Long The ashes Poems
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In the depths of a silent abyss, where echoes lose their voice,
An old song is heard, a muffled murmur, a sigh of longing,
A tremor that shakes the sanctity of love and dispels dreaming
In a universe of cold shadows, where the light slowly fades.
Here, hearts lose their rhythm, hidden under the veil of silence,
And souls dance frantically on the edge of a time abyss,
While the vortex of existence wraps them in spirals of deception,
Beyond senses, beyond hope, in the core of darkness.
Faceless figures utter meaningless words, like in a cold dream,
And silhouettes melt into the dusk, like a shiver of lost light,
A ritual of self-separation, a journey to the eternal void,
Where only silence remains, an echo of a forgotten love.
In the vastness of this indifference, where hope is an illusion,
A destiny is born from the ashes of extinguished desires, a mute song,
A dream rising on sparrow wings, to the sky beyond the dream,
To rediscover the lost light, beyond the unknown darkness.
Bow your head, little sparrow, and weep the unwept tears,
Lift your gaze to a future waiting to be found,
For in the depths of the abyss flickers a candle, a beacon of hope,
And together, we will fly over the shadows of the past, towards the light.
Darkness is merely the absence of light, but you and I see beyond,
Where no freedom is too distant, no change too great,
And our love persists where blind hatred tyrannically reigns,
A dream, a purpose, a hope that carries our wings to infinity.
We have tasted the depths of the abyss, felt the thrill of ultimate loss,
But together, we can weep over the shadows of the past and fly far away.
He Will Find Love Again
Love was the shield that guarded his heart,
A sky of clouds protecting his universe.
He was playful, innocent, full of light—
Determined to conquer the world with his sight.
But his strength began to fade
As love slipped quietly away—
Not out of betrayal,
But for the hope of something better.
He watched it disappear
Like grains of sand through trembling fingers.
And so, he vanished too—
Into his shell,
Fighting silent battles
No one could see.
He cloaked his soul
In Shayari, vintage memories, and solitude—
The shattered pieces of him still waiting
To be found.
Unaware, a new love was approaching,
Fresh as the first light after a storm.
It gently sought to solve his puzzles,
To mend his soul.
Like a phoenix,
His love would rise again.
She—bursting with color—
Would paint his blank canvas
With a stroke of hope.
He will be reborn.
He will find love again.
In the ashes of hopelessness,
hell find love again.
In Bedzin and in Krakow they breathed in
What they denied in conscious thought or word.
The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin
Penetrating lungs so deep within
The dead unburied mixed, in air secured
In Bedzin and in Krakow, mortal sin.
The nearby people turned to burial urns.
The human dust by breathing was allured
The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin.
So Europe took their human ash within.
A graveyard we became unknown, impure.
In Bedzin and in Krakow, more of sin.
And who they thought destroyed lived on in them
Controlled their lungs, their hearts their minds uncured,
The ashes of the Jews, borne in their skin.
Like a mass communion without words
We ate and breathed the Jews, the gays, unheard
In Bedzin and in Krakow we walked in
The ashes of the lost, the glades of skin,
Through my injustices
it has given me an insight
one I never had before
These are the words written down
as the pen is mightier and exposes a soul
by Gutle Schnapper Rothschild
if my sons did not want wars
there would be none
These elitists are parts of a spine forming
on the snakes back they are slimy toads
without emotions or feelings
They are wizards
part of a circle who claim rights
to the skull and crossbones of Adam
dark magic your seed is from hell
From the ashes of fire you will smother
tortured empty spirits forgotten void
your soul is empty of loving peace
In a blue dream, I dive into the secrets of the vast ether,
Your tear, a pearl, floats in the ocean of time’s contrast,
The baptism of stars falls on wings of wind, like a divine song,
The venom of love, nectar of memories, turns into wine.
In labyrinths of thought, loves are sculpted in clouds,
Dice of fate, with faces of angels and demons, dreamers aloud,
Seasons pass, like shadows of an unextinguished dream,
In illusory paradise, hell stretches, an unfathomable theme.
The actors within us, with masks that laugh and cry, dance on stage,
With a silent desire to find their end as the curtain falls in light's cage,
Spectators of destiny applaud the moment slipping by,
The sacrifice of time, an eternal game, without memory, sly.
I breathe into the heavens, like a breeze caressing stars asleep afar,
At peace with the end, like a candle burning in silence, a solitary star,
In the ashes of time, the spark of life fades with a final stride,
Those who remain, hear the echo, the wisdom of the dead inside.
Existence, a grain of sand, in the hourglass of eternity, slips into the abyss,
A journey to the unknown, without beginning, without end, a dream's kiss,
For those who will still wish to listen, to grasp the cultured mysteries,
To the wise dead, we offer our hearts, in absolute silence, it carries.
