Long Requiem Poems
Long Requiem Poems. Below are the most popular long Requiem by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Requiem poems by poem length and keyword.
By the Grace of Amitabha,
You shall transcend the Samsara,
This mantra is your Sila,
Your Samadhi, and your Prajna,
The shield that demons fear,
The call that all yearn to hear,
The sword that slices the Gordian knot
Of lustful desire and crushing fraught.
Thus, with one heart in Him seek,
Seek rebirth in Ultimate Bliss,
And save yourself from the abyss
Of the dismal infernal Naraka
By resolving for with resolute faith
The profound Dharma of Amitabha,
His Forty Eight Vows and Grace!
Dither not and seek in haste,
Leap high above cruel Dukkha,
Beyond evil karma and King Yama,
And become a Bodhisattva
Standing atop the lofty Lotus Dais
Beside Amita Tathagata,
Beside merciful Avalokitesvara,
And by the wise Mahathamaprata,
And at that time your mind will know
That you have always been Amitabha,
And your birthright is to enjoy,
Now and forever, the eternal delight
Of the Land of Sole and Lasting Light.
Poem released into Public Domain
The rising sun has set.
Night has fallen.
The plow rests,
tillage and toil finished.
The corn ear withers,
but seeds are saved.
The scrolls are opened
event recorded;
the news spread:
"The sun has set,
the old Owl has flown
into the Heavens."
Yet, the sun will rise
and peek over the horizon,
the tractor will roar,
a new crop will sprout,
Green hands will turn brown
the flag will wave,
financial accounts recorded,
hospitality offered,
and the light of brotherhood shared.
Your torch has lit fires
that flicker and flame;
The fledgling will grow
and, hopefully, become wise;
New eras and life-chapters
will begin,
continuing the credo
as a Legacy to you:
"Learning to Do,
Doing to Learn,
Earning to Live,
Living to Serve."*
*National FFA Organization Motto
Written: June 26, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Constance La France
Poetry Quote:"‘I am your friend, at this hour you
needed me, here is my hand, I hold out to you
With my undying friendship, I offer you sanctuary.’" By Harry Horsman
The moonlight darkens, silver stain.
“Nature’s Worst” is around the rain.
Mist remembers your “Thwarted” breath.
Gentle melodies of love and death.
The blue sky of “Woopa Bank” makes you sing.
Grey haze curls and clings to the wing.
Passion is thinning. But it did not die.
Your words still drift up in the sky.
Wild gusts blew, and the canvas ripped.
“Season’s End” left souls stripped.
But in the storm, I heard your voice.
A truth pulse through anguish choice.
You predicted the century's snare,
"Century-Twenty Two", the world never cares.
And yet, your lines resisted decay.
They lit the dark, they warned the way.
"Living To Die" in the "Cemetery" near,
Could not silence what we hear.
Your scrolls of praise, your final tone,
Allow us to feel less alone.
"Harry Horsman", poet, heart of mist,
Your "Metamorphosis" requiem persists.
in the face of a somber requiem
I close my eyes
and I breathe
in
—
out
in
—
out
because even now
my body is trying to survive something
my heart already buried
the stagnant chill fills my lungs
cold like borrowed air
like I am trespassing
inside my own chest
your eyes
soft
dangerous
full of gentle desire
they linger on mine
not to see me
but to study
to learn
to calculate
what you can take
you wrap your gaze around my heart
thorny tendrils curling slow
patient
intentional
digging in
deeper
and deeper
until even my growth
hurts
why do you call upon me
with hands that promise warmth
only to disappear
once I open myself
why do you leave
after laying yourself
here
in me
I ask for so little
a sliver
a fragment
a moment of your presence
let that be my penance
for believing tenderness
could save me
because I know
I have always known
you never wanted me
you wanted what I could provide
the comfort
the softness
the absolution
you wanted what you could obtain
through me
my open hands
my altruistic heart
my broken one
I gave myself like a prayer
and you answered
like a wound
this is the cost
of loving gently
in a world that devours the soft
this is what happens
when you mistake attention
for devotion
so here I am
breathing
in
—
out
holding what is left of myself
in the quiet
in the aftermath
my offering
my warning
my
somber requiem
L o v e ~ a crippled nightingale
b u r n i n g in bronze tears
of tornadoes,
limping and writhing,
screaming for release,
but
what if I am the mistress
of glass-cut dreams,
crowned with
razor-edged regrets,
and splintered serenity?
