Long Torn Poems
Long Torn Poems. Below are the most popular long Torn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Torn poems by poem length and keyword.
Like a programmed robot
I move through each day
Smiling and nodding
In just the right way.
Pretending I'm happy
And life is just great
When the truth of the matter is
There's just too much on my plate.
I feel like I got cheated
Out of living a good life
I'm poor and alone
And I'll never be anyone's wife.
I'm like that lone shoe
You see lying on the road
Alone and discarded
Like an unwanted load.
People pass by me
Staring with pity
Torn and tattered
Not an ounce of pretty.
The shadows in my eyes
Portray a battle lost
Nightmares and insomnia
Show surrender’s cost.
The physical scars
Have healed without a trace
But the mental emotions
Are still written in my face.
I'm a programmed robot
Struggling each day
Trying to hold my head up
And wishing I could fade away.
The day of my fifteenth anniversary is here
The dawn in all its glory is near
The promise for a second honeymoon
My excited heart has started to croon
Expectantly I turn towards him
And see him all dressed in cream
He gives me a kiss
And says goodbye miss
Tears spring to my eyes
The hope within dies
I knew he had forgotten
Fate is really rotten
I passed so many tests
Our marriage was the best
The first flush of love has died
Now life seems to be tied
Alone I drink a toast to the two of us
It is not my nature to fuss
But tender heart is torn to shreds
I let the wine go to my head
The door opens,
but I am not the new Mrs. de Winter,
just an awkward shadow slipping into normalcy,
where words are thicker than hardcovers—
silence clinging like dust to the spines
of books with torn out pages.
I wander,
but do not answer.
The air is full of Maxim’s secrets,
dreadful weights of things unsaid—
longings for something that has
slipped through time.
A voice stirs,
a name floating,
half-heard through the
Manderley of my mind
of forgotten conversations—
mine, or someone else’s?
I can’t say.
Then, he moves—
pulling du Maurier from the shelf,
as if it was never meant to be out of reach.
I watch, but cannot touch.
In the end, I fumble on words
saying foolish things like “itty-bitty”
trying not to say too much—but
every time I speak self-idiocy mocks the
darkened expanses of my wild,
Cornwall brain.
“You’re not stupid,” he says,
as if the thought had been his all along,
and I am startled, not by the words,
but by the shipwreck of them—
the knowing.
2.22.25
Heart! My consciousness! My compassion! My reality!
Broken by grief, stress, strain, wrath, and pain; now fails to be free!
From that fatal moment, we lost our melodic rhythm,
I have lost my Physique-psyche coherence and lissome...!
Equilibrium like scattered feathers of a dead bird,
Flows with winds and storms of emotions; now seen so blurred;
Intimacy with you, my love, which I had felt and lost,
Has fallen now like an age-old banyan tree, tempest-tossed...!
Teddies, art and craft works, red-rose blooms and blossoms, and cards,
Garments, bracelets, perfumes, gift vouchers, and plants in my yards;
Each lay scattered, like reminiscences of homes looted,
Who should I go for my consolation? My joys muted...!
My meditations have failed; yoga and contemplation,
Nothing left, save, implicit and explicit frustration;
My brain seems gone blank as though John Locke's tabula rasa,
I have become a lone dancer in a knees-up salsa...!
The bleeding hearts of my fancy garden soon fade, somehow,
Where have the doves that dwelt within windows of my home, now?
Butterflies that fluttered, in my mind once, have gone quiet,
When will, o heart, torn into bits, end my inner riot...???
29 January 2023
“deus ex machina”
When LOVE came knocking at our door
we stood there opposite sides
like torn pages
from the chapters of a banned book
with no spine
awaiting
collaboration
A common thread
our folded signatures are stitched together
and then joined with other signatures
to create the complete book
Enter the wings of fortune
Fortune that favours the brave
The Smyth Sewer smiled a whisper,
“deus ex machina, The Plot, so not a grave”
(Lovejoy-Burton/August, 2018)
"Baby" , Helena Deland
https://youtu.be/gcse4_5zALI
1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deus_ex_machina
2. smyth sewer
"Smyth sewing is a method of book binding where groups of folded pages (referred to as signatures) are stitched together using binder thread. Each folded signature is sewn together individually with multiple stiches and then joined with other signatures to create the complete book block. If you page through a Smyth-sewn book, you can see the thread stitches in the center fold of each signature."
