Long Threads Poems
Long Threads Poems. Below are the most popular long Threads by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Threads poems by poem length and keyword.
The Silencing of Affection
I've devastated your nervous system again like a storm raging,
Burned circuits in the labyrinth of your fragile brain tormented,
I don't want to be the poison that eats your peace away,
I will let you fly free through your sky of glass crystalline,
I will withdraw my tentacles from your secret garden hidden.
I cannot embrace you while you flee like the wind escaping,
It's a madman's madness to cling to your shadow disappearing,
I will accept that you are a migratory bird through my soul,
My hands will become butterflies that fly away distantly,
And my heart will learn to breathe without your echo haunting.
I still feel bound to your heart with invisible threads tight,
You cannot free me but again you are a vanished phantom,
I will cut you from the roots of my being like a disease,
The scissors of destiny will sever these toxic bonds forever,
Freedom will bloom from the ashes of this dependence cruel.
You will never choose my love like a religion sacred pure,
I have no choice but to love myself completely now,
I will be the garden of my own flourishing soul reborn,
And I will nourish myself with the nectar of my own compassion,
While you remain a memory crystallized in time frozen still.
You transform me into a phantom who avoids all touch gentle,
Leave me alone with my melancholy like a mantle worn dark,
I will hide in the cave of my blue isolation complete,
Where shadows will become my faithful friends always near,
And silence will be my only constant companion forever true.
Bias lurks beneath our outward veneer, unaware.
It hinders our sight, raising unseen walls.
None without exemption is prone to bias.
It is natural and it creeps into our minds, unseen.
Like the ripples of a silent stream, it causes wavelets,
Shaping our views from a distorted angle,
Limiting our sight into fleeting glimpses, partial and blur.
We should be able to see through the veil of our bias.
Perception must be a slow, steady and focused process,
And never a hurried one like that of a racing sprinter.
Develop a more inclusive approach and an open mind
Confront our biases with courage and perseverance
Enfold diversity with threads unique but blending as one.
It is in our differences, we find our true strength.
With deeper perspectives, we become more humane.
Let us accommodate truth within mind’s every fold.
Let us make alliance with all colors, cultures and creeds.
Embrace each as fellow beings of every country and clime.
Erase bias and in harmony, let our lives take wing!
Sadly, the weight of my conditioning holds me tight,
Preventing me from taking flight and soaring high.
Oh God, I pray to make me rid of all unconscious bias.
Help me see the light and awaken me to the power within.
Guide me towards truth that sets me free from all bias.
a blue moon
slowly
rises
like a whispered omen,
its light slipping through branches~
like a secret
deciding where to land.
above the forest canopy
the light feels almost ancient~
a quiet intelligence
unfolding into pale
gossamer veils.
its luminescence
d
e
s
c
e
n
d
s
into the waiting stream,
threads of silver
unraveling
into the water
as if the sky were pouring out its memory.
whirlpools
gather
near the shore turning in slow,
deliberate circles,
blue within blue,
a soft geometry
of something
unseen
trying to speak.
rocks begin to glow,
their surfaces
catching
the moon’s quiet blessing~
small altars
lit without fire.
in this moon-washed
stillness,
the forest feels lifted,
as though every leaf
remembers its origin.
Written: August 27, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
*********
They showed without trumpets,
but with teeth—
Four shadows galloping through
the marrow of time.
One wore famine such as a crown,
another cloaked in fire’s deceit.
The third preached war
in the brother’s tongue,
and the fourth laughed
as the stars forgot their names.
The wheel spun—
not to teach,
but to tremble,
Dharma cracked beneath the weight
of poisoned promises
We raised shrines from
the threads of logic,
We offered them our views
and named it veridically raw.
Yet in some distant spot,
A silver surfer glides through
the endless expanse
carrying no blade,
Just a memory— a soft whisper
of who we once were,
Here the shadows fell
laid claim to our light.
Like unwelcome intruders,
it is in the stillness of the night,
intrusive thoughts come to plague us.
