Long Timeless Poems
Long Timeless Poems. Below are the most popular long Timeless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Timeless poems by poem length and keyword.
In his last minutes of life, he closed his eyes
where shadows appeared like blackbirds
beneath the moonlight of lost thoughts
above the misty graveyard of his soul
Ghostly apparitions of sadness haunt an old mind
Past illusions of love
Whose faces are etched in the fractured glass of the heart
and lay among the cobblestones of despair
leading to the ancient gate of tombstones
that stand in the overgrown twisted weeds of yesterday
Where memories were painted on his heart
with a soft colored brush of expectations
captured in the imagination of tomorrow
and dwelled in the sanctuary of coupling and understanding
that disappeared from life's turmoils, turning an empty husk
that decayed in time as they passed through...as visitors
who met along the way
Yet stay as an image in the mind's eye from long ago
These are the shadows of lost loves
Whose breath raptured a poet's contentment
with precious passions, infusing the heart with glorious wonder
buried now in the sacred ground with a soul's reflection
Where nothing enters but solitude
as he waits for the moment of timeless dark that falls
upon the last second of breath
10/19/19
~ When the earth cracks -
provides inspiring moments with timeless treasures ~
quote by poet
Have faith in a spring after winter
The pulse trembles as thin separator sheets
in the diary of poetry
drops that create the tree of life green
Still a little weak – sleep-inducing feelings
may need a long time to come to the surface
Liberating to reach for what matters most
It is an thrilling season to embark
The frozen earth slowly begins to thaw
Through the secret dark grave of the night
and the pockets of the sunrise
white wings unfold - champagne satisfies thirst divine
The process depends on the embrace
Receive springs snowdrops with a silent kiss
The heartbreak would forgive God's fire darkly
Suicidally they shatter her heart: I am spiritual
Darkly destroy my all too dark wings
Your conscious chains would rise up against our mind rhythmically
So mystically you remember that fire: I am unique
Together disguise his all too ancient screams
Deliberately understand someone's timeless war
And that unconscious venom should hurt the scar
Although trap this hurt wound
And this ironic jealousy would disguise his revenge to the end
The world's hatred...
Cry for your sky
This jealousy would analyse the world's heartbreak
Hideously they relish the world's suffering, for you are boundless
Someone else's angelic sky will adore our song
So the world's song will embitter the world's truth
Form:
In our measure of the passing time,
Curious circles fill the counted days—
Numbered moments scarred by transiting light,
The heaven’s moguls bruise our joy and blight,
And give, and take, and measure what we mean.
Time, indifferent, measures us; it loops
Around the heaven’s span and grids the world.
Saturn still stutters—constant sorrow speaks—
Today recedes into tomorrow’s loss;
Yet clocks in circles go, and we pay cost.
O god of time, your circles go and go,
Returning slow, then turning wingèd, fast—
They come, they go—there’s time enough for love.
Meanwhile I scan the horizon with my mind,
And seek the curve of her Belt of Venus—fire—
A circumference of sunset reds that span
The sky; on sight she’s timeless, swaying slow,
A pendulum—its fixed foot steady—rings
My day; her pulse keeps measure as it swings.
And in night’s sanctuary, as we roll
On sweat-slippery fields of red-ochre bliss,
We kiss the kiss that turns and kisses back.
Then, as I watch her breathing come to rest,
Time stops—
and takes my breath away.
Timeless motion from sea and land
curious men who came before
who crossed the lands to find the shore
They left footprints they traced in sand
that washed away with pulling tide
with their motion of forward stride
From caves with walls of ochre hand
their red imprint became stained stone
from ancient worlds of skins and bone
To great forests and meadowland
across vast seas where they explore
they found new worlds not seen before
To plant a flag where they command
and make a plan to travel space
one day they'll need to leave this place
Timeless motion from sea and land
To leave footprints they traced in sand
From caves with walls of ochre hand
To great forests and meadowland
To plant a flag where they command
11/16/17
Inspired by song "Mystery Of The Heart"
of Hughes Turner Project (Album 1)
In the flushing garden path
we walked entranced,
the scarlet sun with the spectrum of dawn
held us within the sequined mist
of the sparkling sky.
You saw my heart contoured
by the crimson curves of mystique cloud,
but not for very long,
for the rainstorm dissolved the sky,
you disappeared beyond the rainbow arch.
Over the waves of the desert dunes,
we trudged with rhythmic excitement,
until on reaching the verdant oasis
you melted away like mirage,
swept away by the desert storm of yearning,
stowed in opaque oblivion.
On the silver sands of the deserted dunes
we traced the entwined fervent footprints.
The rolling sand waves adorned
the pearly lattice on your ivory feet.
As the tide of time erased my trail,
you now walk with poignant impulse
through the miasma of cascading moonbeam
that has enveloped my love for you.
The dazzling dawn of my desire veneers
your heart’s horizon with halcyon hues,
spreads the sunburst tinges
of my timeless longing for you.
Your emotive spectrum of colour
painted a long time ago,
the panorama of the golden garden
in my heart’s canvas,
blooming with the luster of love, now lost.
