Long Reside Poems
Long Reside Poems. Below are the most popular long Reside by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reside poems by poem length and keyword.
My door is left ajar,
Awaiting those from near and far.
From daylight to twilight,
I wait and hope,
But no one arrives,
And nothing is different.
Silence pervades my house;
The wind sighs and sings within.
It crashes against the walls and windows without.
I’m despondent and in despair—
Melancholy stealthily shades my day.
I long to hear the melodious songs of my mistress,
To listen to the conversations between her and her siblings,
Reminiscing about old times and being hopeful for the days ahead.
I long to see the children play, jump, and read,
Argue and fight, then come together in the bond of siblings.
I long to hear my mistress and her husband talk deeply and heartily,
I long to hear her prayers in the quiet of the night.
A forgotten home I have become.
I reside in its storm;
I abide in its night.
I await the light of a new day,
A day when I will rise above the murky waters of nothingness and despair.
When will this be?
My heart longs and aches.
April 11, 2026.
I'm gone just like that at the blink of an eye
and the critics don't know what side I'm on
because I reside wit them both them
niggas that blow hella weed smoke
and this lost generation thats beggin for hope
and they think it's a joke but me I just float
away like a boat on a cruise and life or death
curses and blessings which one do you choose
and whats rule 1, live everyday like it's ya last one
poetically sadistic strapped emotionally wit a
brick of C-4 and a revolver wit one in the chamber
and since I'm a ghost, like the Great White Shark
my name spells danger I'm far from bilingual
but spiritually I then spoke every language
and I'm gone like the spirit of the lost victims
like a well people keeping throwing coins in
and keep wishing like Christians who's
spiritually fishing... I'm A Ghost
With eyes of grey, no longer whole the cross you bare - to see no more.
That’s what I see as I look on and so I start to write this song.
Your body broke, bound to a chair. Up at the world you’re forced to stare
and watch from sidelines day to day. Then fall the verses to my page.
Your now deaf ears and muted voice reveal to me - you have no choice
but sit in isolation’s chair. The melody next comes to bare.
Your face is not as others are, left wanting redress from the scars.
Alone now more than any else. The chorus forms so as to tell.
Your mind from birth was incomplete. Cold institutions your retreat.
Shunned by the world nigh unto death. The final touches do attest.
Then pausing to review my prose, can’t help but think and want to know -
why has God left you broken such and not revealed the Healer’s touch?
Quick fall my pages into flame as wanton souls in vision’s frame
appear before my eyes of clay that seeing, see a different way.
Revealing that I have been wrong and beckons, “write a different song”.
A song that leaves me void of pride as questions make me look inside.
Though in the dark the blind must be, they cannot judge what they can’t see,
and I have sorrowed much thereby. Which one of us is broken?
And though the lame do not stand tall they do not trample one and all,
and I have sorrowed much thereby. Which one of us is broken?
And though the deaf and mute reside in silent isolation’s tide,
the silence bares the Spirit’s voice. Which one of us is broken?
And though the maimed must hide their face they do not play love’s foolish games.
Oh, I have sorrowed much thereby. Which one of us is broken?
Yes, though detested some live life, they live outside our world of strife
where I have sorrowed much thereby. Which one of us is broken?
I know nothing of war.
It doesn't reside with me.
I just know there's a knock
on the door,
a pull on the arm,
a sense of rightness,
or something like that,
which some answer to.
That, I can see.
But I don't have to, you know.
I'm just a girl. Hard work
is an optional reality.
That's what they tell me.
But I see something
like a forked path.
On the left, roses scattered,
scent sweet, air mostly clear
with a few rare storms that quickly pass.
And on the right,
only fog. Gray and thick.
A jungle in the clouds.
My battle is this you see.
I crave adventure too.
So I make wars with myself,
I plant the weeds
to obstruct the path.
Maybe I just love climbing things.
Easy is boring,
I know you can see that.
So here we are,
with the aftertaste of something
we can BOTH understand.
The question is, can you see me
holding all the things I've kept hidden
in my open hand?
Can I trace the shape
of those realities
that corrupt the half of you
that's different?
Can you deal with me being a criminal too?
See, it's gotten me,
and they've gotten you.
But if it's what you want,
and it's what I need,
then I'll look for you
somewhere in the middle.
where you and I are ALMOST the same.
Though my numbers changed
I’ve been called
I have a call
I have a call, a call to live like Jesus
I have a call, a call to live like Jesus
A call to live like Jesus
Been birth-born again
I’ve been called, called
A call to live like Jesus
To weather the storms, walk the waters
To lay hands on, my sisters, my brothers
I’ve been called
To preach the Gospel
Sow my Father’s Words- Hallelujah
~
One day my address is gonna change
I will no longer here on earth I’m gonna remain
There is mansion in the skies
Up in heaven a new place where I’ll reside
Though my address changed
I’ve been called to praise
A call to live like Jesus
Been birth-born again
I’ve been called, called
A call to live like Jesus
To weather the storms, walk the waters on earth
To lay hands on, my sisters, my brothers while on earth
I’ve been called
To preach the Gospel while here on earth
Sow my Father’s Word while here on earth- Hallelujah
Hallelujah- Hallelujah
Hallelujah- Hallelujah
Hallelujah -Hallelujah Amen
I’ve been called
I have a call
I have a call, a call to live like Jesus
I have a call, a call to live like Jesus earth- Hallelujah
Hallelujah- Hallelujah
Hallelujah- Hallelujah
Hallelujah -Hallelujah Amen
5/7/22
Written words by James Edward Lee © 2022
Harry, your words were moving
emotions and imagery so approving.
Death does come to all with the last breath flow,
we refuse to accept the void shadow go.
