Long Symphony Poems
Long Symphony Poems. Below are the most popular long Symphony by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Symphony poems by poem length and keyword.
In the live network of intricate unassailable design,
layer on layer, the latticed mind is stratified,
the spiritual strata of the innate awareness align,
unique sagacious patterns of perception are unified.
Many existential attributes of sole distinction gain
access to the sanctum of the secret psychic recess,
transcend undefined the fading limits of joy and pain,
as fluid sense merge with the sea of absolute consciousness.
In my journey within as an introspective explorer,
I discern the enlightened soul in the sanctuary of bliss,
suffusing me with the supreme essence of divinity,
I get liberated from the dungeon of the corporeal abyss.
I am then the immutable hymn of the sanctified soul,
echoing through the melodic strata of consciousness.
The devout mantra intoned in the temple of the heart,
resonates with the symphony of the sacred spirit.
I am the shared essence of the connected oneness,
transcending the self-seeking perimeter of individuality.
The cosmic creator of the resounding silence of eternity
makes my awakened soul proclaim the divine decree I am He.
Sittin’ on the porch past midnight,
With golden-glow tunes holdin’ us tight.
Singin’ soft, swayin’ slow,
To Patsy’s sweet southern soul.
You’ve got a Whiskey Sour, warm in hand,
I’ve got blueberry wine—bold and grand.
My blue dress billows, breathin’ free,
Like a moonlit melody on the midnight breeze.
Oh, the heat hums heavy in the air,
Your touch is tender, true, and rare.
I could fall to pieces, pulse unsteady,
But with you, love—I’m always ready.
So I’ll pray to Jesus, plead and pine,
That here in the hush of twilight time,
With soft-lit stars and steppin’ feet,
Our lips will lock, our hearts will meet.
Where the song spins, sways, and sighs,
A symphony of love under Southern skies.
Each note a whisper, each chord a fire,
A tune composed of true desire.
So holler high, don’t hush that sound,
You’re my chosen love, forever bound.
My moonbeam moment, my midnight flight,
My honeymoon glow in neon light.
Let go, let loose, let love be loud,
Shake off that pride, stand tall, stand proud.
Let fall the tears, they won’t rust your skin,
You can escape, love—let life begin.
23 Sept 2020 9:01 pm
Two old country gentleman step out on an autumn night
And stare into the heavens to see the stars so bright
One last walk before our repose for relief and fond reflection
I stand with eyes wide in wonder at the symphony of Gods perfection
Toughie my old gentleman dog sniffing and finding his spot
He listens to the symphony and hears what I can not
The subtle nuance of chirping frogs and crickets in the wood
Oh the conversations we could have if only we understood
Calm and dark as the cool wind whispers
I reach down and feel the brush of his whiskers
He is done and the moment has past the bed is calling rest
So in we go, out go the lights and thank God for we are blessed
There is a secret symphony in the whispers of the wind that caresses the earth,
a profound mystery hidden in the dance of trees bowing their leaves,
the ocean does not ask the moon why it pulls it with unseen force,
but we, made of stardust and dreams, seek answers in the shadows of time.
We ask the sky why the sun retreats into the abyss of night each evening,
why stars burn only to extinguish in the cosmic silence,
why hands part like waves from the shore.
But have you ever tried to catch the rain in your palms,
begging it to remain as an eternal memory?
Some things are meant to pass through us like the dream of a sleeping god.
Being alive is not about having stone-cold certainties,
nor being devoid of fears or feeling whole.
It is to dance in the moonlight knowing the music will stop,
to love like a flame, knowing hands will let go.
It is to walk through the fire of life and call it warmth,
to embrace the night as a river that holds the endless sea.
Why do we cry for the passage of time,
when time has never shed a tear for us?
You hold a moment in your palm and feel it dissolve into eternity,
you speak a name and its echo is lost in the abyss.
Life was never meant to be caught in chains—
only felt in the intensity of each moment and lived with an open heart.
Dawn does not bring promises written in stars, nor do waves make eternal vows,
the simple fact that you are here, breathing, is enough to create magic.
The universe owes you no meaning, but here you are—breathing, feeling, laughing.
You are the miracle you sought in the silence of endless nights.
Let your voice resound like a song of the wind even when it trembles,
let your hands create worlds even when they waver,
let your heart open like a night-blooming flower even when it fears the unknown.
What is the purpose of life if not to be touched by its mystery?
Hold the light tightly, even when the sun sets in the arms of night,
sing the melody of your soul even when your voice trembles under the weight of emotions.
For being alive does not mean to endure forever like a star,
but simply to exist, to feel deeply, to be part of the miracle of creation.
Written: May 10, 2024, For Jay Narain Summer Contest
Rumi Quote: Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Flowers grow in the warm touch of summer,
Jasmine and gardenias smell strummer.
A seductive scent pervades the space,
An illustration of passion transcends interlace.
Sunflower view chases a sun's dazzling pathway,
Pansies proceeds with colors in a bright display.
Lavender-purple petals—are a soothing sight,
Attracting bees and birds, a whimsical flight.
Orchid's elegance is a squint to grasp,
Ginger and heliconia—stories yet unclasp.
Hawaiian blooms, with exotic grace,
Beckon us to relish their vibrant embrace.
A vivid show of marigolds and birds of paradise,
Hibiscus blooms—giving it a divine melodize.
Chrysanthemums, daisies, and dahlias are bright,
It's a tapestry of colors—a celestial sight.
Flowers paint our path from heaven to earth,
It is a symphony of beauty—a gift from birth.
