Long Sinister Poems
Long Sinister Poems. Below are the most popular long Sinister by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sinister poems by poem length and keyword.
The war is nothing but a metasexual celebration among homosapiens,
A grotesque dance of destruction, where bodies confront each other in an orgy of violence.
Soldiers become avatars of the primordial desire for control and domination,
A masquerade of power, where blood is the elixir of ecstasy and self-loss.
In the arena, hearts beat to a primitive rhythm, sprinkled with sighs and howls,
Shadows of an ancestral game, where victory is ephemeral, and glory a fleeting specter.
Weapons become extensions of bodies, while souls get lost in the battle for supremacy,
Each battle a journey into the dark abyss of instincts, with no way back.
Behind the masks of iron and gray uniforms, forgotten vulnerabilities hide,
Ordinary people transform into puppets of collective madness,
And on the battlefields, flowers are replaced by the bright red of blood,
In a grotesque bouquet, a symbol of a morbid celebration, without honor and shame.
The thunderous sounds of bullets become the soundtrack of this sinister celebration,
The entire scene is a frightening illusion, a manifestation of the darkness in our hearts.
And in each wound, in every lost gaze, lies the story of a human tragedy,
A tale written in blood ink, an elegy of souls crushed under the boot of war.
In the backstage of this metasexual celebration, the shadows of endless regret hide,
Humanity dances in a whirlwind of destruction, a prisoner of its own illusions.
Each battle becomes an episode in a tragic series, unfolding on the map of pain,
And with each sunrise, imprints of suffering and regrets remain in our world.
So, in the midst of this metasexual celebration, where war becomes a ritual,
A melancholic cry rises from the wounded souls of the earth,
Calling for an end to this macabre dance and the discovery of a deeper harmony,
Where souls can break free from the chains of war and dance in the light of true peace.
On a tour across the Scottish highland moor,
one summer noon I stopped by a grand Victorian house.
Curious, I entered silently through the half-closed door,
in the semi-dark room a pile of antiques I could only see .
In the creepy silence before I could say “anybody in”,
the creaking wooden door closed sharply behind me.
Alarmed to the core, I pressed the panic button within,
for with the door closed the way out I couldn’t find.
As I shivered with the eerie feeling of being trapped,
saw a faint figure approach through the hazy hallway,
as if floating in thin air he came in the sinister room,
I saw his scalded face before he turned it away.
As he came near I wailed petrified, “please open the door”,
he didn’t move nor did he utter a single word,
but how he softly opened the heavy door I didn’t know.
I rushed out in a breath outside in the sunlight flood.
In nearby village I queried about the man of that house,
nobody saw hint of life in the haunted house of the dead,
for in the outhouse the fire that took a long time to dowse,
the lone caretaker was burnt to death some two years back.
October 13, 2021
Contest : Ghost Lace
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
If poverty were human,
What would they be like?
Would he be stout and tall,
Unyielding in his ruthlessness?
Or a frail young woman,
Weary in her helplessness?
Would he stink of broken hopes,
And those of starved deaths?
Or would she smell of a long day,
And hard-earned pennies?
Would he have calloused fingers,
From years of crawling the dirt?
Or would she have frayed long lines,
Engraving her palm and destiny with silent endurance?
How would he look like when he smiled?
Sinister in his biased cruelty?
Or compassionate and patient,
In the face of unwarranted sufferings?
Lastly, how would the eyes be?
The windows to the soul, they say.
Would they be hard and grey,
With sadistic pleasure for the fallen?
Or would they be hopeful for what's to come,
And grateful for the little that they have?
I heard laughter
As if from the far end of a tunnel
The sound warbled
Distorting the sound
Making it sinister
Like the cawing of a crow
Snow forming on my brow
Infiltrating my skin
Filling up my very veins
Echoing down my arms
Reverberating down my spine
Filling me up completely
And the irony hit me
The laughter I heard
Came from my own lips
With tears running down my cheeks
As if to escape the pain
And a heart so broken
It can longer cope
So broken tears aren't enough
It's the twisted laughter
A deranged sound in sorrow
Such a desperate sound
In a desolate tunnel
Where the walls are crumbling
A burst of a bevy of colors
Suddenly dying
Everything fades to black
And what I heard
I heard laughter
His voice was loved,his colour not
Only the former him fame brought
Summa cum laude in study and sport
His origins drew him up socially short
Jim Crow laws were the sinister wedge
Which left him at his country's edge
His nation's shame burned deeply within
Denying forgiveness for his darkness of skin
He longed for the time when men would be equal
His involvement with communism delivered the sequel
At a time when McCarthy sought to unmask the red
So many suffered paroxysms of dread.
In 1929 after his London show he set out for home late
It was then there occurred a miracle of fate
Singing rang out sweet and crystal clear
Voices of Welsh miners singing songs to them dear
Amazed by their power in their penniless plight
He became their brother in arms that very night
Colour was not what bound him to them
But the poverty to which politics the lower classes condemn
So there was born a rich and mutual harmony
Between a star and a proud but poor army
They both knew the the sting of imposed misfortune
Refusing to give up their independence of tune
He bestrode the world like a black Colossus
Until he was pulled down by destructive bosses
Who would brook no challenge to their status
But his example lives on to fully elate us
This man ,Paul Robeson,a tower among men
Met persecution with stout acumen
He stands out as our beacon of light
For all the victims who fought the good fight.
