Long Trust Poems
Long Trust Poems. Below are the most popular long Trust by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trust poems by poem length and keyword.
One morning ere the sun burnt hot
My brother Abel pleased me not,
And though my face shone like the sun,
When moonlight came I cudgeled him.
Oh, had my brother marked me well
There were no more for me to tell.
One morning when the sun burnt hot
Again my brother pleased me not.
I cut a bough to make a bow,
And with a dart I laid him low.
When next time he pleased me not
I made a gun and with it shot.
Should he provoke me but once more,
I'll have yet deadlier things in store.
Bombs I'll make till I have one
That shall dispatch a megaton.
Then shall my brothers mark me well
And there'll be no more to tell.
One evening ere the sun had set
Through his device his end Cain met.
And Rachel wept and Sarah sighed
When Cain the unrepentant died.
"Though there was God in Heaven to trust,
he found for me and poisoned dust,"
wrote Death his epitaph,
"And so I'll have the final laugh."
But then at last the Archangel cries:
"Cain's had his day. Let Abel rise
I seem troubled by many questions regarding
this existence and it's purpose that enriches or impoverishes lives;
from joyful birth to dreary death one goes rambling
through phases either happy or sad that cling to the cortex of memory;
and whenever loneliness revives them with images,
one thought comes to mind: we are constantly wrestling with destiny.
Why are we condemned to die, knowing no love, only hate...
destroying whatever is beautiful with no greatness to achieve?
Why was death cast upon us? These rebellious minds must percieve
another reason why God gave us the good laws we shoudn't forsake.
Even happiness is a concept not easily realized, it can be achieved
with deceiving schemes; it'll be delusional and too short-lived.
There's a false Heaven we see through a telescope of allusion:
it's promised by Satan doing what is wrong to defy God's intention.
Why are we condemned to die? Doesn't this thought frighten
us thinking of life's briefness and the time we are given?
Why do we resent holiness? Do believers have a scope?
It's their faith and trust in God: two reasons for hope!
Written on 4/8/2017
Metacarpals Phalanges and Sesamoids - Beauty Immortal
The hands, it's all about the hands for me
Streamline with creamy silk skin so fine
The elegance, the aesthetics, the peripheral view
The long slender phalanges, so ethereal
The disquiet beauty, the flowing artistically magnificent lines
So alluring it feels as though the hands can't be real.
Knowing deep inside my blackest of hearts
That those delicious beauties
So feminine and fragile, graceful, pristine, and agile
Could very well rip you apart
Deviant, sinister, lethal weapons, they could easily end your start
They masquerade as magic - mythical and superior
Far-advanced, emotively austere perfection
Of which all else is seen as inferior.
Hands of refinement that have been pampered, oiled, and manicured
These hands have created masterpieces, they have been held
They have been loved
And have always had a comfortable home
They are a blood moon in a deathly dark sky
The want I feel for them is all-consuming, a demonic obsession looming
Intombing comes to mind
Which is actually macabrely amusing
For a crypt of the finest design is where I house all mine.
Affirmation - yes indeed you understood correctly
That is what I did say
Trust and believe - I would not have them any other way
In my sanctuary of cool, and dimly lit, embraced by all of evil
And of the most impervious kind
My meticulously chosen, surgically removed pairs of hands
Are anything but bland
Individually glass-encased, labeled, and displayed
In the most iconic of ways.
This Otherworldly renowned domicile of hands
I am proud to say - is the only one in all of the lands
A kind of designer boutique of all hands unique
And definitely not to be confused with Trick-or-Treat or feet
Of the countless sets of hands in my collection
My most treasured pair that are there
Are those of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost
How's that for dereliction of the Host?
I can be on a plane headed across the,
Ocean and the only thing I my mind is home.
Home where every morning I am greeted,
By Valley of the Sun and the,
Mountains who surround me.
I dream of the friends who warm my,
Heart and made my life great.
I miss Arizona.
I miss the red rocks of Sedona,
The massive Grand Canyon,
The snow bowl and the San Francisco Peaks.
I love going back to the past of Tombstone.
