Long Somewhere Poems
Long Somewhere Poems. Below are the most popular long Somewhere by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Somewhere poems by poem length and keyword.
The sorrow I feel for the way things ended remains deep and real.
I would not have chosen the path we took or its final destination;
but, to know you for just a moment was worth the pain.
The pain that after so very long yet aches inside of me.
Though your image has begun to fade from my mind,
the color of your bright green eyes growing dimmer as time passes,
the luster of your smile tarnishing behind your soft lips,
my heart still feels the warmth of you in each anguished memory.
I can't but think of the gentle caress of your finger tips
as you held me tightly in your nestled embrace;
how, you seemed to never want to let me go;
how, I never wanted to let you go.
To die in your arms would have been a simpler fate, but you chose a long,
lingering death for me. Each day, each hour, each moment I think of you
the clouds gather and the darkness draws ever closer,
but through the storm a ray of light shines like the love that exudes
from your beautiful heart, and I smile as your laughter fills me.
I would give a life time just to hear that laughter once again.
Today, a special day for you, leaves me wondering,
dazed and confused, as to why you remain strong in my thoughts.
You pushed me away so long ago,
never to see your beauty again, never to hear your melodic voice.
Perhaps, one day, you will find somewhere deep inside of you,
the strength to explain why, and truly set me free.
Until then you will always haunt me.
Twenty eight times have you passed through the seasons of life,
and in each one your wonder has grown, as have you,
the beauty of the flowers of Spring and the blossoming of love,
the warm rays of the Summer sun,
the melancholy wonder of the falling leaves in Autumn,
the desolation and loneliness of cold Winter nights
and the sorrow and grief caused by those who have hurt you.
You shared these things with me.
I tried to be your Spring
but unknowingly led you into Winter,
a sorrow in me for which I will be eternally damned.
You are a shadow to me, a vision I see in my dreams,
a manes, always haunting me.
You will always be with me.
I will always be here for you if you but ask.
05-09-17
Will you turn an ear to the haunted sound children
Will you feel the beat of the human condition thrumming in your veins
Taste the sadness and longing, begot by our own who suffer in the shadows of their own
demons, To create a universe with soul and zen with a bic pen on my skin an folded napkin
Chatting with the priestess of the lower east side, while she weeps for her father who died by
the way of the needle, and her left alone to fight the deathly cold in Rochester
Somewhere in darkness intertwined with castoffs of the bastard generations
Beneath the hot top laden rivers of rage and power, built with sweat of all
those seen and yet, unseen, Take flight upon the wings wrought of the voices of the
downtrodden, dispossessed, beaten but not broken my dear friends, not broken in soul or in
heart, to give their words anchor and strength, to fight the good fight within endless days
and suffering nights, chase away the fears and tears, give a hand and understand children
what is up to us, to you, in all we feel, speak and do, dont turn down the screams, the cries,
an dont forget for all which our loved ones died, across foreign seas to foreign sands, it don't
take much to lend your hand,
The darkness surrounds, but we'll wait on our dawn, to which all our fragle hopes belong
This country, this citadel, our home, our people, one and all, our hope, our oneness....
Our America.
©R.Chirino IIII
6/23/15
Form:
Anger sets in, deep in the mind.
Amygdala fires up, logic becomes blind.
Tightness of chest, muscles tensing, preparing for fight or flight.
Anger sets in, deep in the mind.
Thoughts crash and topple trying to find.
Scrambling to make sense, to rationalise!
Eyes widen, jaw stiffens as adrenaline flies!
Anger sets in, deep in the mind.
Darkness is craved from the logical side.
Trying to find somewhere to hide.
Quiet needed now to temper the mind.
Alone with yourself but of a different kind.
Anger sets in, deep in the mind.
Rage containment, holding back the tide.
Sitting still, of warring will to contain the anger inside.
Draining strength to cool the blazing fire.
When anger sets in, deep in the mind.
I am a pathologist,
my world exists between slides—
bright and full of colors,
where the cells I see
often feel like a doorway to paradise.
Every slide tells a different story,
each disease revealing itself
in its own unique way,
asking quietly for my attention.
And I, with complete focus,
peer through the microscope,
searching for the truth hidden inside the slide,
identifying illness after illness,
ignoring my own exhaustion
as I continue to observe them all.
And then I wonder—
what if a microscope had two soft cords,
so I could wear it like glasses?
How comforting that would be.
I could sit anywhere and examine slides—
sometimes near a window,
sometimes curled up on a sofa,
with a warm cup of tea beside me,
or even lying down,
allowing my neck, back, and waist
a little relief at last.
Or perhaps there could be an eyepiece
connected to the microscope through USB,
where the cells would appear directly before my eyes.
I could wear it like spectacles
and sit outside the hospital
under gentle sunlight,
studying slides in peace.
People may say
this is an age of machines,
but somewhere within it
I still long to remain human.
I recognize diseases,
write reports,
and help open paths to treatment
for all the lives connected to mine.
But what about me?
All I truly wish
is that amidst this endless rush,
my own body
could pause long enough
to breathe.
And perhaps one day,
such an eyepiece will exist—
one that not only connects with cells,
but also allows me
to live my own life in comfort.
Then I will be able to sit anywhere,
calm and unburdened,
examining slides peacefully,
far away from exhaustion.
She was wearing a red saree. She was wearing her mother’s ornaments. She has a simple, ordinary face, but her eyes were like a tranquil lake, you could see all the floating emotions there. She has dark complexion yet the most beautiful look I have ever seen.
All those pictures I was going through were making me home-sick. I could not attend the moment. But my mind was always there. I wanted to be present on this festive occasion too much. I had to call.
