Long Truths Poems
Long Truths Poems. Below are the most popular long Truths by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Truths poems by poem length and keyword.
Eighteen years of wild youth
and I moved forward in search of life's truths.
Suddenly, I was twenty one
and there was nothing that could not be done;
reality set in round twenty five
and life seemed a struggle just to survive.
Thirty slipped and slid around the corner
my generation thought we were surely goners,
but life moved on quick and fast
and suddenly forty years had passed.
So much yet to come, things to do and places to see
when fifty years were lost upon the breeze
and awakened by the passing joy and tears
I looked back in time, some sixty years.
Retired now, social security retrieved
spent thru seventy, can you believe?
So much to do, the future still waits,
on the edge of tempting fate.
Eighty lies on the horizon
and I find I'm compromising
just a little more time
as life begins to unwind.
Is it wrong to be curious
Waiving scarlet badges as sleuths
When seeking universal truths
Dangling notions precarious
Willing to eviscerate all
Nimbly tantalize or extoll
Worrisome beliefs fallacious
Distorted enough to inflex
Then twirl in a blurry vortex
Dubious if not oblivious
Seeking truths and taking the plunge
Finding distortions to expunge
Two cents short of being delirious
Bubbling falsehoods bewilder
Bundled lies for the coroner
Is it wrong to be curious
Dangling notions precarious
Worrisome beliefs fallacious
Dubious if not oblivious
Two cents short of being delirious
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
O Marvel, Earth’s treasurers, Air and Trees
Hasten poet, bring your imagination, brandish your pen,
initiate your truths, bring your ideals – use oak, elm, and maple.
Poets die natural deaths, flesh deaths, but their words retain life.
Poets leave this earth plane, becoming dust to dust, under acorns.
What remains is all that ever was
All that ever mattered
Their ideas prancing like leaves
Dazzling, spinning heart-shaped missives.
Angels collect our spirits, and we do not hesitate
Traveling rapidly from this plane, heading toward Nirvana
Caring not what or who is left
They do not yet know us
But some will
Because of the parchment we left behind
The scribblings on trees
The acorns of ideas other poets will use to build their oaks
Some will peter out quickly
Others will turn into a magnificent forest
That shows the world what we meant in the first place.
Biological motivations vitiate.
Episodic bursts discharge it’s your opinion.
Alternate spells imply.
Unexpected whirls scatter.
Tall lilies beat it’s your opinion.
Youthful geniuses blow.
Basic goals
Evident truths it’s your opinion.
Oral perversions speaking pretty words out.
Light passes roost looking over your shoulder
Divine communion inner spirit.
Empirical golden truths it’s your opinion.
Rough real motivations beauty in the eyes of the beholder
1/7/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2020
In a twilight sculpted from granite, where stars shake off like autumn leaves,
I wander through the labyrinth of my mind, lost among the ruins of thoughts.
My love for life is but a pale flame, flickering against the winds of time,
And writing becomes my armor, gleaming in the dark like a lighthouse in the night.
I write to survive, each word is the blood coursing through my veins,
Each letter a step on an unknown path, each sentence deepening the mystery.
I strive to write well, to avoid the madness of spewing nonsense like a politician,
In a world where masks slip, revealing truths that sink into obscurity.
To the old banality, "Eat or die," I add "Eat and write or die,"
Writing is my act of worship, an altar built of paper and ink.
A veneration for creatures, landscapes, ideas that inspire and uplift me,
To commemorate the dead, to create new women to love, to cherish.
For I have always been a seeker, a dreamer, a contemplator of seeking and dreaming;
And who can say that such a nature does not open latent eyes, sensitive
To unimagined worlds, to unforeseen orders of being,
Where souls meet at the edge of the abyss, weaving webs of mystic melancholy.
In this stream of consciousness, I lose myself and find myself anew,
Thoughts flow like subterranean rivers, tumultuous and deep.
Each word a stone cast in water, with ripples widening,
Reaching forgotten shores, where dreams extinguish and revive in silence.
I write to be, to become, to understand,
I write to love, to weep, to laugh,
In a world that unravels and remakes itself,
In a world that breathes through every word born of mystic melancholy.
To live forever is a foolish theme:
Life holds meaning because it has an end.
Immortality is a daunting dream,
Death is not our enemy; it's our friend.
The young are eager to live forever,
assuming that time will retain their age.
