Long Run Poems
Long Run Poems. Below are the most popular long Run by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Run poems by poem length and keyword.
No one wants your worries...not even you. Anxiety comes at a high cost. Let Jesus lead you beside still waters. - Max Lucado
Considered by glinting waters
Peaceful rivers, babbling daughters
Murmuring light, shadows weeping
Waters still, but never sleeping
Gentle rainfall, softly praising
Promising joy so amazing
Serenity, nature’s reaping
Waters still, but never sleeping
Quiet hopes, a comforting song
From babbling streams who flow along
Whistling smiles where hearts are leaping
Waters still, but never sleeping
Running wild through woods with moss floors
Nurturing hearts who love outdoors
Where souls are meant for God’s keeping
Waters still, but never sleeping
Moving deep into the spirit
Washing away doubt – don’t fear it!
Cool liquid melts darkness’ creeping
Waters still, but never sleeping
By Dana Redricks
April 11, 2020
"You were running [the race] well; who has interfered and prevented you from obeying the truth? This [deceptive] persuasion is not from Him who called you [to freedom in Christ]. A little leaven [a slight inclination to error, or a few false teachers] leavens the whole batch [it perverts the concept of faith and misleads the church]." Galatians 5:9). Run with patience. Run with diligence. Run with consistency. Run your race. Don’t worry about the race or pace of others. Choose to run at your pace with diligence, patience and endurance. (Vs.9) Leaven (yeasty dough) represents the man-made tradition and false teachings that obscure the truth regarding salvation through personal belief and faith in Christ. God wants us to be diligent, and pursue a life of godliness, and setting aside every weight that so easily besets us. We should continue in the faith. There are many wolves in the fold who wish to deceive us, but we will know them by their fruit, or their actions. We are told to test every spirit to it is of God." Beloved, do not believe every spirit [speaking through a self-proclaimed prophet]; instead test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets and teachers have gone out into the world." 1 John 4:1
A VW Beetle
An unloaded thirty eight
In the passenger seat
And out through the gate
A briefcase of secrets
Chained to the wrist
Memorized instructions
From an unwritten list.
In the event of an ambush
Just pop five rounds in:
The only trouble was
They were sealed in a tin.
We weren't even sure
The rounds were live anymore
The tin was dated
Nineteen Fourty Four
These were the days
Before mobile phone
Just the courier and driver
Out on their own.
I suppose in a way
It was a bit of fun
Time out of the office
When you did the Courier Run
It never happened of course.
And we delivered to the Yanks
Who took our case
Without any thanks.
They treated us
With such disrespect
You’d think they’d decided
They’d be fighting us next.”
Briefcase of new secrets
Chained to the wrist,
Memorised directions
From that unwritten list.
A VW Beetle,
Unloaded Thirty eight
In the passenger seat
And back out of the gate.
I am your child, I run to you when you call my name,
not because I have to, but because your voice is gravity,
an invisible thread pulling me home, binding soul to soul,
your gaze, the one that shatters my armor and opens hearts.
I smile not as a conqueror, but as a man surrendering to love,
you have found the key that unlocks the gates of my inner citadel,
you take my hand and lead me on paths that try to turn me back,
I let you, not because I can't walk alone, but because I choose you.
Your warm hands cradle my face, dispelling the shadows from my soul,
when you whisper, "It's okay, darling", the war inside me ceases.
I am a man, bearer of scars, stubborn, and proud,
but in your love, I find a strength that makes force unnecessary.
In your arms, I find a peace that needs no defenses,
and in this love, I discover that true strength
is not in resisting, but in letting myself be carried by you,
for you are the home where my soul finds solace.
I watch time's faithful ebb and flow
scribed by the sun, moon, and starlight glow,
the silver sea's tiding ways
held fast in Luna's unseen stays.
No matter where disaster falls
steadfast they keep watch over all,
besieged by storms, betrayed by man
still they fulfill the unseen plan and run the course . . .
I walk life's roads, bent frequently;
circumstances change unexpectedly;
fear, doubt, sorrow, death cause pain;
joy, hope, love, friendship sustain.
Harsh betrayal, unwelcome bedfellow,
lays his black head upon my pillow.
How do I greet life's changing pulse
raining down both true and false?
Restraint, the hand that guards my tongue,
compassion measures my heart's plumb;
sifting the sands like the faithful tide
I remain constant, keep the stride and run the course . . .
© Faye Lanham Gibson, April 23, 2015
This old lighthouse wants to say,
about the cold clouds of gray.
When it rained all night and day,
with the keeper wanting to pray.
Then the sun would come out to play,
making the blue sea a pretty highway.
