Long Traveler Poems
Long Traveler Poems. Below are the most popular long Traveler by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Traveler poems by poem length and keyword.
Time has weathered its walls, and nature has claimed it as its own, with vines and foliage covering every surface as if foraging for room. The air is thick with a sense of dejic-mystery and significance depicted overtly by the castle's towering entrance. There are tales and tall tales that surround this place, that ignite one's curiosity even further. If you get the right traveler and enough ale. But never had any of them acquired the knowledge of it's location. Most of them even ending their accounts with, "but all of it but a myth", or it's equivalent.
Is this overgrown castle, that whispers of it's readiness to divulge its secrets and echoes that have been shaded within its walls and forgotten by Time, playing with the imagination or siring a confidant, a worker of its magics.
Graft appeared as a small child in contrast as he pushed open the Great doors. They let out a great shriek from age and unuse, sounding much like a Vulcarn ready to dive, giving battle cry as the last thing one would hear before the black...
Let me tell you a story of a chance encounter . . .
I was in a true Romeo and Juliet experience,
meeting my love at the art gallery one winter day.
I loved art and writing poetry,
he liked to draw pictures.
My family was considered poor,
he was educated, rich, a traveler of the world.
My life was meandering with no future until I met him.
One evening he took me to the movie Titanic,
and that movie is forever meaningful to me.
The next day he gave me a heart-shaped pendant,
and I treasure it still today,
I wear it as a memory.
He believed in living in the moment,
oh, with our first kiss- he whispered, trust me.
I felt like I was a bird fluttering,
and he said, hold tight we are flying.
Then, one winter day he crashed his car through ice,
a thousand knife's stab my heart forever and ever.
If he could talk to me,
in that dying breath- he would say,
I promise you that I will be waiting at heavens gate.
I call his name a thousand times in dreams,
and our love will go on for love never dies.
It was just a chance encounter that became true love.
I wander through the labyrinth of time, tracing the steps of forgotten dreams,
The air heavy with the scent of longing, each breath a memento of what once was,
A symphony of sighs, a melody of melancholy, whispering secrets to the night.
Beneath the silver gaze of a weary moon, I see the specters of aspirations,
Their forms elusive, like smoke slipping through trembling fingers,
Once, they were tangible, vibrant with the promise of tomorrow,
But now they flit like fireflies in a dying summer, always out of reach, forever fading.
The world, a grand stage where desires are kindled to an unbearable blaze,
Only to be extinguished by the cold hand of reality, leaving us in perpetual dusk,
We are marionettes of hope, our strings pulled by the unseen hands of impossibility,
Dancing to the tune of unfulfilled wishes, our hearts heavy with the weight of dreams deferred.
Happiness, once a golden fruit within our grasp, now a relic of a bygone era,
Its essence slips through the cracks of modern life, a ghostly whisper in a cacophony of noise,
The conditions for its sweet embrace have withered, like autumn leaves on forgotten paths,
We chase phantoms in the shadows, forever seeking, never finding, the solace we crave.
In this symphony of melancholy, where desires and reality clash in eternal discord,
We are left to navigate the ruins of our dreams, searching for fragments of forgotten joy,
A journey through the depths of our souls, where every heartbeat is a reminder,
That happiness, once a familiar friend, has become an old dream, a distant star in an unreachable sky.
And so, I wander through the twilight of my thoughts, a solitary traveler in the realm of longing,
Each step a verse in the poem of existence, each sigh a testament to the beauty of melancholy,
For in the depths of our unfulfilled desires, there lies a profound truth,
That even in our yearning, there is a magic, an echo of the infinite, a glimpse of the divine.
My heart has many chambers
To some you have never been
Some you easily enter
Some only a few have seen
Each chamber has a purpose
Each holds a cherished one
Some inner chambers have locks
Some outer chambers have none
I decide who is welcome
I know who brings joy or pain
Some have been told they must leave
Others I’ve begged to remain
Some want to have just a peek
To know what I keep inside
Others want to belong there
They want a place to reside
My heart’s chambers are cozy
The walls are sturdy and bright
They lure many a traveler
Who long to bask in the light
Inside the depths of my heart
There is a an enchanted room
Magic and passion live there
Much larger than life they loom
Their shadows play on the floor
Their whispers promise delight
I implore YOU to enter
Only you…by day or night
I grant you this room’s key
Lock tightly this secret door
I’ll be at your beck and call
You won’t have to beg for more.
Forget the other chambers
Forget who has come before
Just now…this moment…this night
What wonders I have in store!
I’ll dress you in my passion
I’ll fulfill your every whim
You’ll want to be my captive
The world outside will seem dim!
My heart has many chambers
Each one is a special place
But my heart of hearts is yours
On every wall is your face!
I love myself in love, but sometimes I feel like a specter,
Drifting through the corridors of my own mind,
Searching for pieces of myself, lost in shadows,
Without knowing when they disappeared from sight.
Your touch is real, your voice anchors me,
And yet I am a stranger in my own skin,
A wanderer through thoughts I cannot claim as mine,
A traveler through dreams that seem not to be mine.
I love you, but I don't always find myself—
Caught in a labyrinth of who I was,
And who I want to become.
I reach out to you, but I tremble, uncertain,
If I am strong enough to hold on.
You are my light, but I walk in darkness,
Lost in a version of myself that even I do not recognize.
I love you, but I am still learning how to love myself.
In long nights, when stars blend with dreams,
I listen to my heart beating like a distant echo,
A foreign rhythm, a sad song.