The girl stepped out her face amok
With lurid colors, set to shock
Four others came with mal intent
Hoods up, sinister, a desire to torment
Jeering voices in the dank of this night
Adrenaline flowing at this time of fright
The bent old woman down the road
They're stalking her dim abode
That sad old witch alone in her house
Where she sits as quiet as a mouse.
Gothic shapes adorn the outside
They're statues and a good place to hide.
Dared painted girl sets to at the door
It's hammered and kicked until limbs are sore
No sign of her, the night retains its hush
Feeding their frenzy, then out they rush
From the shadows and occultic bush
Their ghoulish prank has really begun
They'll crack the windows, break the doors
The widow resignedly braves the boors
Contorting their faces in leering pose
She removes the sun glasses from her nose
Their fate is sealed as they succumb to fear
Broad beams from eyes that continue to peer
Now gray in color, the stand affixed
Immortalized in stone, she is transfixed
More statues to add to her collection
She'll look at them with morbid affection
PRODIGAL SON
Prodigal son I was
I lived a wayward life
Indeed a promiscuous
A boy with a sinister heart
I didn't respect no one
Nothing to lose, but all to gain
Nor was I scared from anyone
In my young heart it reigned
I lived in the streets
With my friends by my side
I didn't heed to my parents' advise
Nor from the teachers sent by God
In my brood, I was the black sheep
In school, I was the teachers’ antagonist
A bad influence I was branded
To my townspeople, I was bad indeed
I was eighteen when He touched my heart
I was confounded, baffled and dazed
What is this Lord?, I soliloquized
Change! Change! Is what I realized
I prayed to the Lord God
" What should I do my Lord?" I asked
" Be my servant, to me He replied
Then my faith, He concretized and galvanized
I am now teaching the Good Tidings
For men to be saved from impending judgment
From the Lake of Fire on the Day of recompense
That the Kingdom of God they may inherit.
The cunningness I feel is near:
It tries coming for a stay
Living within a beast, I once lived in
It's a bit dangerous wanting my play.
I have to be careful, now, right:
Staying in the right of my light
By this, odious toxin that's near
It likes to fight at my nights, I fear.
It made me sick a lot of times:
Lusting its seducing bite in me, crimes
Its promises turn into untrustworthy lies
Here is a sinister demon that terrifies.
It teases me with its pleasures:
Oh, one of a kind, it is, no measures
Telling me that I need it to survive
A bewildering demon, I've lost, run hide!
Every day seems like a struggle lately:
Keeping a sinister entrapped at its bay
These demons are up prowling to entice, be
Awaiting its day to play with me!
It feeds on my aches of pains:
Mind, the guilts, the greed that has stained
The more I hurt inside fighting, being real
The more this, slither, comes to steal.
I sensed life had enough of me:
My spirit was crushed, hurt, torn apart
Its Roar stood, heard for miles, miles I say
A venom beast has awakened, now bites.
This poison, I once craved:
The feel, pushing temptations
To care about absolutely nothing
Not even for myself, deliberations.
This slither came to suck the life out of me,
To bring the poison, sinister closer in
Though the bag, done gone that day
I've yet to lose, to this poisoning again
A malevolence venom, I once craved
Have yet to win within.
Quakes are whistling through my Californian 9 acres of hills
Targeting all of the marked souls I have killed
Whispers of violence scream inside my hatred-prone heart
Infecting my cranium and pulling my body apart
Shadows possess my lifeless body in bits
When will the madness inside of me quit?
Eyes closed in despair as my fingers type out these words
To desperately get my world of madness to others finally heard
Paranoid and crazy I watch my windows and doors
To prevent anymore of this world's gore
Locking myself out of my own house in a deep shame
To counterattack Satan's plan to steal my name
Planning to steal my existence I wait
To bombard Satan with every ounce of this deranged hate
Banishing me from the world he wants so bad to overrule
Laughing hysterically at me for pulling my Tarot 'Fool'
Sinister secrets and a deeply dark haze
To never get through this insignificant maze
Girls walk through life with a calculated and precise step,
their beauty hides a sinister and well-woven design,
their eyes are cold, piercing, hard to read and understand,
and they hurt anyone who dares to get too close to their soul.
They are the ones who bring pain to the hearts they encounter on the way,
they lie and manipulate, weaving stories with invisible threads,
their touch burns and destroys, leaving deep marks on the skin of time,
I have seen how they leave hearts shattered, scattered into a thousand pieces.
They are the masks of a designer of illusions that dance in shadows,
blending light and darkness, creating a spectacle of fragility,
but beyond this facade lie untold stories and silences,
for they too carry deep within their soul an unspoken longing for true love.
Perhaps beneath this cold and calculated mask lies a dream,
a dream of finding someone who can see beyond reflections and lies,
someone to discover the beauty in their hidden imperfection,
and to transform the pain into a story of hope and redemption.