Long Stolen Poems
Long Stolen Poems. Below are the most popular long Stolen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stolen poems by poem length and keyword.
Across oceans and decades, my daughter and I set sail,
Returning to the land where my roots still whispered my name.
Sixty years apart, yet the pulse of home still flowed through my veins,
A river winding back to its source, never truly lost.
Words became bridges, stitching past and present with ease.
My daughter, though a stranger to Hindi’s full embrace,
Spoke in laughter, in gestures, in a language older than words—
And in their eyes, she became the brightest star in our sky.
Feasts unfolded like pages of an old, beloved book,
Each dish a story, each sip of tea a memory reborn.
Generations stood together—parents, children, and their own little ones,
Echoes of my youth dancing through my high school halls,
Where time had carved my name but left my spirit untouched.
Tea time carried the fragrance of childhood once more—
Mother’s voice weaving warmth through gossip and laughter,
The sweet hush of togetherness, as precious as stolen time.
How I wished to freeze those golden hours,
But the clock’s steady hands pressed against our joy,
And the road called us back to where life waited.
In life everything around
goes awfully wrong,
And the road to happiness
may seem so long.
Sometimes our problems
may seem so cold like ice,
And even the sun may not
be able to dry the tears in
our eyes.
All our fears keep
tormenting us deep inside,
Making our joy and
happiness leaving our side.
Everyday of our life we
labour in pain,
And get beaten by the
unfavourable sun and rain.
Sometimes we get our
heart broken,
By discovering how much
of our joy that has been
stolen.
Tears of frustration keep
running down our cheek,
Even when we are so
humble and meek.
The cloud of nightmare
keep hovering above us,
Making our dreams as dead
as humus.
Sometimes we get
punished for things we
didn't do,
And get scolded for things
we didn't mean to do.
Everyday we keep praying
for a way out of our misery,
When to us our existence is
like a mystery.
We get betrayed by our
peers,
With a broken heart and no
hope of repairs.
We get frustrated beyond
our endurance,
And push to the wall
beyond our tolerance.
Sometimes we get beaten
by life blows,
Thinking that life is a bed of
rose.
Our heart been broken with
no remorse,
Pouring down pain upon us.
Sometimes life becomes so
bitter,
That there leaves no hope
of it getting better.
In the depth of our heart
lies a hope,
But the strain of our pain
makes it impossible to cope.
We just keep moving with
no direction,
Hoping for a better
destination.
Life making us go through
hell,
For many reason that we
can't tell.
We just can't stop
dreaming of the peace of
heaven,
That will help lift away our
heavy burden.
But one thing i know is
that,
We'll surely keep up the
fight.
No matter the battle we
fight to survive,
One day our soul will be
revive.
A storm is upon us, howling outside
The snow keeps falling and blowing today
Snow sticks to the windows, as the views hide
White and more white, writing block in my way
I struggle to figure out what to say
The snow keeps falling and blowing today
The snow piles up on autumn’s decay
The depth of winter unfolds all around
I struggle to figure out what to say
Breaking through wild weather, is a bird’s sound
Calling from trees, through the white veils of snow
The depth of winter unfolds all around
I’m in the warmth watching scenes that I know
I want to sing happy tunes like birds now
Calling from trees, through the white veils of snow
Thoughts are stolen from sound of the snow plow
A storm is upon us, howling outside
I want to sing happy tunes like birds now
Snow sticks to the windows, as the views hide
Heidi Sands
2/2/21
One way
I know this afrocentric music
rather than a eurocentric mere performance piece
is longing for
a sweet and swinging chariot,
rather than a messiah white and male.
I know
this is a cooperative-felt spirit,
and not so much a competition,
because of how
word choices and round rhythms
combine to pitch longing free safe home.
A freestyle journey
to a rich robust and multicultured freedom
of tribes long living
loving Earth's peace paradise.
A paradise
western civilization
has not sung or danced,
out loudly joyed about
for far too long
without a warm cooperative song
Swinging low and high
in sweetly waving gold
ruled and ratioed
traveler's chariot,
Coming and going
racing forth and back
to carry us
in and out of home
To freedom's too long lost,
stolen, kidnapped
while we were dreaming,
singing and dancing with another day
dreaming nights of disembodied free,
Anxiously anticipating,
weary
and yet warmly welcoming.
Ahh, the boys of summer are back,
Getting ready for some baseball to play.
And while I wish I could join them out there,
That dream has long past from another day.
Yet I know I'll watch the games often,
Looking to glimpse some memories of old.
Since my love of the game is deep seeded,
As home runs and no-hitters are told.
