine,
But proud still, in its dried signs.
For such heat hath closed me;
Hath sifted me away from you.
For such guilt hath haunted me;
Hath kept me away anew.
For such a love, that thou felt;
But not yet felt again, today,
The gaze that I once beheld,
The words my heart cannot say.
Wherefore art thou, my beloved;
For t’is passion is tainted but pure,
To behold, to instill, to demure,
The meaning of this first love.
Wherefore art thou, my paint;
These poems hath not been said,
I see chaos, and not a flesh of fate,
I hath been loving in vain.
Wherefore art thou, my gaze;
Why cannot I see you through my face,
To hear such a bountiful voice,
To be about thee, in this bliss.
Wherefore art thou, my voyage;
I cannot stay this sober longer,
And hysteria, turning into sobs,
Like death, as my heart throbs.
Wherefore art thou, my colour;
Bestowed on thee my honour,
And age, with my fleeting skin,
Waiting in haste, to be seen.
Wherefore art thou, my winter;
Having too many doubts in summer,
Awaiting a lover that lasts,
By the moonlight and stardust.
Wherefore art thou, my rain;
And the sung that sings again,
To release my midnight, its pain—
To be my beloved, then.
Wherefore art thou, my kiss;
I can see your solemnity,
A thousand unsung melodies,
To bless, to make love to me;
Wherefore art thou, my art;
Too much of me is in my heart,
But none with a charm like thee,
Like the poet in fire, that in me.
Wherefore art thou, my sword;
I am bland now, and unheard,
Unheard as the rain that falls,
Amongst the sheltered walls.
Wherefore art thou, my piano;
The sound that arriveth late,
But not late to be my memento—
To remove all conscious hate.
Wherefore art thou, my word;
Improvised but reckless, my Lord,
Ah! Calm but poisonous, like me,
A fastidious silver, like thee.
Run Bacon run, the sound come echoing from the gun, run bacon run there is nothing to fear hold on to the third and the fifth gear. The oil is in the hip, grease your joints before you take that dip.
Meringue and carhop is no match for the crown. His body is on fire, and his passion is rolling with desire. The cow is on heat and the miracle is underneath my feet. He is running around in the sty so come catch the bull before it dies; the herd is waiting at the crossing with guitar and drums getting ready for that final home run.
Run bacon run, tie up your belly and run, take off your socks and shoes and anchor your feet in the ground before the mid-day news. Take up your baggage and run before you hear the final gun.
They are no match for your ingenuity, your originality and your brevity the crowd is pressing on with courage, ambition and perseverance but the dictator is hiding in the room and you have to remove him before noon.
Run bacon run the race is not yet done, this weekend promises to be fun if you stay in your lane and follow your gut feeling. You have got to know how to roll the dice and you got to know how to run on ice, you must keep your feet firm on the ground and follow the beam on the screen.
Run bacon run, you have three more laps before it’s done, the universe is watching you, and the crowd is patronizing you.Run bacon run, and take control of the track, the president and prime-ministers are in the stands, they are tossing money and playing lot, and way up in the gallery the Saudi dignitaries are getting jittery and the referees are moving around the field taking notes and observing the “goats”. They have thrown a lot of money in this race and anxiety is swelling in their face but they were not in a hurry, for the estimated glory.
Beacon is turning the corner and the crowd is roaring louder, bacon is getting is on the home stretch and it is pulling away in depth. The eastern stand is on fire and it is dancing with pleasure while the northern stand is cruising with the breeze and water is dripping from their knees, they are also on fire.
The western stand is burning with desire and the bacon has just crossed the finishing line in a striking distance of more than fifty meters. I have got to take the bacon home to cool down this internal fire, and give the niceties their final desire.
Run Beacon run!
I climb to the top of the Eiffel tower to catch the remnant of hope gliding through the skies in a bolt of lightning as it circles the three hundred- and thirty-meters pinnacle standing bravely on the hill singing songs of redemption.
I have been longing to get there because I have something romantic to share, it was you I saw sitting in a golden chair with a diamond ring on your finger and golden septage in your hand.
You had gifts all around you and long line of people were waiting to see you and the people from Babylon walking by saluting and bowing in front of you.
It seems like yesterday they rolled the curtain away and you came out without a thought or doubt, but the villagers began to shout.
They marched in the village with sticks and stones calling on the woman of Samaria to turn around or they would send the tanker man to blow up the town.
She didn’t take it seriously until she got hit in the face and ended up with broken finger and domestic disgrace, forcing her to pull back into herself as the weapon of death wheeled over her head.
It causes her to lose some precious vote and while she was out everyone start to shout, the river monkey and the Pentecostal valedictory but the Methodist honorary showed compassion and did not voice their opinion. Pope Francois was in on it too. But his persuasion was not strong to take down the giant man.
The live imagery was so profound of everyone you meet in the town. They smile in front of you and tear your garments behind you and when they are done, they hang it on a stick and place it on top of the Eifel tower in the sun.
We live in two separate worlds, one inside of me and the other outside of you, but it feels like you are right here besides me.
I can hear you all the time but you mask your voice underneath the vine and at nights when I take a nap you play tick tack toe underneath my frock but I pretend to sleep on to prevent altercation on the land. The image is always there it comes and disappears.
I am going on the hill to meet with the daffodil; I will minister to its soul and make its body whole. I will heal its painful allergy and when I wave my hands over its face, it will remove all the disgrace and dry up all the allergies.
The daffodils will smile again from the virtue of my healing hands, so come and help me to sing this beautiful song.
It was when I reached my fortieth birthday.
Not so young, but, youthfulness ruled the day.
I was known as an educationist, around,
My intelligence and wisdom, they felt, was sound.