I walk down the street as I see the Earp's,
At the gunfight at the OK corral.
I turn around and I see Black Bart,
Go thru the window at Big Nose Kat saloon.
I look up towards the sun I see Boot hill,
Final destination of any cowboy,
At the end of the barrel.
I know of our independence, the civil,
Rights but I finally see the tainted history,
Of Arizona and Native Americans.
Where Native Americans were forced to,
Stand their ground for their family,
Their land, their heritage and their food.
This is only because one people broke,
Their trust and the treaty.
Yet not all is forgiven.
Will it be forgiven?
Maybe, just not today.
But Native Americans give back to,
Arizona every year lending the olive branch.
Arizona is history some good some bad,
But one thing I know is Arizona is home.
.
A Few
Things
About
What is Money after all
The biggest Security we can have
Locked in Wealth Safe n secure
Immovable Assets
In everyday Liquid
Transactions. In cash
Investments At risk
Diversification is key
Is beautiful in gold
Precious diamonds n jewelry.
Invest in Art as an asset class
Ok Can’t buy love with money
Honey I belong to poor class.
Trust is infallible asset
In God We Trust- Fed
Crypto Bankmen Fried
Funny if Rich in Money
Don’t laugh Crash now is routine
Get serious Toxic is Money
Donate. Gift Charity is best
Enjoy, Consume Till it lasts
worst case scenario:
In bad Fate
Money
Is Loss,
Destruction
Do not store
Steak in a doghouse
The bee toils; collects honey
The wealth is luring; invites heist of hive
Wish I had an alchemists drive: pick up scrap and turn it into gold;
For everyday transaction would need magic to turn a leaf into promissory;
Without these skills, how do I survive The Systems of Modern Day Slavery.
Some say men give you sanctuary
others deem them sedimentary.
My cousin claims they’re alive to cheat
anyone and everyone that they meet.
Yet some can’t help but fall in love
saying he was their match; the other glove.
Some blame the syllables of adoration muttered in their ear
or the TV for unveiling marriage without fear.
Whether men are thought wonderful or wild
I possess one with a mild
temper, who’s been with me for fifteen years
we don’t grasp each other’s hands or even kiss
believed by some to be a couple’s bliss.
Yet if sorrow haunts me
or if tears grace the floor,
he is forever there to adore.
Instead, I enjoy stroking his hair,
as we lounge by the fire without a care.
His interests involve watching birds flutter about
outside in the lawn, where he’d enjoy getting out.
I chose him, yet he chose me
sat upon my lap, the rest was history.
I know upon him my heart is set
he isn’t employed, but on me he’s spent
a thousand purrs and mews of hello,
and unwavering trust enough to know
that I will always provide for and care
for my trusted feline companion…
I know he’ll always be there.
In deep nights, when the moon weeps its shadow on the windows of the soul,
My thoughts slip along the thin thread of trust, woven from spider silk and shattered dreams.
The eyes of the world, opaque mirrors, hide untold secrets behind cardboard smiles,
And I, a lost traveler on the land of friendship, vainly seek the key to full understanding.
Waves of words crash against the shore of my weary conscience,
Empty advice, soap bubbles floating in the wind of indifference,
Break at the touch of harsh reality, leaving behind only bitter drops of disappointment.
We are all lost children in the dense forest of life, searching for the way home.
Friendship, a shining beacon in the distance, calls to us with promises of warmth and acceptance,
But when the ship of our thoughts approaches, we discover only a deserted island of helplessness.
Our hands stretched out for help turn into fleeting shadows,
And words of comfort morph into meaningless echoes in the caves of loneliness.
Oh, how we long to be the flame that dispels the darkness from the souls of our loved ones,
But we are just lost fireflies, flickering weakly in the night of misunderstanding!
Wisdom, a rare bird, does not nest in the garden of barren advice,
But flies freely in the sky of deeds, feeding on the fruits of silent help.
In the labyrinth of relationships, we desperately seek Ariadne's thread,
But find only tangled balls of expectations and disappointments.
We are actors on the stage of life, playing roles of wise men and counselors,
Forgetting that the most profound monologue is the silence filled with compassion and actions.