Your life's process anew all over again
to sit with the king among men.
You leave us with a remembrance of your soul.
We will meet again! In God's control.
5/24/2023
In our hearts you will always reside, and your poems will live on my friend.
~
A Date with Milton
Death comes to all like a great shadow,
servant of reality when the truth of it sinks
in leaving the experience embedded on
one’s soul. Milt, given to remembrance
in his lifetime, moments flashing by, when
the congregation gathered to celebrate his
time on earth. But in the book of scrolls
winter is definite in which age must give way
to the new, one, he’d readily give for
the sprinkling of innocence created to start
life’s process all over again, with perpetual
regularity. He would, from behind the thin
veil of Ionna, bless and comfort the unfortunate,
the depressed, the lame of an earthly lifetime in
songs of praise. Leave a recipe for a foregone
conclusion. Auf wiedersehen, we will meet again!
February 6th 2023/
Copyright © harry horsman
"Sacred Waters"
In the hush between the stars and sea,
She rises, quiet, wild, and free.
A tide that stirs with breathless grace,
A rhythm time cannot erase.
Not just of body, but of flame,
A current no one dares to name.
She pours from places deep and wide,
Where gods and ghosts and dreams reside.
Her waters bloom without a sound,
A tremble shaking sacred ground.
Each pulse a prayer, each gasp a key,
Unlocking what was meant to be.
We meet where silence starts to sing,
Where flesh and spirit lose their wing.
No edge remains, no form, no fear,
Just now, just us, just truth made clear.
He is the mountain, she the rain,
She falls to me again, again.
And in that fall, the world is new,
Its birth, its death, its blaze is you.
This bond, this breath, this molten grace,
Makes temples out of time and space.
For in her flood and in his fire,
The stars remember their desire.
Lev
End Note:
This poem is a sacred offering, an invocation of divine union, where sensuality becomes a gateway to the eternal. It honors the feminine flow and masculine grounding as a mirror of cosmic balance, where every intimate moment holds the power to awaken spirit, dissolve ego, and return us to the truth of oneness.
There are two windows in my house blest, one is to east and one is to west
From one I see sunrise and from other sun sets, one face highway and other forest
I observe people from one and birds from others, people seem hustle and birds continue warble
I see streetlight with other moon sight; people I observe tends to have work stress and birds are just relaxed
I learn life from people's stress and from birds how to be fearless
Life is a long journey ahead but I don’t want this view to hide, from world by my side,
So I want to let u know there are always two windows, one with reality and other with clarity
And yes I love both with all my heart and no one can break this apart
I love the way I reside, happy and healthy life.
Written: June 23, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Coral reefs bloom beneath the tide.
A hidden paradise where secrets reside.
Lavender fields sway in the gentle breeze.
Whispering tales of tranquility and ease.
Lemon trees bear fruits of joy and zest.
A tangy burst of life at its very best
Lilac blossoms adorn the garden walls.
Their fragrance is enchanting as twilight falls.
Here, where darkness reigns and shadows dance,
Keep cracking the whip; keep taking a chance.
Burning Bones as Fuel, a macabre symphony,
In this realm of chaos and misery.
The walls scream for mercy.
Echoing your singing voice, so unworthy.
But the notes carry a haunting tune.
A melody of despair, a lament for the moon
Many innocent young souls are recognized.
Caught in this war, their innocence is compromised.
Their dreams shattered, their hopes destroyed,
On this battlefield, where darkness is deployed,
They cry for justice and for peace.
Their voices echo, seeking release.
But the world turns a blind eye.
To their pleas, their desperate sigh
They deserve more than this cruel fate.
Languishing in the limbo of hate.
Not war, but peace, is what they deserve.
Yet in this battle, their voices are unheard.
Like ashes, they float in the wind.
Their dreams, their lives, are forever pinned.
But we will not give up; we will not yield.
For their souls, we will fight; we will shield.
Marsh shilling (walled herd)
Whitman man inside
expedited without fanfare
takes yours truly to
hot air wind Copeland
an effort to expunge grievous
llama ants that chide
this NON GMO, nonconformist,
gluten free... brand
heralding supreme storied
ancestry courtesy 23andme guide
me with enlightenment, whereby
family (dollar) tree did expand,
visual perception these myopic
(color blind) brown eyes espied
thank you very mooch beloved
eldest sister Amelie plus band
of relatives, whose voluntary efforts
made significant stride
rightfully abetted digital technology,
vis a vis FIOS or other broadband
telecommunications company
allowing, enabling, and
providing me to bestride,
hitherto yawning gaps formerly
blank slated information
mystifying this pokey cowhand
before he doth give up his ghost,
when succumbing to grim reaper
patiently scythe ying at bedside
(mine) no matter gravely ill,
but ecstatic to learn extensive
eye opening insight spanned
generations back from present time,
once again lion's share opened
shuttered Pandora's box and defied
successful neatly mapped
genealogy regarding direct
(day late dollar short) penniless
descent, nonetheless grand
thieving ish kabibble
boob pa linkedin
with figurative trailer load
of rolling hard rocks seconds
to spare before I died,
thankfully this pissed off
loo nut hick kick bajillion
got earful of anecdotes
analogous to gourmand
checking off sought after eateries,
(especially Indian restaurant in
Newtown, Pennsylvania) on
bucket list before downslide
into infinite abyss i.e.
farce hide scanned
din knave eon aged Swede schlemiel
constituting non "FAKE" mockery,
trumpeting parody travesty,
many golden opportunities I denied
self, now toothless
drooling, groveling, sniveling...,
woof fully poorly manned
existence, thus...in gloom,
I forever reside!