Long Ronin Poems
Long Ronin Poems. Below are the most popular long Ronin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ronin poems by poem length and keyword.
Raised to believe many things
One which a guy from up high
Comes flying out that sky that we all see
It had to be literally
Did i believe it?
Without a doubt i did,
Because the one who trained me
told me nothing was hid
I grew and trained and meditated on this as a kid
Was lead to believe this era was far from kingdom come
How far from the truth was this.
Now it beats on me like a drum
The day i became self aware i was delivered from the dragons liar
Enraged he was that i began growing out my hair
Becoming his end, a vicious truth with a cold stare
Freshly crafted nunchucks marked by sevens
3 days later
I can only tell you an angel put it there
Truth is ....it is true
but my trainer missed the vitual tools
Parables connect us from what we do
Poetry and emotion are not apart
And we are not damn robots
I chose it just as it chose me
But....it answered my question to an extreme
I was the only one in this existence
that can deem myself eternally
My other self sealed this deal
By blood sweat and tears did he feel
Seems tho that hasnt changed as the end is near
But maybe this time...
I feel i need someone else to help me see
I dont know why but its what has always driven me
To put an end to your enemy is to see as they see
And at the end....choose whats truly honorably
And so to my blood family
I become ronin
Because i am me
To Rise, conquer,
and in truth ...find honor
Until the end of my journey sets me free
At the moment the 7th trumpet blows, Ill be ready. May judgement come.
We already know the bottom line about me. No surprises, will wrath recognize me? Will my disgust for humanity weigh heavy? These people are assholes, that’s on them.
The tourniquet is dripping. My eyes bleed from the unseen.
Every minute we are borrowing time. Gotta stay on the track, stay on course.
It's different feeling that the universe gave up on you. A true Ronin wandering. Mystery is hope. A fathomless pit of waste.
Hope, pray, and don’t worry, Padre Pio says…I worry.
I guess that’s on me, but one look at the evening news, and I can’t be faulted. Maybe I can be, who’s to say? In life the question is, were you a scumbag? I don’t believe in a heaven, or hell per se, hell and heaven are earthly concepts. There’s fire, tribulations, lessons. All that, but, hell for eternity? Waste of energy, and the universe doesn’t seem to waste energy. It does though, 75% of humans are gullible dimwits.
It's rather depressing. Slobs? C'mon people, give a damn.
We are all connected, physically at least. We are here, together. Don’t be a fool.
In the heart of many, we are pussies. Jealous of one another, more waste. It’s all how we do our time, be it hell, or heaven. Its your choice up to a point. We, as humans are not meant to win.
We are meant to survive.
Twilight Ronin
From day to night, I travel from east to right.
As I travel to the west I look to the sky and wonder what is left inside my vessel.
Am I just a hollow soul, or the embodiment of something more?
As I walk the desolate badlands I wonder is this it? Or is their wonderland?
As the sun eclipses uto twilight I sense the demons inside me, eroding my essence.
As my mentality fades to obscurity, I reign in my polestar with enmity.
With my tanto’s in both hands I cascade, and the hysteria upholds I find myself esoteric.
As I wander as an enigma to my people, I find myself at a pass, am I just moonstruck?
I segment myself into three pieces of macrocosm, mind, body, soul.
As I ravage myself I realize my own reconstruction.
In a revolution of my volition, I rejuvenate my reality with vitality.
As my leisure falls unto rest, I find myself patulous to my ambivalence.
As my ambiguous nature sets into my quintessence, the outcry of my valor overtakes.
Engulfed and inflamed, I embrace my inner inferno, and outlast my hellish hounds.
As I subjugate my own demons I then embark on my incursion to the fiends bastion.
Ultimately they should be skittish, twas not me who turned me into this twas them so down thor knecks i breathe.
~ Benjamin Luke Aguas
It was a quaint little shop
Looking strangely out of place
And the owner was a hermit
With a crinkled young old face.
He was a man of distinction
Of health hearty and hale,
Had looked a Haggis in the
Eye and lived to tell the tale.
He had lived with a mermaid
Having found her in distress
Nursed her back to health
To become his new mistress.
He had sailed the seven seas,
Served with a Samurai band,
Been a leading Ronin before
Sailing away for Samarkand
He had awoken the Kraken
Then, before it was too late
Quietly swum away to avoid
A somewhat gruesome fate.