Being a lifelong fan of the game,
I've enjoyed the history & growth to maintain.
While it has evolved and gone through some changes,
Its roots have essentially stayed the same.
The growth seen in the game has been global,
As many countries now enjoy the sport & teams.
While millions are entertained by watching,
Allowing escape from the hardships and regimes.
Through the popular attraction that's grown,
It's become big business with dollars to match.
But I'll always enjoy the simple pleasures,
Whether it's a stolen base, or someone making a great catch.
Dear manipulative muse,
I have watched you calligraph your craftsmanship into oblivion.
I must say, your concoction is a wild enterprise,
Dreaming in the darkness, you have sketched me an aura of rose
From an oasis that sings a broken lullaby,
Playing chemistry with macabre metaphors.
Such a shame…
Did the bittersweet sun in your sky teach you only black and white?
Must a woman almost always be the mosaic mind?
Spare me the brain-blistering sad songs on the 1900 radio.
Now witness! Observe!
See what it means to be the dawn of pain in familiar torment,
Time stolen and a heart far beyond broken,
Dust lost beneath the hidden October embers.
Why wait for a volatile vortex?
When your indigo moonstone stirs up like a furious faucet,
Impatiently waiting to explode into the aftermath of a war?
Are you done keeping score?
Or does your pride need to see how I can walk out that door?
You are barely a quest,
You pathetic flamingo!
So get your head out of my backyard
And bury it in a forgotten graveyard.
1 final last thing
Before i go
On self-imposed sabbatical
I wish in word's to impart
to all of you
Is this
Love and hope is no longer
dead
As today i discovered and
seen before my very own eyes
2 childhood sweethearts
soulmate 1 true ex-loves
Grind the long hard pathway
back into each other affection
and trust once again
And it restored my fractured
faith in love i lost had stolen
that painful day away
When they eventually decided
to go separate ways and part
So today more above any
other day in the not so recent
past
The news i heard today
Was at long , long last not
tempered with sadness
But instead the kind and
type of news
That whence upon hearing
All the world abound at
that moment of singularity
Love actually tenders time
and light relatively squared
And like i said before is
kind of type of news
That makes me believe
in love once again
Even after a self-imposed
sabbatical
Holidays haven't been the same since momma passed away.
The joy and love our family had was stolen all away.
Her favorite time was Christmas time, It always seemed to me.
She loved to wrap the presents and decorate the tree.
My daddy went to be with her just the other day.
They will spend Christmas together this year, At least that's what I pray.
It's never gonna be the way it used to be.
We won't have momma's cooking, And I can't decorate a tree.
They at least won't have any pain this year and there won't be any sorrow.
All that was yesterday and we are praying for tomorrow.
Form:
In front of impending disaster
He stood there
Right beside the operation theater
Watching his parents
Going mad with pain
A thousand thoughts were flowing in his mind
What would happen if his brother couldn’t survive
The doors get opened
What he feared the most just happened
His mother unconscious
His father lying on floor, crying like a baby
His heart was erupting with pain
But he was fine
He walked, signed the documents
He had to do so...
He was to be strong...
He was supposed to laugh in the face of Anguish
A nurse looked at him with his mouth opened
“The death of his brother left no mark on him,
How cold-blooded!”
He arranged the funeral and buried the dead
Took his parents home, dried their eyes
And went out at night
Cried,
The sky watched him,
The moon and stars watched him,
He cried till Dawn,
The water rolled over his face
And were stolen by the thirsty Mud
He came home at Dawn,
Went to office and came back in the evening
To sooth his parents,
Made sure they didn’t sleep hungry
And then, went out again...empty stomach
To shed tears--- dark
That nobody would see
For what thing is visible in dark...
(2/15/20)
In high school, Steward had started thinking
of his gloomy future and Abraham Lincoln.
who said, "Predict your future; create it."
His heart cried, "Wyoming and me - not related."
Abe lived in three states before he became
prez. There's a whole world out there to claim,
who needs a family and farm near Cheyenne?
Stew loved the idea of being his own man.
Pulled up roots, headed to the heart of Texas
and Waco, a hundred bucks as his nexus...
Money he'd stolen from dad, like back pay;
he had a faint hope to pay him back some day.
Steward spent one night talking to David Koresh;
he claimed to believe but this new light was fresh.
Rubbing the mist from his eyes (lonesome for home),
first look at the compound, it whispered, "Shalom!"
He had a new calling - leader in "God's Army"
and wrote grandma, "Weapons make me feel barmy."
She penned back, "Just pray." (He knew what she'd say.)
God "drove" him t'wards Wyoming the very next day.
June 23, 2020