Sweet Rose of Virtue
by William Dunbar [1460-1525]
translation by Michael R. Burch
Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness,
delightful lily of youthful wantonness,
richest in bounty and in beauty clear
and in every virtue that is held most dear,
except only that you are merciless.
Into your garden, today, I followed you;
there I saw flowers of freshest hue,
both white and red, delightful to see,
and wholesome herbs, waving resplendently,
yet everywhere, no odor but rue.
I fear that March with his last arctic blast
has slain my fair rose of pallid and gentle cast,
whose piteous death does my heart such pain
that, if I could, I would compose her roots again,
so comforting her bowering leaves have been.
Desdemona
by Michael R. Burch
Though you possessed the moon and stars,
you are bound to fate and wed to chance.
Your lips deny they crave a kiss;
your feet deny they ache to dance.
Your heart imagines wild romance.
Though you cupped fire in your hands
and molded incandescent forms,
you are barren now, and?spent of flame?
the ashes that remain are borne
toward the sun upon a storm.
You, who demanded more, have less,
your heart within its cells of sighs
held fast by chains of misery,
confined till death for peddling lies?
imprisonment your sense denies.
You, who collected hearts like leaves
and pressed each once within your book,
forgot. None?winsome, bright or rare?
not one was worth a second look.
My heart, as others, you forsook.
But I, though I loved you from afar
through silent dawns, and gathered rue
from gardens where your footsteps left
cold paths among the asters, knew?
each moonless night the nettles grew
and strangled hope, where love dies too.
Published by Penny Dreadful, Carnelian, Romantics Quarterly, Grassroots Poetry and Poetry Life & Times
Thought I'd be bold but I can't get a foothold
In this game of life and death
Constant afflictions clash with my addictions
And I don't have time to take a breath
Day x of y, don't question why
I wanna restart instead of doing my part
To fix what I've broke, and I'm choking on smoke
From burning rubber on my face
All through this year I've been facing a fear
That if I tried to stop, I know I could
So many days later, again I become a traitor
Carrying my chains of wood
Another scary cycle, another bland recital
Anyone would say my methods are strange
I guess I must be crazy or maybe I'm just lazy
And I've never tried to make a change
Day x of y, I'm pretty sure I
Won't be content until the day that I die
Because I keep screwing up, keep on filling my cup
With the ashes pouring off my face
Rising from the ashes
a daughter of Phoenix
flails through membranes
as new blood flows,
she rides the heady feel
gliding the becoming
and soaring to life
and in finding wings,
reforming and setting free
of restraint,
a voice unleashes,
calling to the four winds
kindling the fire of inspiration,
lightning strokes tips to
a darkened reflection,
bringing to it
a finger of hope,
a lone spark of energy
life ebbs and flows
and in the pain of the sword
rebirths
As the Phoenix
stepping out of reflections
in shadows,
casting aside doubt,
and finding,
peace
while I burn
There's many things a fire can do
Can't list them all so here's a few
It starts out small and then grows big
Begins with just a spark and twig
Amazed by the fires graceful dance
Flames dancing with such elegance
Embers fade into the dark night
So fearless and ready to fight
Fire symbolizes a rebirth
It will help you find your true worth
Fire represents your power, too
Rising from the ashes anew
A fire can warm up your cold toes
Or burn up tall trees by the groves
The flames dance and flitter about
Trying so hard not to go out
With a fire you should never flirt
If you do, you'll surely get hurt
When using fire, please use great care
Fire is danger, so please beware
The Medicine Bag
March the centuries on,
the talisman wraps and
clings to the collar bone.
The medicine bag cups holy
bones that speak of the
future, flint and stone to
make magic fire
strong medicine in the
feather of the eagle
a tooth of the wolf when the
spirit guide is he,
Should the moon's cycle be
the guide. an agate stone.
Antler bone, its spirit
sacrificed, meat and juices
hiss into the fire on a wintry
night.
Amulets forever worn „round
the neck touched by hands
to reassure.
Fear, pain and loss subside.
Joy celebrated stroked in
thanksgiving, always there,
a comfort.
To lose it was to lose one.s
self.
The medicine bag still adorns
the educated, the modern,
the agnostic.
Turquoise of a native people
rosary beads for a strict and
vengeful God
a locket filled with a
beloved.s hair
hippy beads from the time of
peace signs and Haight-Ashbury
a gold chain dangling stones
ripped from the earth
David.s star shining over
centuries of darkness.
The shark.s tooth from the icy,
indifferent depths
silver charms jingle and talk of
life.s landmarks
the gold cross celebrating a
vicious torture
worry beads from a
mysterious and dark cult
a modest grain of sand
coated with oyster spit
the ashes of one that ca'.t
be let go, lest it diminish the
life that remains.
Medicine bags…all.
Trisha Sugarek from
Butterflies and Bullets