Long Saying Poems
Long Saying Poems. Below are the most popular long Saying by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Saying poems by poem length and keyword.
The night is peeping over the hill
And the half a moon is very still
It is shining a bright light over me
And it is telling me that I am free
The world is watching and people
Are running and tumbling in the rubble
The music is alive and I can hear a distant cry
Suddenly the clouds roll out a message in the sky
Saying that the great big god is standing by
And everyone must comply,
I felt solemnness
I felt quietness in the evening
And it gives me a daring feeling
It wasn't physical, it wasn’t spiritual
it's a feeling that makes you want to laugh and cry
But neither smile nor tears was in frame
The evening is far from being silent
All the weekend shoppers are moving about
Singing and shouting as they go about
Suddenly a strange noise resonated in the clouds
Nobody could hear it but my spirit could absorb it
The boisterous noise penetrated the street
And the communication team shuts down the system
And left abruptly for an emergency meeting
Leaving everyone empty and stranded
The market women selling on the street
Started to get loud and began to shout
The sun has suck the energy out of them
And they are getting ready to walk around the bend
What on earth has just happened?
It’s as if everyone was frightened
A tall guy walked by clapping his hand
Dancing and singing as he walk along
People are moving
the traffic is crawling
And the loudness suddenly decrease
And for the first time my spirit was at ease
It is not sadness; it’s just a touch of quietness
Something is just sinking in
and the people are feeling sorry for their sins
Reality is just sinking in
And it is the new beginning
The illusionary man is only a man
The illusionary woman is just a woman
But reality is staring them in the face
While they are gearing up for the next race
A town with all its pride is coming to realize
That the material world is a price less show
Saturday night is drawing nigh
And the bliss of life has suddenly come alive.
I don't know why
But occasionally as I do from time
to time to inspire inspiration
I found myself spending this
evening going over
And reading some of my earlier poems
I wrote back to me
And I am glad I did as it serves as a
poignant reminder of who I am and was
Because personally I find poetry as
my way and making sense of life
And thankfully I have been brutally
and honest enough and wear them like
a sleeve
So they appear as my own individual
form of therapy and cleansing of my
soul and inner most demons
Which thankfully for me is lucky and
I should consider myself truly blessed
Because without the anonymity that
word's and poetry provide to hide behind
I wouldn't be actually able to tell a single
soul if I had to do it in person
So I guess in a way what I am saying
or admitting to is yes
Quite obviously I am a coward
And a consequence sadly there of
is this
Maybe the only other people in this
world apart from me who actually
may know a little about the real me
Are those here kind folk of you on the
soup who have taken your own precious
valuable time
To listen to and read about some of
my innermost feelings and thoughts
Regarding the story of my life thus far
I was born a female
You were born a male
None of us had a say in the matter of our birth
Neither did we chose from what part of this earth
For in His own image we were created
From the day of our birth
Our differences were laid bare
From the onset, our paths were set
Same community, same culture
Just because of a different genetic makeup
My chores were many even from that early age
From sunrise to sunset
Do this, do that
Duties allocated differently
Yet very unpropotionate
Like a flower I grew
Well watered and aired
Closely monitored and censored
Under the watchful eyes of the female folk I grew
Until my world came crashing down
My identity was not my own
My success measured by another
My dreams given a barely there nod
Then dismissed altogether
Seen as not important
I was viewed as property
A measure of wealth
An item to be passed on from one to another
A vessel for the pleasure of others
Like goods in a marketplace I was traded
Just before I blossomed
The bud that was me
Was forcefully opened
My petals recklessly plucked away
Just before I was to share my beauty with the world
My colour and fragrance was vanquished
What wrong did i do?
That I am treated differently
That my dreams and purpose in life
To you does not matter
An item of trade to you I am.
I scream and cry in silence
In constant pain my days pass by
With scars that have not healed
Despite the physical pain years ago
What wrong did I do?
I will stay silent no more
With a loud voice I will say no more
In my actions the practice will be no more
From harmful cultural practices
Join me in saying 'No more!'
Bent love never dies; it just keeps bending.
Until it morphs into a burning boomerang.
That smacks you in the chambers of your half-mast heart.
I breathe inside a three-bedroom chasm.
Somewhere between happy and what-ifs.
Saying hello to a twenty-six-year-old echo.
Of close calls and head-on crash regrets.
You deserve a good life.... I don't.
You've taught me, after decades of decline, what unconditional really is.
It's that satin island that I've been sailing toward upon this broken ship.
Even though I screwed you into the rotting wood of my id.
I'm truly happy that you landed softly in a heart.
That gave you that elusive elixir called
"What I couldn't give."
An older woman came to the counter and gave me a quizzical look…
She smiled then said, “Excuse me…I’m looking for one particular book.”
“It’s a book I read to my granddaughter…who usually fell asleep before we were done…
I’d like to send it to her for her birthday…this year she turns 21.”
She said her granddaughter called her up…out of the blue…unexpectedly…
and asked, “Do you remember this book Grandma…and all the times you read it to me?”
“Of course I remember.” She said. (As she was telling the story she gave her heart a pat.
“Of course I remember.” She repeated. “You don’t forget something like that!”
She said her plan was to send her granddaughter a copy of this book
with a note saying how nothing compared
to the moments we spent reading it together…
to those moments that we shared.
She hoped to find that book in our store…she asked if we had it…we didn’t.
I told her it’s a very old and obscure book…and I believe it’s out of print.
I smiled and said, “I don’t think you need a physical book…it is plain for me to see…
How that book…after all the times you read it…is printed in your memory.”
“And I”m sure it the same for your granddaughter…in her memory that book is installed.
It’s definitely a memory she was thinking about…why else would she have called?”
