Long Throned Poems
Long Throned Poems. Below are the most popular long Throned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Throned poems by poem length and keyword.
I gaze beyond
the silver winged
heart of
twinkling twilight,
lost within metaphors
in warm cashmere
bows of midnight.
Whilst lava lamps
for lost souls
f l i c k e r across
a maze of melancholy,
ghosts of past whispered
surreal sagas through
subtle mists~
silky snow that
d r i z z l e s
in the shape of crescent,
slowly trails
my moon-kissed skin.
If only the stars
of scarred silence
spoke the voiceless
truth raised from
the arms of trauma~
not every glowing
ray is destined
to be your wish
come true,
I was sculptured
in hailstones
of burnt ice,
and my ivory nails
drowned in the color
of your fire blood.
I am the throned
mistress of massacres,
a walking black storm,
that strikes onyx lightning
upon pearlescent
roads to hyacinth healing.
For everything
I touched
became frost,
when heavy clouds bled
to paint the skyscape
in citrine powder.
Perhaps, there is
no need of stretching
your fingers in gratitude,
as it shall
soon abandon
every lucky charm,
like the death of poetry
within inked
pages of
an accidental poet.
Yet, I still see
the unwritten
verses in your dewy eyes~
unsung
poetic confessions,
written in
diamond and rust;
“you’re the poison
I’m willing to take”
Like how romeo
died in the name of
a forsaken tale
told by the infatuated
soul of his Juliet~
Cupid’s bow still
is adorned with her
love-struck tears
that emanate
unshed truth.
So let, the alchemy
of dreams concoct,
a perfumed potion
from black
quartz rain,
to ease this caricature
lifetime of memories~
chasing sonnets
contrived in sorcery,
to seize the stories
of
misplaced prophecies.
whilst hope is flying
on paper wings
of a dark
horse carousel,
where my past self
was crystal-gazing,
to see the crown
carved from rhinestones
of shattered glasses,
piercing through
my honey mane.
But, this immortal
heart will remain
in a museum of
Monet’s garden,
where sorrowful
serenades linger
above thornless roses.
For I am heaven
and hell for you,
in everlasting awakenings
transcribed in turquoise
topaz till tomorrow…
E = MC9² FLIGHT CODE
Energy = Mass x Light to the 9th power ²
E = MC9² this the Great Man Knows
Unto The Sun, The Source Code
I the Great King of the Solar Current, Ruler of the Abodes
the one who Governs C9, Vanquishing C2 to the Throne
Nine Light Realms I Traverse
Solar Rexus, the Sovereign of the Metaverse
Oscillating in Bandwidths , Blue and Violet Throned
the Stellar Djed, traversing beyond 3D Light Code
Burn Bright, the Throne Room of the Eternal Mind
Freed We Are when we are, Ever Of Light
E = MC9² Escape Velocity, I'm on the Run
Full Ascent, C2 to C9, I Become The Sun
From the Desk of February 14, 2026
Globe_Shere Pro Rassling
a Stromberlino Media Group Co.
123 Tussle Avenue
Grapple City USA
00123-123
President of Operations
To all Members of Both Pro Wrestling Assocation
and National Council of Wrestling respectivly.
Dear Madams and Sirs:
As you know we have been in neogacations to purchase the Pro Wrestling entity known as Pro Wrestling Canada
or Pro Canada International. The deal which would have combined the three companies has fallen through. We were able to procure only 44% of the company with another company who had been in a bidding frimsy against us. The Company WiffleBall Earth, has purchased a 44% share of the same company: with 22% of the company being held by the Board of Directers. If between now and Next thursday we aren't able to make a deal to with the Board of Directers to purchase a majority ownership of that company that the B>O>D> have created, we will then try to purchasce a majority share buy out of Wiffle Ball Earth. A current deal has been in the works to purchasce the WiffleBall Company.The Board of Directers have issued a Supension of Hosillties ACT that would divide the companies personal so that conversations between Newly formed Alliances and Factions which could further dived us as a cohesive unit. Furthermore company personal will be reassigned and a certain level of decoruim will be expected from employees of of this new merging Company. In an attemp to curtail any share buyiong or selling within the companies, all assets will be still vauable but suspended until Thursday of next week when a press conference will be held.
The shows to air this week will have an interin Genral manger. in the agreement with WiffelBall Earth all titles will be recogned as they are now with the current champions still throned and there challengerss in ranking to be same. The Champions who will be televised during the interium period will be those of the indepedent promotions who hold a minorty share in the company.This period will then be over and the sheduling which exsisted as of4;09 2-12-26 will take stage and show in full production.
Thank You
Harvey "The Ox" Stratten
President of S>M>G
Was it a Kayfabe storyline or a real business deal?