But time passes, and dreams change; however;
youth's less receptive to truths at that stage.
Aging reveals the folly of such thoughts,
as fantasy and nonsensical stuff.
We're eternal souls, not soulless robots,
and faith holds that one lifetime is enough.
Through birth, we enter life by drawing breath:
and we exit, through a process called Death.
Resistless, sweet chirping of the first bird at my window
That resembles the quenchless, quest-filled divine vocation.
The dew and the sun that sweeps it are in a friendly show.
Truths, in the forms of blooms and blossoms, are in elation.
I see peace and potency in each pebble before me.
Construction of my castle of contentment finds completion.
Each creature I encounter is, indeed, wisdom's vast sea.
Each of their words and deeds is worthy of veneration.
I hold myself as a core component of the cosmos.
So too each little being I esteem and celebrate.
An ounce of happiness each moment I have for my dose
With blossoms of gratitude, soul's altars, I decorate
With the timeless tales, the moon and the stars, at night, share
To 'Peaceful Sleep' or 'Rest in Peace' I mentally prepare
There where coastal waters rage
I spied a rock of ancient age;
a Jurassic specter, ever old
among the waters amid sun’s glow.
I snapped a photo and to its side, I rushed,
to examine this thing that had been thrust
onto the rocks nearby the beach,
a giant rockfish, it was facing east.
As I touched it my mind traveled,
back through ages never unraveled;
a voice so garbled from the past
like a fuzzy radio broadcast.
Human you seek to know many truths,
my people once called me, Eenew.
Ancestor of the Rockfish hordes,
we were once powerful, ocean lords.
Among these rocks, I stranded be,
and became petrified, you see;
entrapped within this stony shell,
as if someone had cast a spell.
From our deep pelagic home,
beneath the white-capped ocean’s foam,
larger than whales we ruled the seas,
swimming peacefully, so at ease.
Though our descendants are now so tiny,
they still retain their dorsals, spiny;
like living coral and anemone,
they will forever roam the seas.
Come visit me when you seek wisdom,
I’ll tell you about the ocean systems;
what lay in caves of limestone and brine,
with antediluvian knowledge, I’m a goldmine.
I reminisce I miss
remonstrate and misplace
in search of my narrative
dust off the shelves
smoothen around the edges
align what seems meant to be
Carefree strong winds of sailing
through the attic of past truths
founded in a basement of sense
when a candy apple was sweet
molten gummy bears on my tongue
liquorice swirling freedom’s taste
Relish for evermore pleasure
rebellion passionately unwrapped
not knowing the limits of flavour
pure twang of victorious delight
when a ball crossed the goal line
a couple of jackets for uprights
A cherished trophy in hand
muddy muck on scraped knees
and a soul without gaping scars
when youth knew no bounds
only I was my own referee
fighting for justice and team
The game’s rules have changed
have become more complicated
plans are mere drafts on my canvas
for better or worse I absorb
collect reminder and gather
impress vacant echoes in pain
At junctions of insight
when reason and feelings
refuse to kindly commune
I have to evoke the losses
clear the fog’s misty path
gather stones in my way
Seeking to disentangle
causes and resulting effects
dead ends on the highway
the tunnel of happiness
undergrowth and overpasses
fading street-signs I pass
when pot holes and drift sand
block progress and motion
draw me down in despair
a voice from deep inside calls me
to look forward and therefore
I miss I reminisce I miss
19th March 2021
The man who you were born to trust
shouldn’t be the monster to then in turn bust
your bubble of hope for a fun, happy life
and become the nightmare of your every night.
She was trapped inside an abusive cage,
at the mercy of her father’s rage,
who continuously inflicted a shower of pain
while she cried her tears and sobbed in vain.
The suicide note on his nightstand
was written in the script of a young girl’s hand,
bedside the empty bottle of sleeping pills
that rendered freedom to his little girl.
The authorities looked the other way
knowing he received the dues for which he paid;
no one was willing to help her before -
they simply rolled him outside of the door.
She attended his funeral in a long, black dress;
disguising the relief, she did her best;
although her conscious bore a hefty scar,
she justified her reasons for what they are.
But, not until that first shovel of dirt
did she begin to release the unbearable hurt;
the abuse that this man constantly gave
was now buried forever with him in the grave.
She is now an advocate for abused youths;
empathizing with the secrets behind their truths;
hoping to help them get released from the hurt,
long before their abuser’s first shovel of dirt.