Like thieves sneaking in the dark,
they come without prior information
and without waiting to earn permission.
They often come as unexpected visitors.
giving a sudden jolt, leaving us appalled.
At times, they withdraw, before the wake of dawn.
but sometimes they settle in the heart,
dispersing a volley of dark and nagging thoughts,
all at once or flinging them one after another.
Like
little
flecks,
leaving burns in our hearts,
they consume us in flames.
With scalding heat, they make our hearts melt,
like the molten lava after a volcanic eruption.
They feed on us until all that’s left
is a handful of ashes or sedimentary rocks.
These thoughts eat away our vitality,
sup on our vulnerability
suck our life sap
and fatten on our gloom.
Like tenants, these intruders who haven’t paid
a single dime as rent invite our wrath!
Even under threat, they would never vacate.
Sometimes, they are so aggressive
making us go insane.
telling us to kill ourselves
or dash into the speeding traffic
or jump off a steep cliff,
bang the head on the wall
or with a sharp knife stab into the chest
Weaving sticky gossamer threads,
to ensnare all happy thoughts,
which come our way,
like ugly arachnids,
they arrogantly dwell in our hearts!
When the world runs red with warning,
when the signal tears the sky,
when the shield is bruised and battered
and the weary ask why,
He will stand there, in the rubble,
of the thing he helped to build,
with a soldier's tired shoulders
and a patriot's iron will.
From the shadows, a swift vengeance,
a ghost who walks the walls,
a reckoning in kevlar
when the hunter becomes the called.
A God descends, with thunder's grace,
a hammer raised on high,
who learned that worth is not in worlds,
but in the will to ask us why.
The rage, once green and boundless,
now a careful, chained-up storm,
finds a home among the broken
and gives the broken form.
A frozen strength from brighter years,
a shield of stars and stripes,
awakens to a future
where the peaceful past still grips.
And the girl who threads the quantum realm,
who maps the endless strange,
reminds us that the smallest spark
can make the greatest change.
They stand apart, they stand as one,
a flame against the endless night.
A collection of the broken, lost,
who find their worth in light.
For when the darkness comes to call,
and hope is just a name,
Earth's Mightiest Heroes answer.
And they never fight the same
Her tears fall like rain on a borrowed shore,
A quiet deluge, seeping through seams,
Staining the fabric of a life not hers—
His shirt, his collar, his cuffs worn thin,
Drenched in the salt of a love forbidden.
She weeps for him, the man she holds
In the hollow of her chest, a stolen flame,
A fire that warms her, yet chars her soul.
Each drop a confession, a mute apology,
To a heart that beats for what it cannot claim.
She traces the threads with trembling hands,
His scent a tether, his warmth a ghost,
Her love a river with no mouth to run,
Pooling in silence, drowning her slow.
The wrong woman, they call her—
A thief of glances, a beggar of time,
Yet she gives all, her tears the proof,
A currency spent on a debt unpaid,
Soaking his clothes with her breaking truth.
And then the wife, the keeper of vows,
Lifts the sodden cloth from the basket’s weight,
Her fingers brush the damp of grief not hers,
A stain she cannot name, yet feels too well.
She washes the shirts in a rhythm old,
A ritual of care turned bitter with knowing—
The tears of other women weave through the warp,
Heartbreak stitched into the weft of his wear,
A tapestry of sorrow she scrubs in vain,
For the water runs clear, but the pain remains.
The wife’s hands pause, the suds grow still,
She senses the echo of a stranger’s ache,
A chorus of fractures pressed into his skin—
How many tears have kissed these sleeves?
How many hearts have wept their claim?
She wrings the cloth, and with it, her peace,
The laundry a shroud for a marriage worn thin,
Each tear a thread unraveling trust,
A silent war waged in soap and rust.
The wrong woman cries, the wife washes on,
Two souls bound by the man between,
His clothes a battlefield, soaked and cleansed,
A map of longing, a ledger of loss.
One loves in shadow, one in light,
Yet both bleed red beneath the strain—
Tears that fall, and hands that mend,
A cycle of hurt with no clean end.
