Long Soften Poems
Long Soften Poems. Below are the most popular long Soften by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Soften poems by poem length and keyword.
Four times they opened the flesh and bone,
Four times I woke to a world of stone—
No river of morphine, no drift or dream,
Only the scream behind the scream.
White coats turned with empty hands,
No balm for fire that sears and brands.
I wept in shadows of hospital light,
Each hour a tunnel with no end in sight.
If coins had clinked inside my palm,
I'd trade the law for stolen calm—
A vial, a capsule, a pill that's laced,
To soften the vise of time and place.
But silence crushed the walls of my mind,
And reason fled what it could not find.
Three days I wandered in jagged flame,
A nameless ghost without a name.
Suicide bloomed like a blood-red rose,
A constant whisper the daylight knows.
This is no mercy, this is no care—
This oath they swore hangs in the air,
A mockery writ on parchment scroll
While I, in agony, begged for soul.
If kindness lives in the sky’s great dome,
Let it lift me gently, carry me home.
I ask not gold, I ask not fame,
Only to breathe without the flame.
To see the sky turn dusk to day,
And feel the stars not slip away.
O let the wind move through my chest,
Before I lie in endless rest.
i think god left a hollow inside me
like an abandoned room
He never planned to return to.
not a test.
not a lesson.
just an empty space
i’m forced to live with.
i walk around with this ache
like it’s a second spine—
always there, always stiff,
always reminding me
that something in me
was never completed.
people talk about love
like it’s a season that arrives,
like it circles back eventually.
but i feel like i was born
after something important
had already passed me by.
i hear we love because He loved us first
but what am i supposed to do
when that first love feels far away,
like an echo i can’t follow
through the ruins of my own chest?
the yearning doesn’t even heat me anymore—
it’s a cold burn,
a dull pressure that never peaks,
never breaks,
never gives me the mercy
of understanding itself.
i’ve grown used to the shaking
that never reaches my skin—
tremors locked somewhere deep,
quiet as a dying star,
too tired to collapse,
too stubborn to fade.
the void sits inside me
with the patience of stone.
it doesn’t speak,
doesn’t soften,
doesn’t negotiate.
it just waits
for nothing.
expects nothing.
offers nothing.
i swear some nights
i can feel the emptiness
breathing slower than me,
as if even it is bored
of living in my chest.
i don’t call out for love anymore.
i don’t look for signs.
i don’t pretend something’s coming.
i just move through the days
with this quiet vacancy—
a room with no windows,
a heart with no footsteps,
a story missing its middle pages.
i’ve stopped asking “why.”
there’s no answer.
just the steady fact
that i was made with a space in me
that nothing has stepped into.
not yet.
maybe not ever.
and i think i’m finally
too numb
to fight that truth.
the hollow has outlasted the hope.
the ache has outlasted the asking.
and now it sits in me
like it belongs,
like it won,
like it always knew it would.
Cherish your treasured families and friends
'Fore it too late, and one wears that shroud
You know, we never know, when someone's life ends
Soften your voice, yet speak it out loud
A good life thrives on love, not hate
Thus, taught to us whilst in our youth
And folks- we learn to appreciate
Those loyal and honest spoken words of truth
Heartbreaks hardened... oh, those saddened eyes
Yesterday here, and just like that- ashes
Surprise, surprise... another one dies
And sadly, one's entire world- crashes
So, love your friends and families you cherish
And remember not to hate, and to love thy neighbor
Tomorrow, another loved one might perish
And wear that shroud, to the almighty, creator
They were so near the morning of their days
The dew still clung to laughter on their shoes,
The world was meant to teach them gentler ways
Of growing strong beneath forgiving blues.
They carried hearts too open for the storm,
Too bright for rooms where sorrow learned to shout;
Small hands held grief that had no fitting form,
And nowhere safe to set the burden down.
We tell them time will soften every ache,
That pain grows tired and learns to pass away—
But time is faith a child cannot yet take
When night is long and hope has lost its way.
O listen—every silence that they keep
Is not consent but wonder mixed with fear;
They do not choose the dark, they fall asleep
Believing no one sees them standing here.
The world is loud with verdicts, thin with grace,
Too quick to turn from tears it cannot name;
A child learns shame by reading every face
That looks away and lets them bear the blame.
If love were air, none ever would depart—
No breath would fail, no light be locked away;
It is not death they seek, but rest for heart,
A quiet place where hurting words can’t stay.
So hold them while the night is still undone,
Speak hope aloud before it learns to hide;
For every child is someone’s rising sun,
And no small life was meant to be denied.
Let mercy come before the final cry,
Let listening be the bravest thing we do;
The child who stands too close to asking why
Is only asking if this world is true.
not with her
she is paisley, this daring turquoise
her mind is lithium
I refuse to dance past my grayscale self
yellow and pink hippies enter the realm
imagination laughs
I will save you, she says
snicker snicker
purple rain contradicts my ideology
I note that veins of purple posies
not paisley at all gather around turquoise
Those veins soften her, Brown whispers.
We are from a variety of countries
I do not know Browns.
