Long Shroud Poems
Long Shroud Poems. Below are the most popular long Shroud by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shroud poems by poem length and keyword.
With welling eyes we'll trod this broken day
Still the rumbling heart with a hand in mine
And speak of precious dreams that always stay
When love is true and sweet the world's sublime
To share and comfort when a heart is blind
Raise a spirit's light from its darkest shroud
And free the weeping shadows in the mind
From a humbled pain where pride has bowed
No Sherpa guide needed when love is found
To lead a weary heart from its despair
Empathy is the medicine I've ground
To heal your broken soul because I care
To hold your hands before your heart's abyss
And be a friend, there is no better gift
In quiet bay's embrace, where waters sigh,
I gaze at mountains 'neath the western sky.
Their stoic peaks, a timeless range,
Whisper tales of change, foretell the strange.
As thick cloud veils the once majestic view,
An atmospheric river brews anew.
The deluge nears with torrential might,
Veiling peaks in a shroud of endless night.
Dreams of Gene Kelly, dancing in the rain, light and free,
I thought to waltz within the storm with glee.
Yet, as I spread my makeshift wing,
It opened, spun, a tempest's fling.
No dance with lift, but a wild ballet,
Blown away, on hills, I found my way.
Not my dance in the rain, but rain in flight,
A twirl with wind, a spectacular sight.
The deluge unleashed, a relentless pour,
Nature's rhythm on a relentless tour.
The hills transformed, a watery stage,
A tale unfolding, a rain-soaked page.
Then, as swift as it had come to play,
The front passed over, unveiling day.
Sunlight pierced the lingering gloom,
A promise of calm after tempest's bloom.
In the aftermath, a cleansed terrain,
A story etched by the atmospheric reign.
For in the dance of rain and wind's embrace,
Nature weaves a tale of beauty and grace.
I’ve been blinded by a blistering light
An atomic angel in the nuclear night
Have they come to take us away at last?
Have they come to punish us for the past?
Let me just hold on
Hold on to these few threads
“Papa, can we bring them
Till we get back home again?”
I’m here in the wilderness with my kin
A makeshift shelter from sticks so thin
The kids are asleep so I cradle the gin
Alone in the reeds with secretions and sin
When morning comes like an atomic cloud
When hard truths assault you like bombs so
loud
Whatever happened to once make you proud
Will be crucified like the Face in the Shroud
Let me just hold on
Hold on to these few threads
“Mama, can we bring them
Till we get back home again?”
Mother and infant, both hopelessly yearning
Scraps of subsistence ‘mid garbage cans burning
Walk up close to them, their cart full of waste
Permanent Babylon — no figure chaste
Now does the sex of the child much matter?
Will its birthday letters be seen ever after,
From up on some small planet’s observing post
Its tiny embryonic, cancerous host?
I’ve been blinded by a ruinous light
A ballistic angel in the wintry night
Have they come to take us away at last?
Have they come to punish us for the past?
Let me just hold on
Hold on to these few threads
“Papa, can we bring them
Till we get back home again?”
Over the misty meadow
The sun is rising just over the horizon
I toss my mane into the delicate breeze
Like fingertips running softly over my naked thigh
In the wild
You see because I broke free from my barriers
Fences are painted closed minded expectations
Never be too Loud or brightly shroud
Walk with your head down never look life right between its eyes
Defiantly I ripped my halter
Scanned the horizon free to move
My jockey was startled
My glistening skin freed from your verbal tormenting
I took off and took flight
Higher than
Any hurdle in an obstacle course
And then I’m gone.
Form:
The other members of the group would tease Lambent Shroud.
They’d speak in groans n puns too.
You’d sense lambent was a little uncomfortable with it all.
The other members of this amazing group were all tall, had numerous quirks, and spoke with crystal clear clarity.
They stood out even when alone.
Their high IQ, articulacy, and physical presence were obvious requirements for this enterprise.
They were constantly with each other hatching plans.
But Lambent may have had a begrudging “one who leads” complex.
But was the cordiality apparent and only for appearances?
Team leader Renee is Hazy and Albert is Rainbow.
The brain sessions were more often than not impromptu.
Hazy, Halcyon and Amber would seem like cerebral archers the way they bounced informal sessions off each other.
The other pairs, bright spark subgroups would have these on the spot conventions.
“Sparks would fly.
High IQ flashes sky high.
We never ever say die.”
Eerie notion, pie in the sky.”
The smart seven chipping in one by one generating a certain heat.
Even fleeting cabals.
Their brain cliques they nicknamed “Bouncers,”
Or “Pools.”
“Blessing and a boon. Under a shimmering moon. You’ll be lifting trophies soon.”
Lambent the awkward rhymer.
Wonder world had a strained crease on his face.
“Crackpot scheme, halbaked dream, eccentric team.”
In reply.
And so the banter used to go until someone ran out of ripostes.
There were daily meetings also on security updates devised by the team.
But there was much nod and wink, subterfuge.
Amber Leaf the accountant controlled the cash flow, dividends, “watertight insurance,” wages, general outlay.
But one got the impression that there was something afoot.
Amber and sylvan nudged;
“Should we rhyme as we speak or maybe tweak til next week.
Isn’t Lambent leaning a lot on his Shadow.
The Alter Ego.”
Who is this Shadow to begin with Amber asked?