This old lighthouse saw many ships,
some sailed by and some smashed like a souffle.
Sailing by were many birds of prey,
telling the old lighthouse it was like a cast away.
Old lighthouse even on Christmas day,
I can not getaway.
For the old lighthouse and keeper was it judgment day?
Why did the keeper want to stay?
Why not just run away?
The keeper knew he could not leave ~ no way,
telling God they both were not a runway.
Life and dreams
Fate and losing schemes
The endless sleepless nights
The days where nothing goes right
Moving on, settling in
Not knowing just where to begin
The never having any fun
From all this
I need to run
I feel despair
The pain I cannot keep having to bear
You asking why so much do you care
The emptiness within me
The loneliness that's become forever to be
It completely surrounds me
Love standing there before you
But you don't know what to do
Love's holding you up and you without a gun
From all this
I wish I could run
All the desperate hours
The deepest darkest sorrows
Knowing I still won't have
You here tomorrow
The need to see this through
The hoping I can stop being so blue
The crying all the time
Losing all reason all rhyme
Regrets yeah I have some
From all this
I want to run
Your eyes
Those ones that I fantasize
Starring into mine
Your arms
That lifted me high
Made me feel safe
When holding me tight
Your lips
That kissed me just right
All the other things
That I've never lost sight
The places we've been
Places we still need to see
Hoping all the time that you to
Will realize we were meant to be
I would love to with you
Watch intently the setting of the sun
And in you arms
Is the only place I need, wish, and want so much
To run
A frighten, however hard soul it tries,
Will always be ghastly, if demons steady rise
Now grisly is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the fright is sepulchral.
How happy is the ghastly carnage, however hard it tries,
Are you upset by how sepulchral it is, if demons steady rise
Does it tear you apart to see the carnage so grisly?
O' holier than thou Christians
Militancy so of violent Christians, if demons be steady rise
On your insides
violent Christians is militancy, if demons steady rise
In your hearts and mind
A militancy is colossal. a militancy is banner, if demons steady rise
a militancy is bigger, however oh however hard it tries,
Yet demons ready and so steady do they rise;
I rebuke thee, demons 7 X 70
2/1/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
I hit a child with my truck while he was riding his bike.
Unless you've experienced this, you don't know what it's like.
I should've got him some help but instead I hit the accelerator.
The severity of what I did didn't sink in until several hours later.
Sadly that poor boy died later that day.
The guilt has haunted me since he passed away.
I cut that boy down who was as precious as a flower.
I committed hit and run and that makes me a coward.
His family is suffering because of what I've put them through.
I hope and pray that this experience never happens to you.
I know that I'm doomed to pay for my horrible sin.
I can't bring that boy back but I can turn myself in.
What I did was horrific, I had a lot of nerve.
Now I'll rot in jail and that's what I deserve.
(THIS IS A FICTIONAL POEM.)
Run Through in Babylon
Friends, I wish to speak,
but they have cut out my tongue.
So I fumble...
Instead,
I hear your words, they are strong,
and your passion true.
However, it is the content of which,
I would have stated my thoughts,
provoked from despair,
into a desperate plea.
Against you...
against me.
But and always...
against them.
In the streets on the corner,
"ganda" is talked up,
(propaganda: made up facts by those in power,
to promote even greater strength by deceit.)
about everything that is bad
and happening less than perfect,
in the world.
Tiny Kong is beaten to a pulp,
citizens torn apart in the streets,
for meat,
for potatoes,
and for organs eaten by the rich,
and elegant of taste.
The east, far from here,
they kill and murder Christians,
Jews and saints with equal vigor.
There is no reason to tell them apart,
or upset the apple cart.
Deals made in the dark,
by sold out government traitors,
sworn to their own cause,
without pause for effect,
to the green deal,
or the appeal to the lower class.
I watch TV, and wince at the news.
Lies mixed with spices...
to feel and look the way they...
want us to be, not free.
Spewing words,
not truth,
but stranger than fiction.
It is a holy war,
unseen in the shadows,
complete in the darkness,
and living in plain sight.
"They" kill babies,
and make laws against the sick,
the poor and the legal.
The last on the list to be attended,
and the first to be helped to the grave.
Who are "they"?
I read the factions on both sides.
What I want to hear,
solutions and timely possibilities,
that would ease the suffering of all.
I don't care about Russia,
they are crooks or not...
I don't care about Ukraine,
it is a pain.
If their are bad men holding office,
or have ever held,
they should be brought to justice,
made to "pay for play",
back to the Americans
they lied too.
Your political time tables,
are all running out.
We the people are ready to shout.
Do something for us,
stop being against,
one way or the other,
someone will be...
impaled on the fence.