Having never met them
I pick up my pen and make a pact to ignore the others
They are laughing and readily include me though
We are painting the world now
I am enticed and enthralled
In spite of my silly resolve
Having fun with these borderline strangers
Within minutes I feel we have known each other
all the lifetimes of our souls.
In the polished circumference of refinement
my wild longings dissolve like salt in warm rain.
Everything untamed--
the tremor beneath my ribs when your voice grazes the air,
the way my pulse forgets its manners at the scent of your skin--
quietly erased,
as if refinement were a gentle, merciless hand
wiping fog from a mirror until only the acceptable face remains.
Yet without these invisible walls,
how would desire survive its own blaze?
How would love keep from burning the rooms
we are allowed to share?
I stand three measured steps away,
laughing at the correct jokes,
while my blood writes your name in secret fire across my throat.
The emerald at my nostril catches light and lies--
a small green star pretending composure
while inside me a monsoon waits,
thundering against the cage of decorum.
At night the boundaries soften.
I trace the curve of your absence on cool sheets,
mouth shaping syllables too dangerous for daylight
If only once the circle would fracture--
let the raw, wet ache spill over,
flood the marble floors of restraint--
then perhaps my heart could speak your name aloud
without apology,
without vanishing into the elegant silence
that keeps us both alive
and slowly, exquisitely,
kill us.
gentle flakes drift down
to soften the valley floors
while lacing the trees
with the silent retelling
of ancient native legends
winding brooks of glass
shimmer as they meander
through meadows of gleaming frost
A crystalline bridal veil
adorns the cathedral cliffs
granite monoliths,
crafted by glacier giants,
surround this valley...
hovering, as if to guard
the peace in God's gift to earth
..............................................................................................................
For Brian Strand's Contest: #223
Irony has no place here; let true meaning stand,
Unmasked from deceit, that twists what should be known;
For truth is dimmed, when caressed by a shaky hand,
Hearts are dulled, when slow speaking in undertone.
We’ve learned to laugh to soften our doubt,
To hedge each word to lessen what's too plain;
This cleverness has worn our candor out,
Leaving us fluent in deceit, shame and disdain.
Now is the moment to speak plainly, completely—
Letting the twists unravel, before they're played.
With power serves made adroitly, sweetly and neatly—
To break the ingrained game our irony has made.
For to say upfront, what we mean, demands we refuse
to diffuse, bemuse, confuse, what we risk to lose.
No one can forever soothe a soul,
as all memories evaporate like sunrise dew,
but remember me
when mist congregates at dawn.
Recognise my ghost,
when the fresh breeze brushes your lips.
I will be hiding in the khaki hues of nature,
from the first bloom,
to the last thorn,
to the last leaf,
as my spirit is the essence of four seasons,
so remember me among the 'forget me nots,'
and the scents that bring a pause.
When you paint your masterpiece of dahlia,
don't ignore the moon gazing in awe.
Unless you have given him a new name.
In the tranquillity of twilight,
notice me beaming, surrounded by lanterns.
Unless you no longer recognise my eyes.
In sun searing reveries,
as turquoise waves soften sandy ripples,
listen to spirits whispering our lyrics,
and remember me when adorning lilac fibres,
which you stripped from my chest.
When thunder knocks at your door,
and lightning flashes at your windows,
will you remember me
in the humidity after the monsoon?
When the path is dark,
and the journey turbulent,
will you commemorate me in you sighs?
I cannot return the souvenirs,
gifted to me from your words,
nor erase double edged metaphors,
where love's reflection, once glittered,
so when your muse is lifeless,
relive our recollections
without the need for ink.
Upon the arrival of silence,
when your hands have nothing to hold,
place them together
and remember me
in the sacredness we once shared.
Simple Sunday Musing.
21/6/26
I have learned in the silence of the years, when the winds of change blow slowly,
That people won't listen to your heart if they don't respect your mind for some subtle reason.
And your mind won't be respected if you don't harmonize your steps,
In the dance of power, where pride slumbers under folds of strips.
With this presidency, let us remain humble, not rise in pride,
To keep humility as a crown, instead of empty praises and celebrations.
Let us respect our neighbors more than they have ever respected us,
For only then will their hearts open, like a flower of pure light.
If we love freedom, let the word be free to fly,
Let us give respect even to those who see the sky in a different color.
Otherwise, we are just shadows of old ideas,
While the media weaves barriers of opinions and ideas between us.
It's time to soften the harsh lines of hatred, to make a home of this land,
Where we can think, question, and be sovereign in our word.
We have a captain to lead us through waves and storms,
Let us unite our efforts, gather our thoughts in the orchard of change.
For us, who write with irony and humor, who inspire through words and dreams,
The mission is clear: to destroy the fear that created this chasm of abyss.
Through love for neighbors and community, through our profound authenticity,
Let us be beacons of light, not echoes of hatred that sink into shadow.
Who do you want to be through this victory in the sea of hopes and desires?
A sunrise piercing the night, or a dream lost in old sufferings?
The choice is yours, for in your hands lies the power of change,
In our hearts, the answer of rebirth and great dreams.