For love, unshared, is a wound too deep,
And the shirts he wears bear all they weep.
Pain
Clad in cloths that will, one day, decay from
- once all is gone – the loss of what housed some
of what the spirit, the soul would not hide
from eyes - willing to see – on the same ride
that will wash all away on times tide.
Why then ?, do I know cruel words from her mouth,
instead of warm words from a compassionate south
- where all does not lie at the heart of a matter –
beyond just thoughtless desire for – frustrations that scatter
those poisonous barbs, piercing my sensitive ear
with things that should not be, for a father to hear.
Heavy with sadness, is my heart, the one you steal
with harsh, venomous, malicious words that reveal
a lack of love, of consideration, of respect,
of concern – a lack of family ties ?, I suspect.
My spirit – once again – has been contaminated
by your hostility – my heart broken by words I’ve hated,
coming out of your mouth – words that destroy my soul,
a soul - by your mother, your sister- crippled, you already know
this, as within my demeanor, upon my face, surely doth show.
Yet, you seem not to possess the desire nor strength to let it go
- this ugly means by which you three find it so easy to be mean –
I guess, Dear Daughter, of mine, maybe I deserve it, it’d seem
as I look at the tapestry - threads of family ties that bind – it’s seams
seem fragile, tattered and torn, fraying the edges of my dreams.
All that brought the above to life – I have to wonder ?,
my Dear, what was the real need and who needed
those black clouds you created, and then seeded,
bringing on vicious winds, pounding rain, lightning and thunder
into my life - my heart, my soul and spirit you’ve torn asunder.
B. J. “A” 2
August 30th 2004
In the shadow of silence, when the soul sings of unknown longings,
An ancient song rises within me, like an incantation,
In which lines of stars float, caught in the threads of the night,
And the dream envelops me like a wave of infinite, ungraspable.
In the blue of this universe, where time flows slowly,
Whispers of wind and drifting leaves tell me your story,
A story woven with threads of light and deep shadows,
Where each day is a verse, and each night, a star.
I see you between the lines, like an echo from an ancestral dream,
A shadow dancing on the edge of an abyss of desire,
Where the rain falls like a balm on the wounds of the soul,
And silver memories return like a river of nostalgia.
In this cosmic waltz, where hearts collide and unite,
You are the constellation that lights my deepest night,
A beacon in the ocean of silence that envelops me so often,
And in your arms, I find that eternal, that infinite.
Like an alchemist, you transform chaos into pure beauty,
And I lose myself in your gaze, a labyrinth of hidden desires,
While my soul dances on the edge of time,
Seeking its place among the stars, in a shared destiny.
The repetitions of your words are like a sacred rhythm,
A lullaby for my lost soul,
And in the depths of silence, I hear the call of an unbounded longing,
Which carries me to you, a journey through the unknown universe.
Through this poem, my search continues, shrouded in mystery,
Like an underground river whispering the secrets of an endless love,
And I will find you, in every lifetime, under the eternal sky,
Where our love will be a song, a ritual of reunion.
In the vast plains of the mind, where thoughts intertwine like threads of gold,
The herd gathers, a sea of souls moving in unison under the gray sky,
Looking with fear and misunderstanding at the one who dares to be a solitary star,
That soul that carves its own path through the labyrinth of silent shadows.
It is not his opinion that causes waves in this ocean of conformity,
But his courage to think alone, to unravel the invisible knots of the mind,
To tread on an uncertain path where few have dared to venture,
Where the echoes of freedom sing like a chorus of birds at dawn.
The herd gazes with empty eyes, unable to decipher this map of the heart,
For free thinking is a dance they have never learned,
A dance of falling stars that illuminate the darkness with sparks of desire,
And their fear becomes an invisible chain binding them to the safety of a sky without dreams.
In this world of shadows and silences, those who dare to think are flames,
Flames that burn with a vivid light, defying the darkness that seeks to extinguish them,
And with every step taken on the path of the unknown, a story is born,
A story of the courage to be different, to embrace the unknown with open arms.