Long Sickled Poems
Long Sickled Poems. Below are the most popular long Sickled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sickled poems by poem length and keyword.
Circler and sharp
Around and jagged
Disjoined in thought
Unfocused in point
Spinning out of control
Broken filaments of twine
Laced locked in gears
It is near the end of time
Nails of glass in iron stone
Refracts the light
Broken; flying fragments of night.
Cycles down into a spin
Over and over again
Out of control
A creation of gears in glass
An old broken compass
Nails nine inches long
Nine in all
Wire and springs
Metallic things
A fractured rage
Ice sickled sharp
Cuts neat and clean
Around and jagged
Disjointed thought
Unfocused image
Out of control
Over and over again
Raged the fragments of time
-Love left nothing to confess-
On two worn crutches
Our love wobbles in
See her heart how cold she trembles
Wheelchair romance lying unassembled
The problems came when nothing said
Comes home at night and lies in bed
Paranoia hates those wrong assumptions
Until the talking two
Became the talking at
In.mid air floats a hanging question
A loving pair that craved destruction?
A ping pong game ignoring all
Enticed by a pale hipnotic ball
Falls to find no safety net
Falls to Earth like a Messerschmidt
Take pity on this broken amputee
How youve hammered and youve sickled me
Sad to see how hard she also tried
A coiled up spring never letting up
And giving up surrendering
Love left nothing to confess
And having left nothing, no forwarding address
I woke up new and sound,
This freshness I have found,
Resonates from deep within.
And reflects in my rising and sitting.
I'll revel in this bliss,
Not a moment I'll miss,
Walk in the light of my fresh starters,
For nothing else matters.
I see myself with new eyes,
Mornings are haloed with colours,
As I journey I edge out all contours,
Gloom gradually loses its size.
I have sickled every old way,
A different lad I see in the mirror,
I close my eyes and pray,
That dawn chauffeurs no more terror.
December 31, 2022.
Brian Strand No.1165 Poetry Contest,
Brian Strand.
She sits by the stream of consciousness with the echo of silence
Takes her mind into blistering darkness below false reason’s truth
Down by the water of tears she lights a candle in her mind’s storms
Embraces the sadness of sorrows and rewires misleading thoughts
They called her a witch with no conscience a gipsy lost on the road
Burnt her broomstick branded her skin and confiscated her wagon
Shackled her whistles and bells to hot metal rods and straightjackets
Turned down the heat in the foregone conclusion that she was gone
Yet when the ashes rose she floated on wings of kind forgiveness
Remembered her many friends in Auschwitz in the chambers of hell
She had come prepared in a purple jumpsuit made from asbestos
Forged by history and knowledge that she was stronger than hatred
She assembled a step ladder one rung at a time and slowly ascended
To a waxing moon sickled with hope and compassion into laughter
‘These imbeciles did not take my passion for starlight and wisdom’
‘My tea leaves are stronger and smell of freedom scented in love’
She brought a basket of sandalwood and sweet lavender dreams
And retrieved a besom bequeathed to her by ancestry’s lineage
Looked up to the sky and breathed a prophecy painted from clouds
Sealed her escape with seven locks of her hair and brushed off the dust
15th November 2019