Long Rewrites Poems
Long Rewrites Poems. Below are the most popular long Rewrites by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rewrites poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, the poet sees you not just as a fleeting shadow that fades into horizons,
He falls in love as the sun in gold transfigures the curve of your cheeks,
In the line of the smile that steals your guarded secrets, fragments of hopes gathered,
In the tones that around your fingers display codes of lights and dreams.
He is captivated by the vibration of the air when his name is a hymn on your sculpted lips,
He sees ocean depths and stellar explosions in the pigment of your iris full of delicate reflections,
He notices how shadows, in their reverence, outline your form, canvases on which histories are written.
In silent chambers, places not filled or solidified by words,
A poet with a generous heart will find you, beating in unison with the melody that resonates within you.
With eyes that see beyond veils, he extends your being into the most subtle and precious whispers,
He will weave you into immortal verses, every beauty captured is a star in your personal constellation.
Keeper of souls, the poet does not sit as the executioner of your heart,
For he himself, having passed through the fire of mistakes, has learned the art of redemption,
He, bearer of lights in the heavy night, traverses the sunken sentences
Where the word finds its cradle, and his touch is a balm for wounded souls.
In his crafting with the grammatic brush, he resurrects forgotten meanings, and in poetry
He rewrites manuals of love, where every wound finds the ointment of a sublime peace.
He steps, a charmer of silent wisdom, through the antechamber of hearts,
Leaving behind emblems of his passage, inscribing in history cantos
That celebrate the candor of moments and the vastness of human love.
Each scar becomes, in his odes, an illuminated altar that ceaselessly watches over the wellspring of life.
And thus, the master of this arcane lexicon becomes the architect of the kingdoms of imagination,
Immortalizing in his profound rhymes the thirst for affection, for connection, for remembrance.
A Rousseau of words, painting the unexplored jungles of emotions,
Where every mark left, whether it is a gentle step or a sign of suffering, transforms into an ode to existence.
A knight still shining...
Because that’s what we need;
Someone to admire...
When the world’s on its knees.
So much is weighing...
On the shoulders of the story;
And everyone is watching,
For there own personal touch of glory...
Fight the good fight,
And die with pride and honor...
The glory that your feeling,
Won’t matter if you’re a goner...
But someone needs to stand for something;
So why not kill for peace?
Everyone needs a hero,
And why shouldn’t that be me?
Standing tall, decorated in flashy armor,
Carrying fairy tales in my heart;
But what is it that I’m doing here?
Believing truth that could only be in part;
Defending the greater good...
As I steal a child’s father,
Teaching him to hate everyone like me;
And I wonder why I bother?
Truth is all about your point of view,
And heroes are just the same;
You think you’re preaching peace,
But you might just feed the flame...
It’s hard to accept a story,
If you’re told by people you don’t know;
How can you believe in peace...
When there’s violence everywhere you go?
It all seems a myth or folk lore...
Looking through our version of history,
How can someone ask us to defend...
And or die for someone else’s reality?
All to be remembered as someone you never were;
Because it reinforces their story...
A fallen hero to those that never knew you,
And your death was in their glory.
How true is it...
That you wouldn’t be if not for them?
You’ll never know...
Until someone rewrites the story again;
And even then, who will you believe?
Truth is all in the eyes unfortunate enough to see it,
For everyone else it’s tales of recollection...
So you can believe in what you choose,
But don’t expect us buy into your tradition...
Repeating those famous last words...
The truth is all in the eye of the beholder;
But what of those not there to witness?
Left to watch, as the world grows colder...
Hoping for our fearless heroes,
All the while knowing better in our minds...
Living a truth someone else put into action,
Leaving us to believe in lies, quick to bind.
You say you want a revolution?
Just what would that do to our evolution?
Bring change and revelation, what type of a solution
to the foolishness we embrace and true reality ignored pollution?
Take our guns away and the right to bear arms, settle scores
while sending foot soldiers, boots on the ground fighting someone's wars.
Build satellites, drones, bombs and smartphones to do the dirty work
stealing lives of innocence while terrorists survive to hide and lurk.
Protect those who have something to supply like diamonds, gold, oil
while people of a nation slowly die in poverty, starvation and diseased spoils.
Set up funded foundations controlled and contrived by the rich placated
and keep the monies donated for the poor and devastated.
Watch gamers play foolhardy glints of survival hunts and war-craft
never once recognizing the reality exists in the real world daft.
See your children on the tablets and i-phones texting
unawares of human contact. communication, love and touch vexed.
Hide from the gangs and random shootings on the street
bury the innocence stolen from our living free each day fleet.
History rewrites the story every decade, every century, every day
and we the people - seek change, compassion, love and understanding ways.
Peace - never lasts for we are a warring people
restless, unsatisfied, looking for something in the eye of the needle.
You say you want a revolution?
It's already here, wanting absolution.
How did it start?
How will it end?