He had hunted with Vampires
But only on those darkest nights
For they'd had to be recoffined
Before any sign of daylight.
The werewolves of Carpathia
Had taught him transfiguration
A secret he'd long discarded
Once he'd left that roving nation.
Bareback ridden a unicorn
Learned all its Pan Pipe skill;
Sometimes early on cold dark
Mornings he would play it still.
He didn't believe in Faeries.
Didn't like to fantasise,
Only believed in those things
He'd seen with his naked eyes.
I left him making a Herbal tea
Said I didn't quite know when
But the very next time I passed
I'd pop in and see him again.
I shouted my goodbyes
As he worked away inside
And I eagerly continued on
My Magic Carpet ride.
High upon this hill of long grass we sit in repose staring off in the distance
down upon the valley and village of our youth
the sun is setting in the sky and I feel its fading warmth
pushing us toward winter pushing me back toward duty and my destiny
but my dream is now with you at my side and nothing to want or worry
A child runs with purpose against the blowing grasses
This child your child your boy left as a gift and testament from his father
runs quickly into your welcoming arms winded breathing a familiar innocence
out into this undeserving world
the weight of my purse has become burdensome as it presses against
my sword and side I rip it free from my body
this bloodprice bloodmoney I have never had a use for until now
Possibly to do good could justify the price it has cost my conscience
Freely I pass it over to you
As the wind blows between us you know
soon I will be gone
Ronin
Forty-seven men,
hereditary nobles,
military samurais,
serving their master,
who was betrayed and killed by
another lord, ronin's, they
turned masterless, schemed
samurai, three years
spun thieves, mercenaries, and
madmen, delight all
the challenges that are faced,
the adrenaline that is
peaked, did kill their lord
master betrayer and their
met deed, all did seppuku,
a mass suicide,
belief be dead, chose
myth, honor, than masterless.
***A ronin (drifter or wanderer) was a samurai without a lord or master during the feudal period (1185–1868) of Japan. A samurai became masterless upon the death of his master or after the loss of his master's favor or privilege.
2020 March 26
Howmanysyllables;
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There is a price in taking another man’s life and
it strikes during the repose of presumed peace
waking screams to the half moon sky jaunted movement startling
calm water reflections deepening self hatred scowling back
in the shining metal reflection of someone I no longer know
A moment to take a man’s life feel his weight fall upon your weapon
His mouth silently open asking the question his eyes have already answered
I alone among thousands with rain washing the sickness and desecration
And pooling deep into my pores the fresh blood that fuels this new ghost
to forever bond to me his untimely ender his teacher
that has not and never will have and answer
for his blue fading eyes
When a body dies there is a split second slackness
and softening in the eyes as the soul leaves the shell
a mutual acceptance by body and that which is beyond
that the partnership has ended
when the soul dies before the body
that which remains is consumed
in anger betrayal confusion loss and abandonment
On my knees looking up through eyes filled with
blood and dirt and the refuse of animals
digging hands clawing the earth like a wounded dog
trying to bury its own heart
I see Him
Death stares smiling back from across a field
of broken harvested silent bamboo stumps
He knows his new pupil will not rest
until he has extracted his heavy toll
I seek I now hunt for my revenge
I wander the landscapes of solitude
Unchecked and unhealed,
Beneath heavens speared with bamboo rain,
A blade on my back concealed
Beyond where the eye can envisage and see,
Deserts burning dry,
Beyond where the temples sink in the dust,
Under a storm laden sky.
There is no one to swear allegiance to,
The loneliest decree,
To walk the earth as the years dissolve
And land crumbles into sea.
I wander the heartlands of yesterday,
Of feudal souls no more,
Where the killing fields were hearth and home,
My brothers men of war.
No master to slip the chains and unleash
Honour and ferocity,
Belonging to nothing, beloved of none,
Rootless, accursed and free.
hindsight if only clearer in my future my present
still sitting here upon weathered rock warmed by years
of summers sun only now can I give reflection
to the tree that sways in the breeze ebbing and flowing
in the wind of my thoughts
past memories a boy with a dream and desire
following the rising sun and daring to imagine
something outside of his world his preordained future
a goal not granted a thought riding on the coattails of
a samurai’s dressings a moment to be more than himself
before fate crashes the dream onto a rock of reality
and a broken man sits down beside a stream
reflecting upon a weathered rock