I wander among fallen leaves,
Each a burden of a past season,
And I wonder if I will ever find the answers I seek,
In the silence between two heartbeats.
You are my beacon in this stormy sea,
But I am a shipwrecked soul, seeking the shore that will accept me.
I love myself in love, but I am learning to love myself,
In silence, in shadows, in moments when my soul floats freely,
Searching for its own light.
I love you, but I am still learning how to hold on to myself,
How to embrace my own being,
How to find my way back from the incomprehensible labyrinth
Of my own thoughts.
the moon drifts through the stars,
ropes soft against its glow,
a small basket swaying
over the dark purple mountains~
quiet as a lantern carried by the night.
a faint wind turns the ropes,
slow enough to see the motion,
steady enough to trust.
the basket dips once,
a gentle nod toward the ridgeline,
then rises again
into the cool, bright hush.
the mountains hold their shape,
dark shoulders folded beneath the sky,
watching the moon float past
as though it were a traveler
with no destination
I have a dearest sweet friend
my love and gratitude to her of no end
She is of great beauty and deep truth
to send me her Love in a gift of youth
How would I conceive my very age
When deep inside young in every stage.
I have a dearest sweet friend
my love and gratitude to her of no end
A tethered soul of depth and harmony
with gifts of compassion and fervency
How would my soul age with time
when the finest of her words in my heart rhyme.
I have a dearest sweet friend
my love and gratitude to her of no end
Music in her roots and in her veins
a winged mind, an entranced soul that never wanes
How would souls shrink and wrinkle
when in dark times, her stars wink and twinkle.
I have a dearest sweet friend
my love and gratitude to her of no end
A seeker of Light, a solid spirit, a time traveler
a poetess of grandeur, a human nature of calibre.
How would I in humble words render pure an emotion
to a lady I’m honoured to befriend and ink my recognition.
To my dearest friend, Maria Williams
Dearest Maria, these are but so humble words disabled in the presence of a great Lady, a beautiful mind and a tender heart..
Deeply grateful for ever lending a huge compassionate heart.. allowing your insight to connect and flow its Light.. spreading the scent of your generosity to let other souls inhale beauty, health, wealth and growth...
Thank you so much for your Love and gift of youth.
PROMISE OF NEW DAY
Tired traveler wandered in wasteland, I was lost,
dreary journey destined to end nowhere forlorn
across clouded cold night to horizon veiled in frost
where promises of broken dreams would be gone.
You came drifting on wings of southern wind,
blew clouds of despair away from shrouded sky,
splashing shimmer of dawn on my jaded mind,
rays of rising sun lifted up my sagged spirit high.
To the splendor of sunburst horizon I shall now go,
traverse landscape of life on the yearned pathway.
Its lighted contours of joy we together will follow,
new sun will rise for us with promise of new day.
February 8, 2019
One evening, under the pale light of a forgotten streetlamp,
I wandered through the garden of others' dreams,
Gathering ideas like rare flowers,
Into a bouquet of restless minds,
And I wondered, who am I in this realm of echoes,
Where rebellious spirits lay down words like stars in the black sky,
Where does my voice hide among these borrowed constellations?
And so, I began to search within myself,
In the depths of my soul, where the sea of thoughts
Crashes against the shores of reason,
Where the sirens of desires sing of freedom and fire,
Perhaps there I will find that unique spark,
A poem born from an inner volcano,
To erupt with the force of unspoken words,
A song of my heart in this symphony of quotes.
After all, life is so simple,
A play of shadows and lights, a dance of ephemeral moments,
Where we seek deep meanings in small events,
And perhaps in this very simplicity
Lies true beauty,
Where our souls meet in silence,
And together create a poetry of existence.
Perhaps I don't need another place,
Perhaps this page, this corner of the virtual world,
Is the stage where my dancing soul can unfold its wings,
Here, where my untamed words reside,
Here, where I can write my story,
With ink of stars and paper of dreams,
And let it fly, to touch other wandering hearts,
In a world eagerly awaiting a new story.
So, traveler among words,
I invite you to stay, to listen to this melody of the heart,
To let yourself be carried by the waves of my images,
And perhaps discover in these simple lines,
The rebel within me speaking to you,
In a language of the soul,
In a poem that, though melancholic,
Whispers to you about freedom and the beauty of uniqueness.
The Mutaitho hill zigzags its way to the borderlines of the sky
And to the opposite poses the historic Muilu hill once a shrine;
Now there between slithers the Kimongo River where huge rocks lie;
It’s on the banks of this river where the bachelor beekeeper lives.
His bald head is not worthy a ballad
Nor are his words so many to deserve a hoot,
It is his bee keeping zeal that stirs your blood;
An enterprise he’s run for years thirty and three.
And don’t think of the sophisticated box hives
Where you ferry the insects and lock them in,
He fells a log and hollows it all with his knives,
Till a home for bees he fashions there.
Not the low-lying things folks call hives,
Well-smoothed wooden objects lodged up the twigs
Of the most slippery trees with leaves like chives
Where no cunning badger would ever dare venture.
And he does his seasonal harvesting in the dead of the night,
While softer men curl to listen to the snores of their wives;
A night traveler will see his hairless head reflect the moonlight
And think they’ve spotted the nightly escapades of a ghost.
Now why he remains a bachelor at sixty and three
Is a secret only known to his beekeeping mind,
Perhaps nothing charms him more than a flourishing hive,
Perchance no girl would enchant more than the honeyed bee.