It is the darkness in the human story from the very beginning of time.
Paint it black written in blood and tears forever flowing in the climb.
He never lets me drown
When it feels like my heart and soul,
My story, might just burn down,
His mercy fills me up, makes me whole,
So I can see His crown – His love is all around.
He never lets me sink
Into the web of my defeat,
My story, written with His ink,
He pens each pulse, each heartbeat,
So I can see my sins start to shrink.
He never lets me fall,
Overcome by the world, so dark,
My story, though not as amazing a call,
His grace always lights up a spark,
So I can see His wonder – His writing on the wall.
He never lets me crash,
Even though I sometimes feel downcast,
My story, sometimes calls me white trash,
He rewrites me, despite the worst in my past,
So I can see – His love changes me, in a flash.
He never lets me doubt,
Though my heart sometimes fears,
My story, it is filled with times I’ve burned out,
His light restores me, wiping away my tears,
So I can see the song He is writing, so devout.
He never lets me run away,
While I want to go, He says I must stay,
My story, it is one where I’ll always pray,
His love can be felt, be it night or day,
So I can see that He will never lead me astray.
He never lets me disappoint,
When I feel lost, He gives me courage,
My story, I know He will anoint,
His music, it will always encourage,
So I can see the way to my turning point.
He never lets me wane,
When I feel weak, He is my strength,
My story, it’s filled with pain,
His redemption goes to any length,
So I can see sunshine through the rain.
He never lets me elude,
When I want to hide, He will provide,
My story, it reminds me that I’m pursued,
His spirit chose me, despite my pride,
So I can see and my heart is filled with gratitude!
With shaking hand I write in dimmed light
Strings of words robust burst and slip from my pen
With a grave heart I write
With a frail heart I forgive
It mimicks the sound of life
Of love and such things
Such fragile things which tend to burn in the sunlight
Things that are made all the more deceiving
A heaviness that lasts
That sticks to the ribs and heart now heavy
That rewrites itself till mad
Drawing circles around itself till silly
It punctures and weens
By elastic grip it clings
Turning right what was once impossible, or so it seems
In again, gone till forgotten completely
I rise on unsteady feet
Overseeing all that lies around me in heaps
Careful now not to impose or create hostility
For the hand is sensitive and unreasoning
By strike of silent blow it extends
More willing than most and less willing to forgive
What's scribbled in haste and panic hard to comprehend
Yet to the hand it stands on its own merit
For hope it seeks-
In the words it creates
Like prayers from an incompetent though loving beast
In braille it signs all of its messages plain
For fear that I may shrink
Become pale in its presence
For its divine love I seek
None other than that which the hand so frivilously speaks
From sleep I awake
To pages filled and marked
Dressing myself in them
As if talismans or some form of holy art
To make me, to REmake and refashion me clean
But never doing away completey as so I'll not forget the beginning
With shaking hand I scribble unpredictably
Lacking grace and intelligence and formality
But this is all I know
This pen and its speech
What it feels and the depths from which the words come from
These words, unlike any man, now standing up for me.
In an old book, with torn pages, my soul navigates through labyrinths of dreams,
seeking the hidden story in the silence between the lines, where words were never written,
I try to fill the gaps with the silence of stars dancing on the sky of oblivion,
believing I understand the story that flows like an unseen river through the swamp of lost time.
But with every page turned, I discover a world unraveling before my eyes,
the story rewrites itself in shadows and lights, a kaleidoscope of memories and broken desires,
and so I met you, an entire universe hidden behind an enigmatic smile,
you seemed a complete book, yet within you lay chapters erased by the winds of life.
I try to decipher the echoes resonating through the voids in your crystal heart,
you, the one without answers, didn't know which parts of you were missing, what the storms had taken,
you only felt the absence like a silent melody resonating in the depths of your being,
you smiled like a sun hidden behind clouds, laughed like rain falling on the earth’s silence.
I, a sculptor of love, tried to shape with light what was missing,
to fill with love those empty spaces in your soul lost in starless nights,
but I was only a painter without colors, guessing the shapes of an uncreated world,
you, a survivor of your own story, navigating through the ocean of solitude.
Thus, our story remains written on pages of wind, in books with dream covers,
two souls seeking to bring meaning to a world where words don’t connect,
for love and understanding are sometimes just ghosts of our hidden desires,
and we, only travelers on realms of shadow and light, weaving dreams from eternity.
In this world full of lies and illusions,
There's a power that constantly changes its face.
It never shows itself in the light of day,
But hides in the shadows of a corrupt system.
It chooses its puppets from amongst the weakest,
And gives them the illusion they can lead a nation.
But behind them, it pursues its aim—
To control everything, from money to war.
It fears nothing, neither law nor God,
For it makes its own laws and scorns faith.
It doesn't fear the people, whom it manipulates
With false promises and cheap spectacles.
It doesn't fear those who dare to stand in its way,
For it eliminates them mercilessly and without a trace.
