Long Run dry Poems
Long Run dry Poems. Below are the most popular long Run dry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Run dry poems by poem length and keyword.
Wheel of Smoke and Stars
I'm caught in the wheel of a life that no longer remembers my name,
and for ages I've cried to a sky that's forgotten the sound of prayer.
Someone, get me down from this carousel of smoke and mirrors,
from the blind whirl grinding the lights to dust of old, worn dreams.
For years I begged to feel nothing at all, like a well run dry,
and if I had to feel, let it be only in passing, like a wind,
as if I were running through the pages of a book sealed in wax,
forgetting, before the final page, the one phrase that still mattered.
But now I live on the edge of tomorrow while still inside today,
I sneeze long before I smell the flower just beginning to open,
I cry in pain before the mirror shatters into a thousand waters,
and I say goodbye to people I have never yet met at all.
Get me down from this wheel, from this endless coming and going.
Who stole my sense of wonder, along with the worries I prayed away,
my attachment to all that passes, my faith in all that fades?
Who took my excitement and left it, like a coin, on the roadside,
to whom did they give my contentment, to whom my lost devotion?
I'm just saying it would be nice to read a book and not see its end
already in the first line, like a spell broken before it's spoken —
even while I'm still bound to this old and silent wheel,
even while I'm still devoted, for no reason, to this endless carousel.
This is the last. I promise this time.
Unlike in the past. I promise this time.
Not the last time I think, just the last time I write,
Of you as a lover, of love unrequite.
All ink run dry. Too empty to cry.
None left, I'm bare. Too tired to care.
For your promises come, and your promises go,
They carry no truth, yet fool me, and so
Here they will stop. I'm dying inside.
Here they will stop. I'm dying to hide.
Nine months to my back, back then when I knew
Not much about love, and nothing of you.
Change me and need. To burn or to bleed?
Hold me and sleep. To cut out or keep?
I can't feel discarded, I can't feel alone,
For to be thrown away means to once have been owned.
To black, I fade. Your mockery made.
To rose, I turn. A new way to learn.
Goodbye to our time, your face is long gone.
I'm finding another to use my ink on.
Only so many words
so many ways they can be heard
Every word ever used
Abused
So many ways they have been arranged
Rearranged
Deranged
Put this way and that
Hi, my name is Pat
When do our words run out
Nothing new left to shout
Sit there and pout
No new stories to write
All that is left is the fight
You just rewrite the old
Stories already sold
Every word
Already heard
Just twist it here
there
Without care
Nothing left to say
Same thing every day
Hey, I'm in a book
Have a look
A life time it took
But still the same
Lame
I know I'm to blame
I see tomorrow
Past all sorrow
Love you can't even borrow
Lost in plain sight
Hidden from the inner fight
Words is the curse
The worse
Grown up with an autistic view
In the well in which I grew
All I ever knew
I think
I blink
Longing for a common link
If nurtured right
With love as a light
Maybe out will come a beautiful flower
Something life seems to sour
By the hour
Lost in the sarcasm of what is real
How should I even feel
Hidden among the words I write
My only light
Nothing is ever right
Nothing ever wrong
Sorry these words are taken so long
Life promised me a song
But here I am still holding on to the light
Continue my fight
Words bombing my brain
Drives me next to insane
Maybe one day they will run out
In my brain, no longer shout
Peace at last
Going so fast
I see times past
So clear
Memories held dear
Some in fear
Among a crowd
The silence beats so loud
Waiting
Not hating
Relating
With what I know not
My heart beats so hot
People I don't understand
Life ain't that grand
My word
Still unheard
Lost in my head
Love never fed
Lonely is my bed
Trying to write them all down
So in them I don't drown
Waiting for the words to run dry
Tears one will cry
Don't know why
Madness
Is the same as sadness
Is sometimes gladness
One and the same
Whom is to blame
Wish to be free
What is left to see
Who am I meant to be
Drowning in the word
Never to be heard
Lost -
Through an Eagle's eye
Over Fields of plenty
Where rivers and creeks
Never run dry
But I can't feel it
Mountains rising up
Touching the pink, blue,
And rustic orange skies.
I just don't know why
… I just can't feel it
I am a lost page within the novel
No one knows my inner battles
Entering another day
Of constant trials and prattles
Lost –
Through the ears
Of a Great Horned Owl
Where life's creation falls silent
Scurrying about
But I can't feel it
Forests of trees where an
Acappella choir resounds
Magically starting the day
Reverberating all around.
I just can't feel it
And the sea sprites dance
To a rhythm of time
Reaching out to my soul
Touching my heart
Seeking to free and unbind…
I cry, for I can't feel it
No, I just can't feel it
For morning becomes noon
Noon becomes day
For everything has its place
With a time to work
And a time to play
I give up, for I can't feel it
I will never feel it
I look to the four corners
Seeking answers,
But the wind is motionless
And the world, unfeeling
For such are the plans
I never made
So I turn the page….
It is such a sight to witness, an atrocity, red teardrops falling from my eyes, the pain is literally killing me
You ask the reason as to why they are as red as a rose? The honest answer that I can give is it’s his fault, I suppose
My eyes are bleeding, there is nowhere left for the blood to escape, I am all cried out of tears and this puddle of blood is the aftermath, I am a depiction of his mistake
A thousand knives are cutting into the heart of me, the words that you threw at me so carelessly, believing that I would turn the other cheek
My heart, my soul, neither work that way, I can’t just accept the pain and move on, it's settled in to stay
It boils over with nowhere left to go, the pain is overwhelming, this damage that you have done to my heart, my soul
The red runs deep, so deep, almost as deep as the love that I truly felt for you, but now this vessel has been run dry and the proof lies within the truth
My eyes show every broken part, every slit vein, the teardrops have stopped running red there is nothing left to feel just emptiness and pain.