The miracle of friendship is born from the ashes of burnt words,
Reborn like the Phoenix from hands extended towards concrete help.
We are called to be not fountains of words, but springs of actions,
To transform the ocean of mistrust into a clear river of understanding and mutual support.
So, tonight, as the Moon weaves its silver web over our thoughts,
Let us learn to listen to the silence of hearts and speak the language of actions,
For only then can we approach the mystery of the other,
And discover that, beyond words, we are all a single wave in the sea of life.
Without sight or scent;
Formless; Lacking frame
You none would dare reject
But neither could they claim.
Elusive as thief in night
As slips through fingers does sand
So you are having taken flight
To we who are merely but man.
Losing entity yet unnamed
Many move to her next of kin.
Unlike sister, she is famed
As the attainable twin.
She one could know; could touch
So long one strive and strain.
Available, yes, much;
Trying to maintain.
When found lost are they;
Settle for the least?
She seduces most to stay
They know not she is a beast.
She tolerates man,
but love is not her game.
To cause one’s fall she will, she can.
Destroy before one breathe her name.
Forsake foolish pursuit, I pray.
Abandon their ‘love’; they give none.
Shine, they might seem, like day.
But fail; they will you shun.
They are all a flower vase;
Have fluid to give one breath.
‘Tis but a pretty face
For drink laced with death.
“Trust thyself” does still ring true.
Paramount to this, love too.
Without self they matter not.
“Accept oneself” should be sought.
Like, from within boiled kettles raise sprites, Maya the Echo,
Dominates Marvel Comics with her facial art deco;
Adopted daughter of Kingpin, lion-like rough villain,
Kills her father; rears her, like wolf-child, to fill his guilt in...!
Scenes, like plays, tell us Maya in mentally disabled,
With pomp education, she is psychically enabled;
With Matt Murdock, like bee in honey, she fast falls in love,
Lo, she hunts him down; tigress-like! As though in hand and glove...!
Does Matt murder sooth her heart? Isn't he the Daredevil?
Truths revealed by Matt, adopted father she does bevel;
Like sages meeting the chosen saints, she turns to herself,
Making peace like nail and flesh, she opens long-locked inner shelf...!
Photographic reflex; like heaven and hell, Echo held,
Mimicking any one, like Photostat, magic she spelled;
Avenged and revenged, like ready-made robot, rough and tough,
She could dare to kill anyone who she found a born bluff...!
Love with Moon Knight? Wow! Echo, indeed, is great in power,
She could make or mar anyone within any short hour:
Who can I trust? Who can you trust? O, all games seem to end,
When mysteries revealed, by men and monsters, magic bent...!
07 November 2022
Moon Knight Friend or Foe 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Truth wears a face as grace brings light,
Hope flings a trace with space for sight;
Ink stains now style fond smiles in place,
Sense feel worthwhile that piles brisk pace.
Live thus true fest with zest that glows,
Etch touch of jest as quest frames grand show;
Ask for due grace to ace fine feel,
Prize time and space to face what thrills.
Yield that bold poise where choice firms gain,
End with stern voice to hoist heart’s strain;
Apt that clear art that darts with ease,
Reach each crisp part as start greets peace.
Taste that full flair as air shows best,
Watch how joy pairs most fair swift fest;
Embrace this sea to be fond urge,
Note soul set free that sees warm surge;
Thoughts rise and fall with call you brave,
Yes bear due gall and all ere grave.
Trust love not late to date due charm,
Worth floods your plate with fate that arms;
Endow your space dear face with joy,
Niche love’s fine trace in place sans ploy;
Toil with deep peace as ease moves touch,
You know the lease as tease knows much.
Enter fond feel that heals brisk flair,
Now and here thrill good will heart airs;
Dance with the dream as streams greet light,
Opt glimpse of theme as beams forge flight;
Wit mellows cheer as clear mood flings,
Sighs thus endear sans fear’s pulse string.
Love and light flow in glow that sums,
Observe the show that knows outcome;
Vouch certain poise as voice now speaks,
Exact due choice as grace signs peak.
Leon Enriquez
29 February 2020
Singapore