Petunias, as elegant as they seem,
Butterflies flutter—drawn to their gleam.
Cherish summer, with this floral display,
Where summer's embrace holds us sway.
Its beauty inspires,— its fragrance delights,
As we bask in nature's wondrous sights.
Wild is the night that wants to have us in its chamber,
The soul ascends from its carriage in slumber,
It sojourns into the mysterious,
Strange is the encounter sometimes serious.
Wild is the night when there’s a presence in your room,
There’s a hanging gloom,
You can barely sleep,
The eerie is out of the deep.
Wild is the night when silence speaks volumes,
The uncanny communes,
There’s a search for light,
In glorious symphony until daylight.
Wild is the night when there’s a summon to another time,
It’s a walk in a different clime,
The hidden is unveiled,
Turbulent seas are sailed.
If you learn best in the storm the lessons will always be there when it calms,
storms leave rainbows with wreckage in the foreground.
Scattered houses, uprooted trees, and capsized cars.
Striving to be the rainbow is always the goal
otherwise it’s your scattered memories, uprooted ambitions, and capsized purpose
at the heart of your ruin while the symphony of colors glimmer past you.
Sometimes the rainbow never shows itself and that's when the community becomes the rainbow, interlocking arms to resist the gale winds as if to say to the storm
“Our fortitude is stronger than your winds can blow.
We'll push the cars upright, plant trees to eat from, and rebuild houses you tore apart." You may not glow like the rainbow or be as strong as the storm but as people like you emerge. Those memories slowly repair, new ambitions come to pass, and your purpose stands tall enough to reach the storm.
You aren't the rainbow or the storm but something more now, the by product of both
The lessons you learned are ingrained and now you're that bright yellow gold at the end of the rainbow ready to share your wealth of knowledge with whoever finds you.
In shadows cast on crumbling walls,
A world once vibrant, now enthralls.
Sunset's blaze, a final dance,
As echoes fade, in apocalyptic trance.
Whispers of winds through barren lands,
Silent cries on shifting sands.
A symphony of chaos, nature's last breath,
Embracing demise, the dance of death.
Stars extinguished, night's canvas bare,
Moon weeps softly, a lone despair.
Cities echo ghostly tales,
As the end unfurls, the final veils.
Yet in the ruins, a seed of hope,
Nature's resilient, a lifeline to cope.
From ashes rise a new birth,
A chance for healing, on scarred Earth.
In the search for the meaning of life, we are born in the shadow of conscious death,
An echo of the spirit, of our introspective and questioning gaze,
Under the weight of the end, we weave religions and philosophies like spider webs,
In which the thread of our life extends, like the light of a falling star.
But the crafted meaning is as fragile as dandelion fluff in a changing wind,
And we live with growing fear, our souls vibrating in dissonance,
The stories we weave become the shackles of our ethereal dreams,
And we spend our days trying to be shadows of a vast imagination.
Our lives become specters dancing on the stage of our minds,
A theater of shadows and lights, dreams and delicate chimeras,
Under the moonlight, in the gardens of time, we seek reflected answers,
In stagnant water mirrors, deepening the mystery of an unattainable truth.
Beyond cosmic silence, our hopes burn like stars on the horizon,
We try to decipher the enigma in an existence laden with shadows and light,
Happiness takes ephemeral forms, like stars reflected in deep waters,
And in this dance of melancholy, our masks fall, leaving our souls bare.
We are born in mystery and slide into the eternal unknown,
In endless quests, we understand only the fragments of a cosmic puzzle,
We cling to fragile tales, building sanctuaries from hollow illusions,
For it is only our soul that dances in the night, seeking extinguished answers.
In the temple of thought, we sculpt meanings that seem infinite and elusive,
We are but ephemeral figures, shadows of wandering lights,
And the forgotten poet of destiny, with his pen of gold,
Opens paths in dreams, always seeking the essence of a truth hidden in the stars.
Thus, we venture into this endless search,
A tribute to self-awareness, a symphony of lost souls,
We lose our identities on the altar of endless desires,
And find only fragments of light in the gaze of the vast blue.
In this way, the search for meaning becomes a journey of dreaming shadows,
A song of pure melancholy, embroidered on the fabric of secretive time,
And in the end, we discover in the deep silence of our hearts,
That only self-crafted meaning gives us wings to fly, in the sky of boundless dreams.
Aren't I your dearest and best
Aren't I your sweetest of hearts
Aren't I your reason to smile
Aren't I your me...
Tell me...
So,
Bells of hurt in the heart
Resounds a painful symphony
Mixed in jockeys of hurtful memories
Hateful iris
Flaming tongue
Freezing lips
Play and recites
My pain and my hurt
I fell in love with you
And gave you my heart and my mind
Intwined like a line
Stick close like you're mine
But you seem to know better
What I feel for you
How long I could walk for you
And how much I love you
In a split second
I've lived an eon with you in my mind
Lying in the warmth of the sands of the time
Flying and holding limbs like kings with wings
In your eyes lies
Galleries of art
Prisons of hurt
Recitals of misery new
In my tooth
Bears your tattoo
Tutor on scooter
You like I like that too
Chasing your name
In alphabets like rain
Down thru the drain
Ain't nothing new to me
You never mind
All of these
Because
I wasn't one of ya geeks
I tried to keep you close
But you pushed me away
Like forage of hay
I'm not even gay
It's really hurtful
But I must have to say
That I'm going away
My darling, Poetry...
I'm not just good for you