We have fallen into the unknown
We have, once again, been left alone
We are in the depths of darkness
In the den of our dire distresses…
You gave us miracles and curses
Gifted us with such vivacious verses
You brave the storms within and then,
Our infinite battles are left unwon again
The silent wars within
Has trapped us in our sin
And never again will we rise
Unless we fall into our demise
Till then,
Fearlessly motivate others with miracles and not one curse
Will fade away our gifted verses and our tragedies in reverse
Once again…
Men and women, it has been shown
We are stronger than we realize altogether
If we don’t reap what we have sown,
We are stronger united and as a feather
You gave us miracles and curses
Gifted us with such vivacious verses
You brave the storms within and then,
Our infinite battles are left unwon again
The silent wars within
Has trapped us in our sin
And never again will we rise
Unless we fall into our demise
Till then,
Farewell, black rose of death’s dark vale and not one curse
Will fade away our gifted verses and our tragedies in reverse
Once again…
We all go through our hardships and tribulations
These wallowing, spiraling feelings of hopelessness
Has sheltered us with disgrace and frustrations
Please understand where we stand in this marsh of a mess
You gave us miracles and curses
Gifted us with such vivacious verses
You brave the storms within and then,
Our infinite battles are left unwon again
The silent wars within
Has trapped us in our sin
And never again will we rise
Unless we fall into our demise
Till then,
Farewell to our worthless denial and lies and not one curse
Will fade away our gifted verses and our tragedies in reverse
Once again…
We are together in this…
Ascend beyond our torn and forlorn souls of incomplete masterpieces
We shall rise in happiness
Destroy the anthem of agony and defeat the past, resting in pieces
Despite our weariness and distress,
We follow the footsteps of our progress
Out of the depths of darkness
Out of the fiery pit of fretfulness
Arise the endless miracles and curses…
Once again…
Till then,
We will continue to rise
From our utmost demise
Torn from your life
Like a weed from a garden,
Not caring of my feelings
Or even asking my pardon.
Mindlessly dislodged
And left to wither and die,
Not even given the chance
To tell you goodbye.
My love no longer worthy,
My caring no longer wanted,
And the pain that I feel
I will forever be haunted.
But I hold tight to my resolve
And hold my head high
As I choke down the tears
And refuse now to cry.
I know in my heart
Even after I’m gone,
My love for you still
Forever lives on.
It lives in the soil
Where my roots still remain,
Tattered and torn
But alive just the same.
So like a weed in a garden
It will grow once again,
In the same exact spot
Where once I had been.
It will grow strong and proud
Replenished and new,
With kindness and caring
To give only to you.
To watch over and protect you
And give you its love,
As I painfully watch you
From the heavens above.
If only I were a flower
Succulent and ornate,
Maybe I would not have had
To suffer this fate.
The death of God implies he did exist
And of his sayings many were possessed
The still, small voice, the burning bush, its fire
The prophets ,Moses ,Jesus, Jeremiah
On God, a snail without a shell , we trod
On his face of love, we left much blood
The quick of human flesh was dragged and torn,
Oh, tortured people, God lived in your forms
Tear your finger nail side,see it bleed
Imagine pain both dreadful and unseen
Where was God’s own dwelling place, we cry
To the lowly, he was in the sky.
God was buried live in earth which shrieked
My people,where are they, ah can none speak?
Where once we had freedom
Where once we had respect
Imagine now how the world sees us
A country where corruption, lies and deceit flow to full affect.
Affect on your children's futures when they see their poorest starve.
Affect on our institutions when the NHS is crippled and torn apart.
The country we once lived in
The country we once knew
Has lost something we could believe in as our democracy is dying too.
They take, they lie, they plunder
They see us as worse than fools
The great cities, towns, communities and our culture, where once respect and unity grew.
Now have a different future where xenophobia, hate and division are allowed to rule.
England has lost more than money, more than time. England has burned out the pride and memory of being a united nation of and for all mankind.
Testing each other's faith
At an open window—the air is still,
People seem dead with indifference,
And yet—the world breathes heavier
Hearts thumping in rhythm
To each other,
Hands clasping so tightly,
The view at large is a future we fear
Honor is seen in companionship,
Yet disgust is seen in those
Who live in solitude—choosing
Peace over miserable compromise
We promise to protect our loved ones,
Yet we fail to make promises
To preserve and encourage
Ourselves!
2.21.20
Note:"We are torn apart and yet we are alive...in the New Golden Age..." - Keane, New Golden Age
Weak Spots is taking a little turn. I feel that we romanticize union so much, yet we fail to give honor and acknowledgement to those who carry their lives without companionship. There is beauty and peace in a solitary life. There is deep love and strength in a single life apart from another.
What do you think of this?
~Laura