The Princess and the Pauper
by Michael R. Burch
for Norman Kraeft in memory of his beloved wife June Kysilko Kraeft
Here was a woman bright, intent on life,
who did not flinch from Death, but caught his eye
and drew him, powerless, into her spell
of wanting her himself, so much the lie
that she was meant for him—obscene illusion!—
made him seem a monarch throned like God on high,
when he was less than nothing; when to die
meant many stultifying, pained embraces.
She shed her gown, undid the tangled laces
that tied her to the earth: then she was his.
Now all her erstwhile beauty he defaces
and yet she grows in hallowed loveliness—
her ghost beyond perfection—for to die
was to ascend. Now he begs, penniless.
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before”
Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven.
I’m sitting on the cusp
of blazing silence,
watching thick
sullen clouds
swerve in funeral pace,
as ruby reds within
ravishing rainbows,
disappear into depths of
blue laced emptiness,
like silken fire rising from
a diamond-furnace,
illustrating the venom
rushing through
my veins in vain.
The sun always knew
of the pain I swirl to
amongst silhouettes
of burning stars.
I am a mistress
of darkness,
crowned beneath
a fallen sky
sequined in
sinful sapphires
and amaranth angst.
Throned to a kingdom
that has no air
for fragile flowers.
I’ve faced cruel
fangs of reality,
that fed my paranoia
with wistful peonies.
There’s no ray of twilight
for the tormented tears,
I hide behind
the shimmering
horizon, painted with
dandelion dreams in
dreary drowsiness.
And I surrender at
the edge of
doom to an
agony of a pawn.
But there’s no
running from a
lethal kiss that kills,
like the queen’s gambit
that would freeze your
soul into thickened vapors
of bleeding ice.
Yet the moon looked straight
through my soulless eyes,
hoping I would taste
an ounce of her truth.
If only facts would reveal
tiny seeds of grief that
were sprouting steadily
into what they
call "madness"
maybe then they would
have known,
even black roses
bleed the same as red.
As I listen to the voices in my head
each one a tone
a hue of a different deity,
enthroned in bone n FLESH!
Carved in my Death...
I listen to the images
in the deepest parts of my mind
Each a tone
and
hue of different
entities in my bed
I listen to the voices
spinning behind my eyes
the wrath of sound so strong
I try to crush the dry earth
...in stone willing to spill hot liquid
a blood borne nightmare!
All I can do is think of how
different devices divide and isolate
All my things turn deep into tonight,
I can only hope and cry
in tears the shade of hate, rage and desire!
As I pull the blade across my vision scape
the voices in my mind my inner eye, silenced!
I come a wake at twilight
in dread of the night
pooling in obscure corners!
...in throned in bone
weathered n worn!
I cover my dead from all
divinities to see, from sight!
That dance in the light
of my mind's inner fire
as shadows dwell...
All things come to pass
or lost at long last
All are at play in the silhouettes
of the waning day...
As I listen to the voices
in my head
each a tone
and hue
of my eternal dread.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
I think I made you up inside my head.
-Sylvia Plath
I see no reason to rhyme,
but an aching heart,
stranded in the midst of nothingness,
as quill rests in a nameless
coffin, like a trembling corpse.
Words woven in tears
glisten like rain,
amidst rustic pages
within a book of bleeding ink.
While
I, the deep darkness,
ponder, would the moon
ever grieve for the sun,
or will she allow waning
stars to abandon
her doleful realm?
As her face
shifts and turns through
phases of changes-
and her soul like
the weary winter,
withers into white-washed wounds.
I am the hazy mirror to
a lunar goddess.
There shadows betrayed
this cruel conscience,
roaming within forlorn vales,
swirling through a woeful wind,
to nocturnal sonatas.
My mind nestles like
a raven resting
at the treetop,
calling your name into
frozen oblivion,
laced in secluded silence,
echoing amidst obsidian fears.
What would they know
of tainted tales,
obscured within the
mellifluous sound of splitting rain?
I am throned to a fallen sky,
drizzling thorns and splinters
upon bruised toes.
Remember, I love you,
through dreams and more,
stretching my fingers
to your silvery spheres.
Now your palette of romance
paints a blurred portrait
of hallowed misery;
dreams forgotten with time.
There’s no perfect
pigment to correct
my insomniac frame
but metaphors to lure me
back to a colorless
castle above satanic seas.
I’m dancing with demons;
as the pain you’ve fed me,
rushes through chained chambers.
Tonight, the storms may seem calm,
like forests awaiting for a trail
of redolent rainbows,
to flicker upon mourning meadows.
Tomorrow, when I slumber
six feet beneath breathing fiction,
will you rewrite cruel convictions,
that stole my purpose to live?
Maybe darkness sparkles upon
rich rivulets of rippling regrets,
so the cosmos would allow the moon
to rise and beam brighter than
the selfish sun.
Let this poem be the last
amulet to sorrowful sagas,
as I untangle your vines
suffocating my final breath,
this is the eternal demise—
I’m dying before your dead eyes.