Flowing in the captivating current
of your magnetic attraction,
my possessed passion sails
to the moonlit bay of beguiled splendor,
where your elfin image embroiders
the constellation of stars in the sky
of my furtive heart,
where I preserve the stellar shine.
On the trail of sorrow I trudge my life through,
wander aimlessly in the wasteland
of waning memory of the time past.
The splinters of my mystique heart sigh silently,
searching for you in the ruins of crumbled dreams,
as the sparkle of your smile
still lingers lighting up the desolate garden path,
wrapped with the wilted leaves of winter.
Their rustle echoes your songs for me,
long lost beyond the still shore of silence.
When in the seraphic spring
you’re embraced by euphoric exuberance,
you will never know
the secrets of my pining furtive heart,
how much it misses your world,
where I want to be before I walk the last mile.
In the twilight of existence, where shadows murmur ancient secrets,
Two souls meet, drawn by the magnetic force of the cosmos,
An ethereal dance of love, primordial and infinite, unfolds once more,
Reborn in the tender caress of embodied whispers,
Hidden in the boundless vastness of the universe,
Their murmurs, a symphony of desire and sin,
Intertwine in the silent stillness of the starry sky,
Flowing into each other like rivers through the veins of time,
Their desires, a tremor that reverberates through the fabric of their being.
He, a fiery red, a flame burning with an unquenchable passion,
She, a pure white, a beacon of serene light,
Together they weave the intricate tapestry of memories,
Of early rains that kissed the earth with the breath of life,
And the love that blossomed among the finest silks of dreams.
In the labyrinthine corridors of their minds, they wander,
Lost in the echoing chambers of their thoughts,
Each moment, a fleeting glimpse of eternity,
Each touch, a bridge between unseen worlds,
Their love, a delicate dance of shadows and light,
A mystical play of contrasts, of red and white,
Of fire and purity, of sin and divine redemption.
Under the silent gaze of distant stars,
They remember the early rains of their lives,
The gentle patter of drops on skin,
The scent of reborn earth,
And in this memory, they find solace,
A reminder of the sacred beauty in their union,
Of the love that flows through their veins,
A love that transcends the ephemeral boundaries of existence,
A love that is at once tender and fierce,
Both sin and divine salvation.
As they dance, their souls entwined in a cosmic ballet,
They become one with the universe,
Their whispers, a part of the timeless symphony of the stars,
Their love, a radiant beacon in the vastness of darkness,
A testament to the mystical power of connection,
The magic of two souls meeting,
And in that celestial convergence, discovering eternity.
Tis' timeless this cathedral green
A constant play of exquisite transition
Lofting tribute with flawless composition
Unerring to the senses embellished serene
Above the hushed and restful peace
The thunderous water speaks aloud
And falls like torrents from Neptune's cloud
Transcending its glorified masterpiece
The rushing fierceness of cascading stream
Like the mother lion's roar of wrath
That nothing in the wake shall be spared in its path
Tumbling into the steel mouthed rock strewn ravine
Its majestic, profound, and enduring footprint
Flows past the lushness of its own genesis
A Shangri-La, a Utopia, a perfectly blended precipice
Crashing far below while vaporous breath escape in its ascent
And below in the placid quietude be still
The calming pool of water's mist imbues
The harmonious state of rainbow hues
In the midst of doves of gentle will
Ah! So soft it speaks in its gentle din
Enfolding gratitude in our hearts
To be mindfully given for peace doth impart
The beauteous wonder of nature therein
September 19, 2019
There's something to be said
for doing the right thing,
even for the wrong reasons.
Reasons are about becoming, a work in progress,
as doing is about living, a lifetime process,
both fully where
and when
and why
and what
and how we are
each day following disembodied wandering rights
of sometimes restless,
other times restful
dreams,
recreations,
playtimes more cooperative
than competitive,
And nightmares
about doing the wrong thing
for economic and politically
left-brain thought to be correct reasons,
natural and right-brain spiritual,
Seeking paradise adventures
engaging health-embodied relationships
communing with reasons
felt more right
than anthro-elitist wrong,
Inviting something,
perhaps to be loudly said,
often to remain silently fed
but discretely unsaid,
while doing healthy things
for complex wrong and right wealthier reasons,
seasons,
compassions,
communions.
Yet, within this LeftBrain dominant ego
remains something deductively unfinishable,
some warm accompaniment unsaid,
not identifiable
assignable
for doing right things
with reasons of robust resonant intentions
to ride this creative tensioned cusp,
that sacred tipping secular point,
in-between not not wrong alternatives,
And know
this timeless ineffable advent
is sufficiently resilient adventure.
Once a bronze blossom shone so sophisticatedly.
Flourishing in an oasis of tropical butterflies.
Its aura would emanate from enigmatic auroras.
Its roots nourished from the scents of petrichor.
Admirers would gather to gaze at such grandeur,
oblivious of poppies among common roses,
so the jealous sun in its narcissistic loneliness,
blazed with hell like rays, creating a drought.
In the inhuman illusion of synthetic flowers,
its petals withered like rustic wicker wreaths.
I stood helpless, as the wind left it exposed,
as lifeless buds began swirling in the air.
Only evergreen textures remain timeless.
An empty garden has no worth to birds or bees.
In the silence between seasons, so much is lost,
yet unique anomalies always leave memories behind.