Would the raven breeze
then cocoon my soul
with delicate doom,
fueled by petroleum promises,
searing in deadly flares,
as if I were destined
to be a victim of
vindictive vengeance,
torn and tainted,
chained in poisoned
strings of pearls,
a reflection of resignation,
of how kismet calligraphies
draped me in haunting ivory,
as the devil’s widow,
of when I vowed to serve
chastised chamomile,
of the night my innocence
was baptized in infected rivers,
rippling and ricocheting~
bleeding black with thorns…
O deranged twilight,
my heart aches in angst,
singing scars beneath
starless spheres,
where the moon is silenced,
eclipsed by the sun,
and the earth sighs
an unheard requiem
for the fractured skies,
stirring nocturnal feathers
to flutter and soar
in sync with the
beautiful tragedy,
while I lie in a sealed casket,
adorned with russet trinkets,
shadowed in macabre musings,
breathless and bruised,
alive, yet void of purpose
awake but sleep-walking
like an insomniac corpse
lost in the lethal gaze of life,
tracing emblems of the Valkyries,
caged between
the rising of dawn
and frozen dusk,
pondering if this is the end
of the beginning~
a cursed reincarnation,
as I see no escape
from your ill-omened grip~
a casualty of your cruelty,
I remain,
caught in the desolate
haze of h a t e…
I pattern my rhymes to relate to the divine plans of the maker/
Marvel at how my nouns and verbs seem to dance on the paper/
Advanced orators don’t hesitate to drop the prepositions/
And don’t use words unless you know the proper definitions/
Create metaphors and similes to enhance the verbal imagery/
Discard any absurd words that disturb the symmetry/
The energy used in your verses should be used in your chorus/
And don’t be ashamed to use a dictionary or view a thesaurus/
The law is never to bite a rhyme cause you’ll face relentless hell/
Always practice your elocution when the opportunity presents itself/
And defend yourself whenever you’re faced with instigation/
Constantly write what you see. Don’t waste the inspiration/
Some misuse their muse and write pieces that barely move/
Find topics in your daily news or try views that’s rarely used/
Don’t choose to follow pop kids in their quest for tall pockets/
Their life is all profits as they digress to false prophets/
Claim to be discerning entities without learning empathy/
Requiem for fallen emcees as their bodies burn in effigy/
My recipe for writing lyrics of all classic varieties/
Mix in skill and honesty and add small dashes of irony/
Don’t lie to me about packing heat for handling stress/
Damsels in undress and how your style’s damaging reps/
Can I suggest you keep it real and spit I can feel/
Ink scripts with writing skill and flow sick with mic appeal/
Don’t get discouraged for fear that all your peeps will hate it/
This is the primary obstacle on the road to being creative/
And be original, whether you’re a warrior or a pacifist/
Find your own niche in the realm of emceeing and master it/
/
There’s 7 billion stories in this world all ya gotta do is tell em….
Supine, his fathomless eyes fixed
on clusters of grey clouds suspended above him.
He's busy licking festering wounds of regret.
She was special; a gem, a raging flame to him.
The quintessential "one that got away"
His endlessly gnawing demons made her run,
and she never looked back. His punch-drunk heart
now lies in ruins and can't quite decide
how or what to feel. Each passing day, he weaves
a thread of fond remembrance for his lost love.
That gorgeous, ever-present smile
that often rendered him breathless!
Those searching emerald green eyes
that pierced through the core of his soul!
Oh, the long beautiful dark hair that obeys the wind!
Their love story was once magically in bloom...
then the petals fell and were washed away by a flood.
Alas, all is now lost; night birds that used to tweet
as they foxtrotted under the moonlight now fly in silence.
Their flame of love flickered and dimmed in the breeze...
and the hands of time can't be turned back.
Fond memories of togetherness are now tinged
with melancholy that refuses to dissipate. They are but
barnacles he can't seem to scrape off. Gone forever...
a love he couldn't hold on to if he tried. Isn't it sad?
Submitted for...
Strand Choice H,Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
03/16/2020
Writing Prompt - Ten Words Poetry Contest (winner: 3rd Place)
Sponsored by Dear Heart
Date written and submitted: 02/23/2020
Theme: Love
Darkness of night,
introduce me to what lurks
underneath your enchanting moonbeams.
I know that I should stay away,
yet, I am drawn to these silent things
that could easily end me.
I am not afraid of the supernatural.
I am spellbound, enraptured, mystified
by these psychotic creature's requiem dance,
that captures my soul
as it's own possession.
Darkness of night,
take me into your underworld,
where the arms of roaming specters
can totally envelope me,
like a densely tangled spider-web,
with no intention to ever let go.
Allow them to take me away,
to a deep place where, peacefully,
my dying soul can finally rest.
Darkness of night,
tell the devil only this....
he can have all of me,
to punish in any befitting manner.
I have already been through torture,
known pain, lived with loneliness,
and seen hell on earth.
The devil may care to try,
but he cannot hurt me any more.
Darkness of night,
say goodbye for me.
Shout high up to the heavens
and tell the sun it needs to shine
no longer on me.
Dark Poetry Contest
years ago no
body knows
and maybe
even my
genes
told
me
so
i fell
from
what i
think i
never
will
know
and i
sprained
my brain
unlike my ankle
everyone kept
pushing on it
asking if this
hurt or how
about now
does this
give you
any
pain
and so i gave
in to the give
and made
them try
pressing
a little
harder
saying
oh yeah that
there hurts
but then
people
stopped
pushing
walking
away
saying
he's
okay
let him live
life's a play
so at first as
an apprentice
i took the part
of the off
screen
extra
just
as
if all were
accepted
then when came
a time my mind
played Berlioz's
requiem in
reverse i
started
obser
ving
i'm light
years away
and to this day
i stay medicated
with something
my brain couldn't
make but still
my doctor
says stop
drinking
Form:
the sky h o m e s
what the sea
cannot confine
as clouds crawl and croon
carving contours
of compassion
to calm the chaos unseen
within
the cortex of the cosmos...
but I wonder
does the ocean
a d r i f t
in sunken silence
ever taste the briny burn
within the
lagoon of loneliness
amidst its
relentless kindness?
as I see clusters of clutter
nestled in the
somber greys of haze
and this heart
weeps for the wounded...
perhaps it is in
solitary spheres
they ache for the
starry kiss of poisonous urchins
cradling bleached blues
dwelling in the depth
of aquatic agony…
but when thoughts
spiral like sea-tossed
conch shells
I refuse to believe
there,
in the cusp of
weathering waves
blooms not
an aesthetic dream
resembling love that breathes
beyond the
grasp of galaxies~
to be heard
when
p a u s e d
is the shipwrecked requiem
within pained pebbles
piercing through~
like poetry
without a pulse…