Then the lady tapped my hand…”You’re right.” She said to me.
“We have the gift this book left both of us…we have its memory.”
As she left the store I thought how a memory doesn’t fade…it’s condition is alway mint…
and how a memory…unlike a book…will never go out of print.
Working in a bookstore I’m surrounded by books with stories of joy and sorrow…and more
but some of the best stories are not in print…
they come walking through our front door.
When their daughter’s dream was shattered…when she thought her life was through…
she ran to her parents…crying…saying she didn’t know what to do.
They embraced her and immediately knew exactly what to say…
They will tell her just because one dream has broken
not to throw her other dreams away.
They will tell her sometimes hearts get broken…they’re not made of steel…
but with a little love and time…a broken heart can heal.
They will tell her it’s true…this dream is broken…and as bad as this day seems
she is still a dreamer…and she will dream another dream.
They will tell her they will be there to hold her….whenever a dream comes true…
and if a dream should fail…they’ll be there to hold her too.
They will tell her to let herself be sad…that sometimes life’s not fair…
but know once her heart begins to heal..she’ll find a new dream waiting there..
Yes, these are all things they will tell her…for they know exactly what to say…
but these are words for another time, another moment…another day.
For they know this moment is not meant for words…
and they know exactly why….
They know sometimes all a daughter needs is a hug
and some shoulders on which to cry.
Never doubt
Hook
Never doubt you
Never stop
Keep reaching for the top
Never doubt you
Never stop
Keep reaching for the top
Verse 1
Never doubt yourself, no
Please find your worth
We'll all go through pain
Sometimes it will hurt
There is something special about each one of us
It's time now that we discuss (discuss)
Our future, our dreams, all kinds of things
I'm going to the top
By all means (All means)
I'm a winner, even when I was a beginner
The price was already paid
Even though I'm still a sinner
I'm trying to get this thing right
I mean the part they call life
Chorus
Even when you're down and out
Do alot but never doubt
Doubt yourself oh yeah
In life you will grow (grow)
The Lord will guide you where to go(go)
Hear me out (hear me out)
Please do not doubt
Verse 2
With each lesson , is a blessing
That's what i was told
But how come when the pressure hits
We all fold (all fold)
Fold into a cloth
That has not been stitched
So in a rush to call it quits
Like this is really it (really it)
Instead of praying
We listen to what others are saying
Thats of the world
In the end feel more tangled like a pretzel or a swirl
So tell me what to do
When doubt is standing right in front of you
Dismiss it, push it to the side
No more doubts
Hear me out (yes)
Chorus
Even when you're down and out
Do alot but never doubt
Doubt yourself oh yeah
In life you will grow (grow)
The Lord will guide you where to go(go)
Hear me out (hear me out)
Please do not doubt
Bridge
Hear me out
Listen
Pay attention
Hear me out
Listen
Pay attention
Chorus
Even when you're down and out
Do alot but never doubt
Doubt yourself oh yeah
In life you will grow (grow)
The Lord will guide you where to go(go)
Hear me out (hear me out)
Please do not doubt
Repeat until chorus fades
Written by:Concetta Hardnett
2/28/18
I often think about my life as a lonely dad
And wonder where I’d be if my wife had stayed.
I can’t help but remember all the chances I had,
But lost because of all the women with whom I played.
I think back to all the times I left in a hurry,
Trying to beat the morning rush and get to work on time.
I would stay late after work and my wife would worry,
But the corporate ladder was what I was trying to climb.
I wish that I had tried harder to help raise my kid,
But I wanted so much to work my way to the top.
I wanted to spend time with my boy, but I never did.
The long hours paid well and I just couldn’t stop.
My son resented me for never being around,
Especially when it came to the holidays.
Whenever I WAS there, the words just couldn’t be found.
Our communication became cards and gifts on birthdays.
The few times we’d talk would always end up in a fight,
And we would say some horrible things to each other.
I wasn’t willing to admit that what he said was right
When he brought up anything to do with his mother.
Eventually, he got into things he shouldn’t do,
And started down a path that had yet to be paved.
I feel so guilty for never saying, “I love you,”
But it’s too little, too late, as I stand over his grave.
They were the perfect couple
like two colors of one flame
both a little different
both a little bit the same
She was a bright yellow
sparks from her would fly
flashing for a moment
before disappearing in the sky
His color burned as bright
but with its own distinctive hue.
it was a little more restrained
being the color blue
She had no trouble saying , “I love you.”
without reservations
without fears.
Her words flashing for a moment
before resting on his ears.
Though he felt his love as strongly
his words wouldn’t alway rise
yet she heard them in his smile
and saw them in his eyes
They were the perfect couple
two colors in the night
two colors creating one love
one flame
forever burning bright.
My head has always been made of glass,
and inside it lives a faint idea of who I am.
She used to be a silhouette,
but even then she wasn’t very defined.
In eighth grade, I believed that she lived in the shadows,
because showing herself felt heavier
than living in the trenches of our own mind.
In a way, she was right.
I was told that the time would come when I’d figure out who I was—
but what use is saying “everything happens for a reason”
if it only makes me sad?
I started to write in my mirror:
words like “I’m funny, I’m thoughtful, and I’m kind.”
And I waited for a big moment,
when I’d realize that I was right.
Then came social media.
It made me feel like people could look into my seemingly see-through mind through a cracked lens and endless filters.
I thought maybe they could help me figure out who I was,
but no flashy moment ever arrived.
It wasn’t until my friend thanked me for giving her a birthday gift
and studying for a class I didn’t take just to help her understand
that I got home to my dusty shelf and whispered into an empty room while looking my mirror in the eye
“Maybe I wasn’t wrong after all”