Long Truest Poems
Long Truest Poems. Below are the most popular long Truest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Truest poems by poem length and keyword.
everyday is a blessing a chance to
start fresh
so i live for the moment till there is
no moment left
hoping tomorrow god sees fit 2
open my eyes again
let me breathe another breath while
getting it in
yet another adventure to unfold
another story to tell
another poem or song to write with
hopes of living well
to be an artist is cool i just express
my truest feelings
while letting the world know with
what pain i am dealing
the struggles i endure from this life
that i lead
wondering day by day how to
provide for my seed
no job my talent can only get me so
far
so i do what i gotta out here chasing
these stars
trying to see where they lead me i'm
wanting to know
after i bend this next corner which
way should i go
In the silence, where the stillness is born,
where the line between illusions and truth is torn.
You can imagine anything you see,
yet in the silence, the truth will be.
Alone, with no distractions of any kind,
the feelings of the heart, the thoughts of the mind.
A mind altering experience, as never before,
to those who open to silence, knocking at their door.
The past the present, where hindsight is seen,
in the silence, the mind is washed clean.
Imaginations And the truths that be,
in our silence they present themselves to you and me.
With every thought, feeling, and emotion that we feel,
alone in our silence we will find what is real.
For life itself, in the silence you see,
shows the truth to you and me.
In the silence the truest of battles are fought,
where the truth will prevail against every thought.
You begin to change with each truth that is shown,
in the silence and it’s suffering you have grown.
It’s a journey that we each should take,
to understand our every mistake.
To allow the silence to fulfill its very part,
as it begins to teach us how to live the truth in our heart.
Get ready cause here is the next pontification
In regards to my said, beloved’s infatuation
Hear me thee, here do be, the truth of the situation
Which once was the source of said aggravation
After having arrived at many carnal rotations
Yet to me this was more than just merely fornication
Unless it is just about you and your manipulation
Telling me that there was never a foundation
That it was all about the sexual sensation
Confusing are your words in there translation
They were your words of emotional declaration
Saying, that they are your truthful and honest proclamation
That we were was then had been your chosen words of articulation
Did they not bare as authentic in authentication?
Yet, I would never take advantage of your inebriation
You had already been thru enough of that brutalization
Though we both do know, we do have difficulty in communication
Though to me, it is just temporary blocks of frequency channelization
Amplified by the vodka laced with fruit juice for your gestation
This does be the biggest and truest reason for our causation
And the reason being for my excommunication?
If this does draw me as the fool in this poetic explanation
Then paint me as the man who holds much inner vexation
As we come here now to this thee summation
Because I still feel this be your true vibration
You are truly good enough and worthy enough for a higher lofty elevation
True Colours !!!
Time being the greatest artist of all, – in its passing –
sketching and painting ones essence, upon a canvas,
the canvas of life, with the truest, purest of colours,
colours that come through, colours that enlighten,
colours that open one’s eye to the subconscious,
- that all knowing third eye that the conscious mind
is blinded to, - the eye that saw, - a long time ago –
from the beginning, a way to move with insight.
Some hang on, willing to stay, – with hope – partake of the fight.
Unfortunately - in the end – both will climb aboard, take flight,
searching the nooks and crannies, dreaming, hoping to see the light .
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Silent Voices
My voice remains silent, within life’s harmony,
for a tune, it cannot carry, even with the cords
that vibrate, that grate, that irritate, out of sync.
For they – as I – are tone deaf, sing out of tune.
B. J. “A ” 2
February 6th 2004
A new notebook.
A red line
already there,
drawn before
the child's first word.
Who drew the line?
At the edge
sit the quiet ones:
the back bench, the bare feet,
the first to read in her house.
The margin is a thin strip of soil,
yet the truest seeds fall there:
the doubts, the honest sums.
Who drew the line, and with whose hand?
One day the page tears itself free.
It climbs a stick and becomes a flag.
Chalk learns to speak on walls.
Young voices spread like ink through blotting paper.
The chairs change. The ruled line stays.
Now the page is glass. It has no margin, only eyes.
The same hungers scroll past: bread, work, a fair chance.
The shout is a spark on a screen; the stick now hides inside a wire.
Still the edge fills with small, stubborn handwriting, like grass through stone.
Equality is not a chair pulled up at the centre for those kept at the edge.
It is many hands on one ruler, drawing the page again, or not at all.
Who draws the line now? Ask the child
who opens a notebook with no red in it
and begins anywhere.
~SHELTER FROM TH' STORM~
TWISTING INTO VORTEX,MY VISIONS VANISH TO NAUGHT
THUNDERHEADS ROLL VIOLENTLY,AS VORACIOUS DINS RING A TOLL
TH' DARKNESS...NOW FEEDS FEROCITY'S MAELSTROM
BURSTING AT MY SEAMS,TO CHALLENGE REALITY
STIGMATIC WOUNDS,PROFUSELY NOW POUR
LIFE BECOMES DEATH,AS I PLEAD FOR MY DELIVERANCE
REGRET OF MY BIRTH,FEEDS A YEARNING
FREEDOM ONCE AGAIN,FROM TORTURE...I PLEAD
DAMN MY MORTALITY,I DESIRE NO MORE
TO BE LOOSED FROM BOND OF FLESH,MY SPIRIT GROANS
A TRAUM'D PAST,WAXES NOSTALGIC
CONCEIVED ONCE MORE...THEN REBORN
DEMON'S SEED PLANTED AGAIN,SEARING RAIN BLEEDS
TH' STORM GALES TOSS ME,TO N' FRO' TO BREAK
THOUGH SEEK I A SHELTER,NOT ONE BEACON SHEWS
MINE EYES THAT KNEW BEAUTY,ARE NOW BLACK'ND BLIND
A WHIRLWIND NOW FORMS,DRAWING ME FORTH
DEBRIS PULVERIZES MY PSYCHE',AS IT SWALLOWS ME IN
ONE NOW WITH THIS CYCLONIC SATAN,I SEEK TO DESTROY
BUT AN EYE APPEARS FROM TH' CENTER...OF PUREST LIGHT
PIERCING MY HEART...RELIEF COMES AT LAST
TH' STORM NOW CEASED,I FALL AS I GASP
HANDS APPEAR 'NEATH ME,AS SAVED I'M AGAIN...