An umbrella term
In early eighteen-forty-four,
In Cornwall’s heart; on Bodmin Moor,
Charlotte Dymond, a young farm maid,
Had her throat slit with a steel blade,
She crossed fast streams and deadly bogs,
Found her way through mists and fogs,
But couldn’t stop that fatal blow,
That stole her life and laid her low,
She walked to meet someone that day,
Just who that was ... no one would say,
Found days later beside a track,
Laid on a cart; her shroud a sack,
The surgeon, Thomas Good, was fetched,
Had in his mind, her white face etched,
Charlotte untouched by fox or crow,
Had she been moved ... he did not know,
No evidence was ever found,
But her young boyfriend had gone to ground,
Fingers so quick to point his way,
Matthew Weeks panicked; ran away,
The hapless cripple, was soon caught,
No other culprit was ever sought,
The judge was just a rubber-stamp,
Bodmin Gaol was dark and damp,
The scaffold built, the crowds arrived,
Matthew swore he had not lied,
The floor gave way, the rope drew tight,
Was justice done ... the verdict right?
In the cosmic ballet, where celestial lights gleam,
I whispered your name, in a voice soft as steam.
The moon's tender cradle, a swing for our feet,
We danced through the heavens, in rhythm so sweet.
Summer nights unfurled, your essence a bloom,
As we waltzed in the dark, dispelling the gloom.
Memory's dance floor, where our souls took flight,
A serenade of stars, in the velvet night.
I'm whirling in nebulas, where love's pulses meet,
Aching for your caress, in the cosmos' repeat.
Nostalgia, our shroud, in the ether's embrace,
In this starry vision, my heart finds its place.
Frames on the cosmos' wall, tales etched in light,
Chuckles that linger, in the quiet of night.
We pirouetted under the celestial spray,
Each droplet a beat, washing sorrows away.
I'm twirling in the heavens, where the heartbeats blend,
Craving your warmth, on this boundless ascend.
Nostalgia enfolds us, a zephyr's soft sweep,
In this woven dream, serenity I keep.
Let's waltz one more time, 'neath the candyfloss sky,
With each dream that shatters, I still hear your sigh.
We'll pursue the twilight, as hues intertwine,
In the night's hammock, you're forever mine.
I'm gliding through the galaxies, where heartbeats entwine,
Yearning for your touch, on this journey divine.
Nostalgia, our constant, a breeze so serene,
In this crafted dreamscape, my spirit finds its sheen.
So we'll drift through the remembrances, not quite undone,
Dancing in dreams, our race yet to be run.
In the cradle of stars, I'll murmur your name,
Through eternity's dance, we'll play our sweet game.
I want to leave
The next world holds more hope
As this life seems lost in circles
Both worlds filled with virgins
Untouched
I want to leave
And escape the daily routines
Of strangers who say hello
Then walk away forever
I am to be crucified
On the alter of love
And rise not ever again
No one will treasure my shroud
I want to leave
For I am human
Shrouded in the coldness
Of being always alone
I want to feel the kiss of a lover
A warmth to blanket my soul
How sweet would this be?
Poetic words however are not real
I want to leave
The illusions of the heart
How?
Reality sends a cold chill down my spine
Words are the arrows of poets
Blood soaked in verse
I return to fantasy
In the moon light night
From the beginning of time
Where dreams were considered divine
Here I rest a heavy heart
An unfinished painting
Collecting dust
Inspired by Eileen Ghali who wrote a poem with the same title.
It hangs in the clouds
peeking between the blue white and gray
holding back the sun in its nimbo-stratus shroud.
The clusters trace a line, puffy, dark and ominous
blending passed the sun and flaunting blue away
with patchy sheets of scorched marshmallow cumulus.
A ray or two of faint sun light
glows bright and brilliant through the gaps
then slips through the oncoming dusk of night.
A gust of wind breathes gentle through the trees
teasing promises of needed satiated droplets
as dry and withered plants fall upon their knees.
August fluctuates unpredictble, cool, warm and hot
as storms boldly threaten but quickly fade
into an ache of humid bodies and grass burned spots.
Come wind, come clouds, come soft needed rain
spring to life the tended flower and vegetable gardens
with signs of life growing in each and every grain.
Release, fall soft and kind upon this earth below
sweet August rain, please come again
return the wonder that we know.
Upon a desert's silent sea of sand,
A tower stands with strength upon the land.
Its hue, a blazing red in sun's embrace,
Yet darkness hovers, casting mystic grace.
A contradiction painted 'cross the sky,
Dark clouds and sunshine vying, none comply.
The tower's shadow stretches 'long the ground,
A solitary sentinel, profound.
Desolation spreads, a barren, empty plain,
Where solitude and quietness remain.
Footprints mark a path of souls now gone,
Whispers of their stories linger on.
The sun, a golden orb in azure skies,
Its cheerful rays attempt to mesmerize.
Yet dark clouds gather, weaving tales untold,
A juxtaposition, nature's fold.
The tower's red, a poppy midst the sand,
A beacon in this arid, lifeless land.
Though clouds may mask the sun in somber shroud,
The tower's presence stands tall and proud.
In unity, the sun and darkness play,
A dance of contrasts in the sky's array.
The tower, steadfast, gazes far and wide,
Its strength against the odds, undenied.
So in this scene, where opposites unite,
The tower stands, a symbol shining bright.
Dark clouds and sun converge, then drift away,
A masterpiece of nature's night and day.