Sit and watch a kettle boil
time goes slowly by
Divert attention for a second
and the kettle has run dry
When young and there's expectation waiting for a birthday celebration
time passes slowly, days are long and very drawn
But when decades of maturity fills the urn, there's lesser time between those celebratory days
it doesn't seem so long since the days that one was born
When one is very young around the age of six or ten
all the eighteen year old youth, appear as very mature adult men
And now the coin has flipped, with eighty not too far away, girls of age, seen as early to mid twenties
they are often, somewhere around early forties, mature aged women
And now a self posed question? Would we have the same time perception
with all this artificial human time, milliseconds, seconds, minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millenniums
Does all this time segmentation somehow promote deception ??
The air was wet
When they met
Docile clouds: puffs of grey and white
Sparkling light rained from the streetlight
His umbrella kept them dry
At least above the thigh
Her eyes beamed to his
A last goodbye
Their well of love
Had run dry
And yet the skies
Found compromise
As tears well'd in his eyes,
"E'en the skies reminisce
When we would kiss,
Here, on rainy nights like this"
Two hearts aglow
Would stop the show
As the noise and the street
Fell still, "In our antiquity,
Was it really so long ago,
Our hearts, for one another, beat?"
A daughter grabbed the hand of her mother
As they watched the scene unfold
said, the busker, painted gold,
"Oh, brother!",
Joining the hopeful fold
The dam of tears, that would damn her
Crumbled
Her fortressed heart humbled
She always knew deep inside her
He, beside her made her comlpete
Watching her falling tears disappear
on the wet concrete
"I blame you for the moonlit sky,"
in its grandeur our souls would fly.
We were devoted just like stars,
wrote about it in our memoirs.
But your love changed then wonder why
I blame you for the moonlit sky?
"In the rush of the race" for dawn,
you vanished to leave my heart torn.
"Don't blame this sleeping satellite,"
like me it's silent at twilight.
I blame you for the moonlit sky -
curse the night when you said goodbye.
"Did we fly to the moon too soon?"
Or did my dance not match your tune?
Now that stardust tears have run dry,
I blame you for the moonlit sky.
Song choice: Tasmin Archer - Sleeping Satellite
Lyrics used:
"I blame you for the moonlit sky."
"In the rush of the race"
"Don't blame this sleeping satellite."
"Did we fly to the moon too soon?"
Lyrics to an imagined song. Inspired by
Joe Bonamassa & Beth Hart's "I'll Take Care of You"
Verse 1:
We came together after we both were badly hurt.
Your wife, she got a lawyer.
It’s as if that greedy woman
took right off your back your shirt!
My love walked away from me after all I did
to make him feel adored.
Beyond my feeling hurt –
the whole thing left me floored.
Verse 2
I found you wandering one day
looking hopeless on the street
Our eyes met and mine locked on yours -
eyes tinged with such sadness,
but they are so sweet.
You’ve told me all your heartache
and I’ve told mine now to you.
Let me show you what a woman’s care can do.
Chorus:
Baby, I see the tears you’re trying not to cry.
Let those tears start flowing
until they have run dry.
Let me hold you. I’ll enfold you
in my arms; you’ll see
I can take away your pain.
Baby, trust in me.
Verse 3
It has been a short while now,
and the hurting still is raw.
We know each other very well,
and we know each other’s every flaw.
Love deepens.
I feel your confidence I’m gaining.
All that pain – I’ll see you through.
Soon your hurting will be waning
because I’m going to take
such good care of you.
Repeat Chorus:
Baby I see the tears you're trying not to cry.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
May 14, 2023
For the Joe Bonamassa And Beth Hart Inspiration Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Robert James Liguori
Say a prayer for fathers who had to bury their sons,
Hands that taught how to tie laces now lowering caskets,
Shoulders that once lifted boys to see parades
Now shaking under the weight of earth and silence.
Teach them how to breathe again
When the house is too loud with absence.
A chant for mothers who mourn those who would stand beside their graves,
Wombs that carried, hearts that carried more,
Now counting anniversaries with candles that won’t be blown.
May the night not swallow them whole,
May morning find them with strength enough
To make tea for one less cup.
Picture the empty chair at Sunday dinner,
The shoes by the door that won’t walk again,
The laughter caught mid-air like dust in sunlight.
Grief doesn’t ask permission.
It moves in, hangs coats, and stays.
So we learn to set one more plate for memory.
For the fathers who practiced firmness but broke in the car,
Who drive past the field and grip the wheel tighter,
Who tell stories just to hear the name out loud.
May God be near to the brokenhearted,
And may the ground they walk feel less like a grave
And more like ground that still holds them up.
For the mothers who fold clothes that won’t be worn,
Who see his face in every young man on the street,
Who pray with tears because words have run dry.
Let dew find their windows in the morning.
Let a stranger’s kindness be manna.
Let them know their love did not die with him.
So we say a prayer, and we raise a chant,
Not to end the pain, but to carry it together.
For every son gone too soon,
For every father’s bowed head,
For every mother’s vigil by the window —
May we be the ones who stand beside their graves,
Until they can stand again.
(In memory of Trust orhirhi, d sherrif of warri).