FROM CEASING LIFE'S BREATH...BY TH' TRUEST OF FRIENDS
©~AZAZA~'09
“Waiting in the Soul Electric”
We all drown
in the red madness
sometime
Crying oceans
of saltwater
we tear
Like torn pages
we rise rebellious
on all the blazing currents
floating on a thin simile of Life
kissing the Bluebird’s Wings
as innocent as an angel sings
confessional as a demon swings
pirouetting in our flaming
feathers of freedom
we joust like eagles
that dare with such hunger
for the most important things -
for the most important things,
are not things...
we are harm and hatred
all the wasted years thinning
all the mirrors useless
facsimiles shattered
hearts that were frozen
become quills royal veined
writing bonfire vanities
keeping scores
burning, we are hard steel
we do not melt
in the hot air up there
we do not open
we are closing doors
windows blinds drawn
Invisible dissolves
the ink tattooed
on all our tongues
What is read
is not seen by eye
nor heard
Inside us
there waits the truest
crown sensate
there ignites the real meaning
there Love finally opens
the pearled gates
waiting
in the soul electric
ultra violet, cool it burns
bathed in light, soothing
open arms patiently waiting
like a parent
alone
waiting
for you
to melt
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Fafhrd, Conan, Tarzan...
They could all beat me in a battle!
But when seeking true love,
I'm the one in the saddle.
But I'm the foolish one,
cause I had a dear love near,
though I took my heart to the internet
where my keystrokes torqued my steer.
In seeking the truest of love,
I was catfished by a foreigner,
and lost everything I knew and loved
where my real dreams swallowed shortener.
My heart is now shattered in a million pieces;
only true love here is covered deep in feces!
Saturday, April 2, 2022
MY FOOLISH HEART Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
In the twilight of his years, he stood,
A figure sculpted in the sands of time,
A shadow cast by the dying sun,
Caught in the turmoil of destiny's rhyme.
He reached that moment, inevitable, profound,
When the deep currents of the soul pull,
A whisper, a call, a shadowed sound,
Where the true compass of the heart is full.
In the labyrinth of his mind, he wandered,
A stream of consciousness, unbound, free,
Thoughts like autumn leaves, scattered, pondered,
Each one a fragment of his identity.
He felt the weight of a thousand moons,
Each phase a chapter, an untold story,
Where demons danced to haunted tunes,
And genius shone like threads of glory.
The demon's call was a siren's song,
A melody of shadows, dark and deep,
Promising power, where right felt wrong,
A precipice, a cavern, a treacherous leap.
And yet, the genius within, a quiet flame,
Flickered with dreams of what could be,
A light that whispered his true name,
A vision of self, untamed and free.
He stood at the crossroads, heart in hand,
A divided soul, torn between,
The known, the dark, the promised land,
And the unknown, bright and serene.
With eyes closed, he breathed the night,
Felt the pulse of the earth, the stars' embrace,
A moment of clarity, pure and bright,
Where he found his truest grace.
He chose the path where shadows fade,
Where dreams are forged in the fires of hope,
Where each step is a promise made,
And with his soul, he learned to cope.
In the end, we all must face,
That moment, clear yet undefined,
Where we abandon ourselves to the grace,
Of the demon, or the genius, within our mind.
Dear Poetry, how are you?
It has been a while since we dissolved in the dark and talked.
You are the one who kept me awake at midnight,
huddled under the heavy bedcovers in my youth,
with a tiny flashlight for illumination,
just so I could map out every hidden thought.
Years passed, and that dim plastic flashlight
grew into a steady, internal beacon.
The heavy bedcovers became the walls of a harsher adult world,
but our relentless mapping never stopped.
Do you recall when the chaotic winters of life
finally tried to bring me to my knees?
I cried, crushed by the weight of my longing for a misleading love affair—
someone who tossed my devotion away like yesterday's garbage,
splintering the deepest vault of my being.
But together, we transformed that raw, bleeding emotion
into a masterpiece of forever ink on immortal pages.
That exact heartbreak became a prize-winning confession—
Turns out, the world will pay to see you spill your guts in print.
I guess what I am trying to say is: you are everything to me.
You have been my truest companion
through the longest stretches of isolation and ash.
Because of you, I learned to let go of the anger,
the frustrations, the letdowns, and the fallouts—
the heavy burden of mourning a discarded love.
Because of you, I am someone who stands strong.
I bled the hard truths and chose to be a survivor.
Dear Poetry, don't you ever forget that I am here for you,
just like you have always been here for me.
So, I hope you finally understand
just how magnificently important you are to me.
We won't let go of each other—not while the ink still runs.
Written on September 2nd, 2026 for a contest sponsored by the poet Silent One.
"Note: AI image generated to complement the themes of my original poem."