Long Reshaped Poems
Long Reshaped Poems. Below are the most popular long Reshaped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reshaped poems by poem length and keyword.
Scorned and ridiculed,
She carried her affliction for years.
There came a time when she bled.
Until one day her body buckled
And there laid she in her scarlet pool.
That filthy maiden was as good as dead
But Jesus reshaped her from earth’s dust
And delivered her from the hands of the cruel.
There came a time when
the unborn in her womb laid still; showed no sign of life
Curled in its fetal tomb,
And concerned expressions
On the faces of doctors
Alas, were ready when they considered the deciding factors.
But she in all the noise,
Lie unperturbed.
No doubt,
it was God who administered that herb.
And in an instant rebirth
The babe leapt, bounded and gallivanted.
There came a time
When all around her beloved child
A fiery furnace closed in,
But the loving arms of Jesus
Enfolded the child with oxygen.
Methinks that maiden would not have
made it to the other side
After the many years of
Stained tears she cried.
But she is Mother-Earth
And God has granted her rebirth.
God touched me
He covered me with His grace
God caressed me
His mercy to me was embraced
for I've been
inoculated with God's everlasting peace
an wavering faith in me has been released
infused with His righteousness
encompassed with His lovingness
Jesus cloaked me in His perfect love
Jesus covered me with His sacred blood
for I've been
inoculated with God's everlasting peace
an waving faith in me has been released
infused with His righteousness
encompassed with His lovingness
for the power in God's hands are unmatched
and can produce a significant impact
to remake, reshape and reform
to amplify, modify and transform
for the Holy Spirit has embellished me
with Its might
so that I can now walk by faith
and not by sight
for I've been
inoculated with God's everlasting peace
an unwavering faith in me was released
Infused with His righteousness
encompassed with His lovingness
God touched me
His infinite grace
then wiped the tears from my face
I'm now
Inoculated with His everlasting peace
an unwavering faith in me has been received
now infused with His righteousness
totally encompassed with His lovingness
remade, reshaped
and reformed
amplified, modified and by the Holy Spirit
transformed
I. Of Circuits and Litanies
Somewhere between the limbic lobe
and the ache of late-night Eucharist,
you touched me—
not in flesh
but in the soft mutiny of neurons.
They do not teach us
that synapses pray
in the tongue of longing,
that oxytocin sings psalms
in dim-lit corridors of the amygdala.
Love is not a metaphor.
It is a switch,
a slow-burning heresy
of selfhood dissolved
in the damp chalice of another.
The brain forgets to defend itself.
That is the miracle.
That is the sacrament.
---
II. Limerence as Liturgy
You smiled.
And the frontal cortex fell
like Jericho.
Dopamine, the drunken priest,
spilled wine across
the altar of my cognition.
Even the thalamus,
solemn gatekeeper,
dropped its keys
and wept.
I built a cathedral
from your silences—
half-Buddhist, half-blood,
a trembling scaffold of maybe.
We are baptized in limerence,
born again
in the gaze of the beloved,
our default settings
re-scripted
by the accidental liturgy
of touch.
---
III. Rewiring Eden
There was no apple,
only mirror neurons
echoing your hurt
as mine.
No serpent,
but my own past
hissing
in a language of trauma,
until you held me
in recursive forgiveness—
and the garden rebooted.
Love,
a divine malware
in the hardware of reason,
reconfigures
the self into plural.
I become “us.”
I become
sacrament.
And the limbic system,
that cryptic chapel,
chants:
Be not alone.
Be not a tomb.
Be rewritten.
---
IV. Final Benediction
In the end,
the theory is not general.
It is specific.
It is your name
coded into my neurochemistry,
a sacred glitch,
a remembered warmth
across cold synaptic distances.
And though the world is ending—
always ending—
my brain,
reshaped by your tenderness,
continues
to believe
in resurrection.
I ran out of words to say,
or the strength to shape them right.
Grief settled in and took its place,
and dimmed my will to fight.
I found a kind of solace
in the silence left behind,
Though others moved to fill it
with stories to malign.
They shaped it into something else,
something that I’m not
turned absence into evidence,
and truth to what they thought.
And still there was a pull in me
to set the record straight,
to step back in and say my piece,
but I could not bear the weight.
Would they hear me differently,
or turn it once again?
Or would I stand there, just as before,
and lose myself in them?
Because what I lost is already gone,
no words could bring it back,
no perfect phrasing strong enough
could change a thing like that.
I learned to live with what they said,
with no one who'd defend.
Silence, reshaped and interpreted
by those who need to win.
I took my worn and battered frame
and chose at last to leave,
For there are no winners in a war
that no one can concede.
Because there are no victors here,
not in battles fought like these
just the slow, hard work of finding peace
and learning how to breathe.
And the quiet kind of courage
no one else may choose to see
the kind it takes to walk away
and keep what’s left of me.