Not many were invited to my birthday party,
My friends said I looked hale-and-hearty.
Cut the cake and with all simple meals shared,
I felt, as though by all, I was loved and cared.
It's when I stood to thank each one that evening,
Something tucked my tongue for no evident reasoning.
I stood silent, shocked, perplexed and lost,
None could understand what had happened to the host.
I tried to talk. I could not. Tried again; failed!
Not knowing my state of mind my friends hailed.
When, after hard trials, like dew drops, my tears spilt,
All, around, understood. Lo! There’s some tilt…
They took hold of me and asked me what happened,
I could not articulate; all seemed so saddened.
Doctor - some said; That's what they soon did,
None could remove from my tongue that lid.
I, an orator, remained speechless. Is it God's work?
Or demons do such tricks that God gets the jerk?
I resigned to the state of affairs and remained silent,
Everyone around understood this and became quiet.
I felt my trouble is nothing before John Milton,
I could see; he could not; My path is, hence, silken.
Pain in me, yet, grew, like fire in a dry forest,
Though I seemed silent, within I had great tempest.
Having found no remedy in treatments mountainous,
I turned to God, who is bundle of boundlessness.
I surrendered to him and said - Give me speech -
In return, I will, your glories ever preach.
In return? O fool! What would you give God?
Inner mind said. What could to God you award?
It's, hence, I lay before him, as though dead,
As mute as a muted lute, I went ahead.
In one of praise and worship during night adoration,
I could feel, within my tongue, certain restoration.
Is it reality or illusion? I did never know,
Dumb will speak, scriptures said, if believed so.
I believed; trusted; relied on his immense power,
Many prayed during that very long operation hour.
I talked. They could understand me as before,
Does anyone know, yet, the truth within the core...???
God and God alone is the truth I firmly say,
Without him, for salvation, there is no other way...!
24 October 2022
ER: Enlightenment Recovery Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
I should really be writing my essay (due tomorrow!) but I can't have this poem stand here
under my name without some well due editing. I would remove it but I feel like I have not
given the idea a fair amount of my effort.
Let me tell you the story of the man who wared with time
Let me tell you of the lying man who thought himself free from fate's monotonous rhyme:
This lying man would not a true story tell
To the masses: tales of himself in a regal crown he would sell
And they would ask: How come you here, great king?
And he would weave tales of abandoning his office for a woman's ring
Some would jeer and others cheer
But always he would smile ear to ear
At time in its grandeur he would leer
To priests he would lament of his heinous crimes, to never repeat them he swore
Begging their pity and reveling in the new skin he wore
So why, you may ask, does the liar lie of heinous acts
When he could lie of owning the grandest tracts?
And the snake of snakes would slither its tongue
And shed its skin, a coat in its closet so neatly hung
It would tell you a million tales, not one of them true
And never itself shed in any hue
For the flesh beneath may be soft and fickle
But the skin above is always rough and brittle
The flesh beneath once shed, would still the beating of his heart
The skin above once shed, would instill in his life immortality, the one true art
And always the happiest man alive he would be
Living the lives of any man his mind could see
And so the lying man would not a true story tell
The lying man would lie till the day he fell
That day the king of kings dies
The day the criminal meets his demise
While the lying man that was lives on in every story
As friends and foe would debate the king's glory
All the while the lying man that is sinks deeper into his grave
And that priest would remember a criminal who only mercy did he crave
And that coat of skins would weaken and tumble
The skins within gone brittle and begun to crumble
As the lying man that was, flesh and vulnerability, decays
All those skins he left behind, time will one day erase.
And so lying man, you had smiled in the face of time,
Done no great dead but steal what was theirs and mine
You had fallen thinking you had bested the clock
When only you had deafened yourself to the echo of tick tock
© Samir Georges
2010
For one full year I have been thrown in the lion`s den
And the lion has been running and jumping
And pulling savagely at my leg
The philistines also surround me
with a hidden weapon dancing beneath me
And the church with all it`s hyprocrasy and
white hats barking down the hill
looked at me in dismay as I ran virougsly up the hill
If I am hungry no one knows, if I am sick no one knows
If I am sad, no one knows and when I am at peace with them
They throw tissue paper in my face and called me the Devil from hell
They call me names but I stand looking at them without shame
If only I could get through this day,
I would hold up my hands and say
This is just another day.
Yes this is just another day and you have
to embrace it before your heart goes astray
The meeting and the dealing
The cheating and the underlined feelings,
The signiture on top of the dollar
And the hour that dosn`t look proper
And when the day is done
This is the place where they shout Amen Alleluia
This is the place where the devil is enraged
My spirit is flaming inside me
And the birds are flying about me
Oh what profanity,
Oh what desolution when the windows of heaven breaks loose
And you have no one to bend down and lace your shoes
And when you cannot minister to my innate cry the earth will open
its guts and penetrate all the rust with the passing of time
I cannot release this welled up tears that has been
watering my eyes for over one year
It is the daily despositon that make me sigh and
the lack of understanding that they cannot deny
A gang of men and a pack of wolves speaking
above their voices with no vision or insight they
are just working daily for a bligh, and when
the evening is done they go to bed with saw dust on their front
I still cannot feel at peace here, and I will not live in fear
I am going to get up and just walk out of here
No finger to burn and no message to return
It feels like a wilderness surrounds me
And a fire is raging above me
And just around the bend,
It feels like the lion is grinding in the den
The month is coming to an end when
And I wish that the sorrows will go away
The day is absorbed in its own horror
And I wish for a better tomorrow
When knowledge will clothe the face
And wisdom will prevail over the race
Remove the covers off your face and strike
a deal before it is too late.