“ How are you, my little child? How are you feeling?” I wanted to cheer her up.
“ I miss you.” She spoke softly after a long pause.
“ I am there, with you, in my prayers,” I was thinking about her face as I was telling her that.
“ I do not pray. I do not believe.” She spoke again, with certain agitation.
“ Why, my little one? Prayers are not for hurting you, they will free you in times of pain and sorrow. Why, ma?” I wanted to reach to her softly.
“ I do not believe in goodness of prayer, after all, I know it’s a make-believe story that we only love to imagine.” She was restless. And a bit rude, perhaps.
I had to stop. This little one was born, and I was only nine years old, then. When my sister allowed me to hold her, I was eagerly observing her eyes. Wide, tremendous beautiful eyes!
I wanted to talk to her about mercy and love of God. But I could not get a hold of the time.
I was still looking at her eyes. Through sadness, she touched a deep wound somewhere, somehow.
Lord, please forgive me for everything. Please forgive my little one. I can still smell the baby fragrance of her!
Perhaps it is a one-way track that is only meant for me.
But then I fear I may digress
Succumb to writings pained distress
Succumb to pressure in my chest
To shred what I think ain’t the best
Forsooth and poppy cock, I cry
And other words to plagiarize
I will succeed, I’ll win the prize
Cut those legends down to size
Alas, the phone and beepy things
Have me bouncing as if on springs
Emoji’s full of wordless stings
Laughing as the doorbell rings
The thoughts I think are sounding dumb
A never-ending Rugby scrum
My head is slightly out of plumb
I’m sitting here, my cheeks gone numb
Somewhere in the dark they bide
Lost amid a smoldering pride
Those simple truths that must reside
Between his Jekyll and his Hyde
Under the deep night sky, in the labyrinth of my thoughts,
The system stretches like a spider's web,
Trying to catch me in its cold and unseen threads,
Will it manage to flatten me,
To erase my contours, to steal my humanity,
Or will I somehow find the strength to tame it,
To transform it into a tool,
To make it sing to the melody of my soul?
In the mirror of the moon, faces from other times call my name,
Voices of shadows, of deeply buried dreams,
They ask me, challenge me, call me,
On the stone paths of memories,
I walk with heavy and uncertain steps,
I wonder if I will ever be able to discover the meaning behind the chaos,
To find the light among the shadows.
Every day, the system tries to turn me into a puppet,
To steal my dreams, to steal my desires,
To steal my wounds and joys,
I feel my heart beating slower and slower,
Weaker and weaker, under the weight of norms and rules,
But somewhere deep inside me,
A spark of hope refuses to extinguish.
I remember the times when I was free,
When I ran through the green fields of childhood,
When my laughter rang like a crystal bell, pure and unaltered,
Now, among the walls of concrete and glass,
Among codes and numbers, I feel lost,
But deep in my soul,
A small but powerful voice,
Whispers to me that I am not defeated yet.
One day, perhaps I will find the courage to rise against the system,
To take it by the hand and lead it down the paths of my heart,
To show it the beauty of dreams and the power of desires,
To make it understand that we are more than cogs in a machine,
That we are beings of light and darkness,
Of laughter and tears, of hope and despair.
And maybe, one day, I will manage to transform the system into an ally,
Into a friend that helps me achieve my goals,
Fulfill my desires,
Keep my humanity alive and vibrant,
Like a star that lights the way in the night,
And then, under the deep night sky,
I will be able to say that I have won.
After everything—
the childhood scars,
the broken promises,
the violence I survived,
the children I raised,
the love I gave that was never returned—
I’m still here.
You don’t know what it costs someone like me to keep showing up in a world like this.
To love when I’ve been hurt.
To hope when I’ve been forgotten.
To rise when I’ve been left behind.
No, I haven’t made perfect choices.
But I’ve made courageous ones.
I’ve made sacrificial ones.
And I’ve made them with a heart that never stopped trying.
If you’ve ever wondered what survival looks like—it looks like me.
Not polished. Not rich. Not untouched.
But real. Bruised. Awake. Alive.
And I still believe—somewhere in this life—there is softness meant for me.
Not chaos. Not cruelty. Just peace.
And I won’t stop reaching for it.
Not now. Not ever.
mm 04/25
Where did you come from?
A distant time or place,
From one of my dreams,
Did I imagine your face?
Your voice is a familiar song
That plays through my head;
The lyrics were written
From the beautiful things that you’ve said
You touched my heart deep
With emotions so strong,
With those beautiful eyes
And your sweet loving song.
Do I know you from another life?
Can this be true?
I see in your smile
You are wondering this too.
Our closeness we have
Is beyond all compare,
The understanding is simple
Of the connection we share.
Both knowing and wondering
Sometime and somewhere,
Our hearts were as one
And we had not a care.
Though my mind is unsure
How all this can be,
One thing I know certain
That our love is to be
On my morning walk, which is
Adjacent to the river,
A small surprise is sometimes what
The city does deliver.
So yesterday, I heard a thump,
Metallic, so I slowed,
Expecting that a hubcap flew
From somewhere on the road.
Instead, I saw a sewer cover
Quaking as it rose
And crashed back down above a spot
Where the East River flows.
Thought number 1: a creature
Would be rising from the deep
And then his scaly self into
My neighborhood would creep.
Thought number 2: a prisoner
(Like “Shawshank”) would break free
Because from Rikers Island
There’s a chance that it could be.
Thought number 3: the river (high)
Would suddenly erupt
And shoot that cover skyward
In a manner most abrupt.
In any case, I hurried on
Without a backward glance,
Not willing, having had those thoughts,
To take the slightest chance.