Long Traffics Poems
Long Traffics Poems. Below are the most popular long Traffics by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Traffics poems by poem length and keyword.
Gridlock on I-75, it's raining heavy. Up ahead somewhere
a truck has jackknifed. We are down to one lane and not moving.
I switch off the engine and wipers watching the world
dissolve inside a waterfall. I'm not alone, there's a voice in the backseat;
only a deep male voice.
"Man I'm tired of travelling this same stretch of highway" It said clearly.
I stiffened; a cold sweat chilling my mind.
"When did it happen" I said, deducing the perhaps obvious.
"Time don't work the same around here," he replied. I'm in a repeating cycle
and I’ve been stuck here watching it all happening again".
I heard myself saying: "by 'it' I assume you’re watching your death?"
"It's time for me to move on, it said quickly, “traffics moving now,
horns are blasting and there's an oncoming 18 wheeler
hydroplaning behind you -
and you're not watching!”
1. Every space is filled
this is definitely a love match
cultivating a field of many Asters
smoothening life to a mind boggling degree
the definition of this bliss
is an outcast to the perception of many witnesses
shining our star up so high
for single princesses royal
to marvel and fantasize.
Chorus
She loves me…….
I love her…….
All that matters…….
In our world is our love…….
2. We’ve given divorce a show down
and hand cuffed division before it stabs
too close for air to invade
filled into each other to falsify vacuum
nature will melt for our hearts to unhinge.
we are so equal in need of no mental diplomat
b’cos right from the beginning,
taste of any bitter pill has been reprieved.
Chorus
She loves me…….
I love her…….
All that matters…….
In our world is our love…….
3. Two pouring wines in one glass cup
is an embodiment of incomprehensible unity
with street lights of testament
even if from a third class.
There are moments when filth
and quest to temporarily act feather brained
are too spicy
but we’ve come this far with
the belisha beacon placed in these traffics
of rushing danger.
Chorus
She loves me…….
I love her…….
All that matters…….
In our world is our love…….
4. Uneasy and completely mixed
is this journey
each climb wakes us more.
I had to scour my pride
she in turn rasterized her emotions
for a legendary recreation
of a surviving sweetness so soft to touch
like the Nubuck
unbeknownst to life, It’s been creamed
back and front to be self unrecognizing
from its own mirror.
Chorus
She loves me…….
I love her…….
All that matters…….
In our world is our love…….
Awakening Perpetually
by Odin Roark
Awakening perpetually knows well
Perfection’s tuning fork disquietude,
Its awareness that any off-key meandering
Can cloud over a caressing sunshine rising,
Sour a dawning’s gardenia fragrance.
One reaches skyward with morning’s extension,
The opening of shuddered windows,
Inviting breezes to find purpose
Among slumber’s expended air,
The body’s unwearied resilience.
About the room
Timeless ghosts bow heads and implore with stretched arms,
Aroused by their history’s carillon, matins and lauds,
Even as cobblestone passage below traffics today’s gluttonous appetite,
Fulfilling its locust-like consumption,
Unabated by cacophony’s garrulous conceit
Propelling a different consciousness
Self-destructing by tourismic mayhem.
But…
To step forward and lean on man’s balcony of hope,
Is to lift weary eyes above the clutter below
Onto rising light’s warm-colored horizon,
To give one’s tuning fork its earned reward,
The sense of harmony and melody
Being born of another day.
Such is the embrace of dawn’s meaning,
The anticipation of canvas to paint,
Verses to write,
Preludes to compose.
For lest we forget,
Awakening remains perpetual,
Whether for man, creature, seedling or flower.
It asks only to be honored.
Prince you are and master who traffics merchandise
your ships o're seas do travel market paradise
trade you do in human souls commodity and ware
buy and sell your targets exchange material for our care
You have numbered mankind like slaughter for the sheep
branded their mind and hands your ideology they keep
hazy is the outline your doctrine of their need
veiled by the costume concealment of greed
How many become lost in the glitter of your store
never satisfied with plenty but always wanting more
like idols you make them cannot see nor hear nor speak
boldly feed their vanity corrupt the very weak
Your stock and trade the trap you've laid
you do counterfeit what's True
with commerce shade a new religion made
skilled entrapments pervade the view
Just like the old religions their lusts do you restore
with craftiness you perpetuate avocation of the Whore
Costly is her clothing embroidered veil upon her head
outside painted beautiful but inside is dead
You've sold them an ideal and into they've bought
so many think they're nothing unless they have alot
the emptiness interior with diversion seek to fill
subtle its inception nearly painless way to kill
sources Ezekiel chapters 27-28
Apocalypse chapters 13 and 18
COPYRIGHT © 2010 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Let me be clear from the beginning
any honest discussion of peace
begins by staring into the face of evil
Not the cartoon mask of villains
but the slow systematic evil
Evil that traffics children like cargo
it teaches hatred until it feels like normalcy
until neighbors become executioners
Ordinary hands commit extraordinary horrors
Indifference calcifies to stone
and thought itself
collapses.
Marcus’s story does not end in triumph
At seventeen he was shot outside his high school
not because he joined a gang
but because he refused to
His funeral was filled with teenagers
They understood that sometimes peace
is a luxury they cannot afford
One in four women beaten
One hundred million displaced
Philadelphia streets— my streets
where children fear to play
rival war zones
in their statistics
And then the litany of mass shootings
Columbine. Sandy Hook. Pulse. Las Vegas.
Parkland. Buffalo. Uvalde. Grand Blanc.
Not distant tragedies
but the lived reality of families I serve
The young who ask me
“Why should I plan for a future
when someone can decide to kill me
while I buy groceries?”
Children conscripted as soldiers
Women sold like cattle
Populations vanished by decree
Young men with weapons of war
end dozens of lives
in minutes
Viktor Frankl, survivor of the camps:
“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing:
the last of human freedoms—
to choose one’s attitude
in any given circumstance.”
I see the aftermath
I sit with the grief
I listen
to the questions
that have
no answers
Every abolitionist knew this mathematics
Every civil rights worker knew this equation
Every protector standing between trafficker and child
They fought forces with more money
more weapons
more power
than they could ever possess
They fought anyway
Not because victory was guaranteed
but because surrender
was unthinkable.