It doesn't fear history, which it rewrites at will,
For it knows its secrets well and keeps them safe.
It is called the occult power and is the mistress of the world,
The one that decides the fate of millions.
The one that enriches its friends and impoverishes its enemies,
The one that laughs at us, at democracy, and at freedom.
But is there really no hope for us, the many?
Can't we awaken from this deep slumber?
Can't we unite and fight for our rights?
Can't we free ourselves from this bitter yoke?
Yes, we can, but it's not easy, for the occult power is strong.
It has arms, money, and influence, it has the media and justice.
It has spies, betrayers, and assassins, it has experience and patience.
It has everything it needs to maintain its rule.
But we have something more, something it can never have—
We have soul, conscience, and faith, we have love and hope.
We have courage, dignity, and will, we have dreams and desire.
We have everything we need to make the change.
(Author’s note: This poem is a humorous satire on how a modern media mentality would view the story of Christ’s Ascension.)
The Ascension (with Rewrites)
By Mark D. Stucky
Look!
Up in the sky!
Not a bird.
Certainly no plane.
It’s super God-man!
Victor over gravity
as well as the grave!
The ascension was levitation
without benefit of special effects,
foreshadowed by walking,
without sinking,
on slippery water molecules
while strolling on the sea in a storm.
Miracles of physics.
Mysteries of motives.
Why leave just then?
Why leave in that way?
You canceled your ministry story arc too soon.
Disciples wished you had stayed for another season.
Think of the additional episodes untold and unsold!
You made a flashy exit, for sure,
but to a tiny audience share.
Why not soar spectacularly
over cheering crowds of thousands
and jump-start church conversions during lift-off?
Why not hover over those foolish Pharisees
and, with shock and awe,
rain fireballs down their open mouths?
That would also spice up the sequel.
The Book of Acts would need revisions,
and screenwriters would savor doing rewrites.
Your story could have been a blockbuster,
but you work in mystifying ways,
and your ways are not Hollywood ways.
(First published in Soul-Lit, Fall/Winter 2022. See also my poem "God’s on Mute.")
(Image by Josh Eckstein on Unsplash.com.)
In the stillness of a dusk filled with eternal sighs,
I wander through the corridors of thoughts, where shadows whisper truths.
The tragic spirit emerges, a veil of somber reality,
That the world and life offer no satisfaction, no true value.
This tragic suspicion leads to resignation, a deep, silent surrender,
Eroding innocent happiness, leaving a void where joy once dwelled.
Yet, within this genre of existence, a secret wisdom hides,
A choice of perspective, a shift in the silent course of the narrative.
To remember innocence and happiness with the eyes of wisdom,
Is to exchange tragedy for the conscious choice of joy.
In this Odyssey of consciousness, realms of existence unfold,
Where maps of past happiness guide us through the labyrinths of despair.
Lost in a realm of overwhelming pain, each step a heavy burden,
But if happiness once touched your soul, it remains a beacon,
A guiding star in the midst of the endless night, leading us back to light,
Rebuilding the Socratic palace, with walls of innocence and joy.
Each brick a memory, each room a fragment of pure laughter,
Building on the foundations of moments untouched by the decay of time.
A world reborn from the ashes of resignation, blooming anew,
Where the conscious choice to prefer happiness rewrites our fate.
In this palace, reflections of past pain become windows of hope,
For the grip of the tragic spirit weakens in the light of our wisdom.
And in this sacred space, new beginnings arise,
A tapestry woven with threads of joy, resilience, and endless wonder.
In a dream universe, my fragile bones yearn to become
A parchment of your essence, engraved in eternal silence,
To blossom into birds and bees that rise towards the light,
To forget decency in the magic of oblivion, to be an eternal story.
I watch you stand, a worshipped goddess, beautiful in splendor,
A temple of light and mystery, a sanctuary of burning desires,
My soul will dare to tread on unknown paths,
In your enchanting unknown, full of unspoken and silent secrets.
Your name, like a sweet incantation, dances slowly on my tongue,
Whispering your pure spell, a divine song of secret longing,
And you, delicate and alluring, rise like a spring dream,
A flower of sugar and aura, a scent that time cannot sever.
In the cosmos that aligns the stars to the beat of your heart,
I am a silent traveler, a soldier of immeasurable desires,
Wearing an armor of dreams, seeking eternity in your embrace,
Weaving ephemerality with eternity in an astral embrace.
You, velvet delicacy, are the god of senses, casting my dice,
With each throw, my world rewrites, filled with the lights of clarity,
Sculpting stories born from gazes full of longing and unfulfilled desires,
In the uninterrupted flow, my thoughts intertwine with defined sensations.
Memories dance to the rhythm of a melody that will never cease,
And I, lost and found in the same breath, let my soul float,
To seek you, to touch you, to love you for a dreamed eternity,
In the magical universe of our love, which will never end, but forever bloom.