Santa Clauses were to be molten and reshaped into Holy Cross bunnies
on a mega 3D printer but then the app somehow went wrong
Chocolate trickled and trifled and mixed with fake season’s greetings
King Kong and Godzilla leaped off the assembly line with
Witches on lolly pop brooms and then the whole show went viral
Mephistopheles aliens with marshmallow ears danced merrily
Suddenly truffle snakes in seductive icing sugar bikinis tested tempted
cotton sugar candy apples as big as paradise vowed and allowed
They all swirled swished and tumbled to cacophonous tunes that had
to be labelled as retro and neo-modern-classical rap-sorties
At the exit of malfunctioning malls the Easter display went a tad pear-shaped
as soon as the rabbits slipped out of their hats and mounted the chickens
The mistress and master of ceremonial clangour had at problem at hand
and some egg on their faces thus they squirted and squinted
They pondered and squandered with no solution untouched for the task
how to make more profits and be politically correct just the same
‘Megalomania’ and ‘Mega-High-Money’ the respective CEO’s of ‘Turn water into
wine’ and the start-up ‘Chocolate Merry Go Round for the Soul’
Could not fail in this venture as not to have their heathen bonuses
dissolved into cocoa mousse splash
After meetings and brain storms pilot studies and polls they decided to craft
a whole new religion (the Independent Unseasonal Reformed Epiphanists)
Fortunately the United Philistines of Consumption were too busy to notice that
the newly created faithful were simply rehashing an old dogma of money
What a shame that those lovely chocolate coins have gone out of fashion and
That Buddhists would not want their spiritual model to melt under the fig tree
09th April 2018 Written for the contest Easter 2018
the early sun drapes gently across the branches
a whisper of promise, of new golden chances
A BRIGHT MORNING OPENS EVERY QUIET DOOR
and shadows retreat where the sun will restore
love clings tenderly in petals that shine
hearts lift overhead like branches that climb
BEAUTY BECOMES BLOSSOMS, BOLDLY BREAKING THROUGH
and faith feels steady, reshaped and born anew
waves whisper gently, curling near the coast
dreams drift forward, the ones I cherish most
COURAGE CAN COME, PEACEFULLY CALLING ME HOME
leading the lost where the spent still roam
night leans close and stars give counsel to the sky
hope clears gently and grief learns to fly
DREAMS DESCEND QUIETLY, GLOWING THROUGH MY HEART
and love, unwavering-binds what was torn apart
It being crystal clear
we self block the divine current
owing to hidden fear
thus insentient to the love scent
The limitation in peaked fullness
of the divine electricity
owing to in-form energy conduits
constrained by identity
Surrender conditional
attempting steering by doership
as long as mind active
our ego spirals in oneupmanship
Whilst flowing in a calm tranquil
self aware awareness
vaporising into the heart spacial
in a sea of blissfulness
Time & tide do flow on
as we are reshaped on the anvil
we rest in staid silence
surrendering residual egoic will
30-September-2020
When I was a young lad in elementary school,
I was an underachiever, and that wasn’t cool.
Not for my teachers, my parents, or classmates so cruel,
Echoing, “No, that’s wrong, do it again!”
But no matter how I strained, I just couldn’t win.
The pressure, the teasing, none of it helped.
My mind stayed off-track, my confidence shelved.
A big test tomorrow… what would I do?
Why bother studying? Why bother? What’s the use?
“You’ll strain your brain, go insane, and fail this one too.”
But I tried again, took out book, paper, and pen,
And made yet another attempt at my failing studying.
I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly it did:
I began to write in rhyme, every paragraph, every tidbit.
I took the printed words and reshaped them in time,
Rewriting, revising, turning lessons into rhyme.
And when it was time to sleep, the echoes filled my mind.
Soft rhythms drifting gently, leaving anxiety behind.
I hadn’t felt that relaxed in such a long time.
At my desk the next morning, pen at the ready,
My teacher placed the final exam before me, steady.
For the very first time, I looked at the test, smiled wide,
And tackled that sucker confidently, with nothing to hide.
Question after question, no hesitation, no fear,
Each answer flowed clearer with every idea.
Then came the essay… but all I could think was rhyme,
So I translated my verses into prose more aligned
With the average reader’s everyday mind.
“Time’s up. Pens down.” Tests collected, graded, stored.
Tomorrow we’d learn who’d move on, and who’d stay back one grade more.
The next morning my teacher returned each test one by one,
Praising some students loudly, scolding others when done.
Then she placed mine on my desk, staring at me in dismay.
“See me after class,” she said. “Something is wrong here today.”
She paused, confused, unsure what to say…
"Congratulations," she said to me suspiciously, “You got an A.”
The shape of sand dunes on the beach,
Shows the patterns etched by the sweeping wind,
Walking on the beach on a windy day,
I feel how my life changes with the emotions every day.
The drifts and mounds on the sand hill,
Waiting to be shaped and reshaped by the surf and wind,
The valleys and hills of my feelings,
Forms and reforms with the myriads of
events every day.
Ask sand dune what it is,
A heap of sand changing its form every moment,
I ask myself who am I,
I am what I am, changing with my emotions every day.
Sand dune. a shining sand castle in a golden sunset,
Or a buried chest of marine treasures,
My life, a mirage full of hopes.
Or a Pandora's box full of life's trials and tribulations.
I will no longer seek your gaze,
no longer linger on the edge of silence,
the absence stretching like a vast horizon.
I will not reach for your warmth,
no longer draw maps in the air
of what we could be,
the path winding like a whisper,
echoing in my heart,
unanswered.
From now on, I will stand beside you,
my love reshaped into friendship,
a sturdy bridge spanning the chasm,
supporting your every step in the wild,
the dreams you chase,
even if they unfurl away from me.
I will fold my longing into quiet corners,
like a letter never sent,
until the day you turn
and I hope you do
to build something extraordinary,
a mosaic of moments shared,
freely joined,
the vibrant colors of connection
illuminating the space between us.