As the sky weeps
in periwinkle petals of
multicolored roses,
rinsed in lemons, and lavender,
the poet within me
releases a bougainvillea
bouquet of unfiltered gratitude,
swaying to the celestial duet
orchestrated by
the angel of raindrops,
adorned in braided
wildflower crowns and
windswept wishes,
echoing dulcet melodies
rendered in whimsical accents.
I ponder, if tears had a tune,
would it be the
sound of drizzling dewdrops?
Would you then feel
the pain I carry,
veiled in smoky silence?
Or would I forever be
the silhouette cloaked
in fogs of charcoal confusion,
too dark to be deciphered
by the fragmented eyes
that eulogize
all that sparkles and glows?
But when stained sunflowers
swirl beneath starless spheres,
scattering seeds of sorrow
to cultivate a garland of grief,
puddled with poignant poems,
I remain throned,
as the goddess of black rain,
riddled with cosmic rituals,
sprinkling kaleidoscopic dust
upon forsaken fields,
while listening to the
drifting leaflets in crisp air,
pleading for the demise
of my unfaltering faith,
oblivious to the truth
that I fear not
mists of melancholy.
I surf through surging seas,
unafraid of twirling torrents
and blazing tides,
piercingly striking
shimmering sapphires
floating in deafening despair.
There in the abyss of obscurities,
I’m nestled within restlessness,
in rooted resilience,
like a perplexed paradox
weaving crippled odes to
the sun that longs to rise and sail,
splashing hues of cinnamon clemency.
Tonight, I’m counting crooning comets,
amidst quivering hailstones,
dancing in cataclysmic rhythm above,
to find my home within
an island of daphne dreams
and singing seashells.
For I hear the flaming flowers
in their solitary stillness
serenade rain rhapsodies,
to awaken the petrichor
soul of heavy horizons,
wrapped in stringed
milky-quartz beads,
bursting forth blooming tomorrows,
illuminated by chamomile water,
concocted from charismatic spring falls…
Yet I think of us, engrossed
in umbrella moments,
Cupid too envied this
symphony of romance
where love conquered all,
and grief but a blurred memory,
in sunlit souvenirs of yesterday.
I gaze beyond
the sky of sapphires,
waiting for a
spark of sailing light,
listening to
the balmy breeze~
they kiss the
rays of silver,
with tales of
my eclipsed past.
Maybe tonight dandelion
wind will dance in sync~
to sunset kayaks cruising
through wounded waves,
shimmering amidst
tear-stained dunes…
I lean on the seething sea
of seven sisters,
to rewrite my destiny~
learning from flawed art
within my aching heart.
But am I the one at fault?
or were you the
reason we fought?
I question the twirling time,
passing through
hues of forest haze.
Was the blame in
broken melodies~
strung from frail strings
of my antique guitar?
Maybe, somewhere
down the lane of
finding myself,
I lost our rhythm,
trying to fine-tune
symphonies of
frozen love.
Now I’m gliding towards
the moonlight
away from the
soulless midnight,
to reach a cosy shore
where I can knit
quilted patterns,
unraveling a place
that feels like home.
As I’ve been searching
for an island that has no
lifelines of faded vows,
so I’m running
from the limelight;
ice green footprints,
following me and
our musical memories,
like sinister silhouettes.
I never thought that
you were the one,
I always knew I was the
throned queen of darkness.
Who will it be next,
to rescript this
tattooed misery?
Maybe, a poet with
an acrylic quill softer
than the air I breathe.
Now I’m gliding towards
the moonlight
away from the
soulless midnight,
to rise above the silence.
I still hope that I’ll waltz
through a sphere
where warmth
of faith flickers in
colors of honeyed hope,
and home will no
longer be an illusion,
etched on dusky feathers
of diamond dreamcatchers.
Someday, hourglass pearls
will fall in shades of
this poem I’ve woven
in starry ink~
this is the unfinished story of
You and I.
“If, to speak my truths, I bleed these syllables, let the wind ferry them to a moon-kissed shore,
for I am a caged rose dreaming in deafening darkness” Quote by Poet
I mourn within an aquamarine aquarium,
drifting like treacherous torrents of the Arctic Ocean,
while my ink, stained with sorrow, floats like splintered sapphires,
serenading the unspoken reality of obscured waves in blistered black.
But if truth were a poem,
woven from bleeding colors of supernova scars draped in stars,
will the calligraphic constellations carve my tale in crystalline cadence?
For I’ve long been fighting currents of chaos in silence,
too reluctant to wade beyond the familiar torment,
as I’ve sealed an eternal curse,
enveloped with macabre metaphors from cold caves of satanic seas.
Now I am the throned rose of darkness, breathing hope~
and faith, to erase scribbled heartaches.
I know one day I’ll reach my shore.