Long Tumultuous Poems
Long Tumultuous Poems. Below are the most popular long Tumultuous by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tumultuous poems by poem length and keyword.
False faces and pretentious promises churn my heart,
like what the desert storm does to the dunes.
I can’t calm down my mind’s twirling turbulence
as the friction of fury shatters the shield of restraint.
Defenseless and discounted I disintegrate,
turn fanatically into discarded debris of indignity,
as the cloud of conceit rises from the abyss of intolerance.
Patience then fabricates the optimist awareness,
the invisible lubricant of the inner dynamics,
soothing the grind of exigent intolerant wheels
that pound the spirit of my muddled mindset.
Calming resilience is my smooth psychic mode,
the sense to step back to clearly assess situations,
respond sensibly rather than react rashly.
Hurt by the tough abrasion of the tumultuous life,
patience, an alchemic potion of healing serenity,
prevents me from being swept away
by the coercing currents of enraged compulsion,
enabling me to confront life’s challenges
with the innate mechanism of interactive attitude,
helping me to construct the durable connections.
In the remaining phase of my journey,
I cultivate confidently the wisdom of mindfulness,
as a virtue that not only elevates my conscience,
but flows outward with harmony and momentum,
flattening the roughness of my social interfaces,
and fathoming the depth of my perceptive essence
with the silent spread sanguine patience.
In the depths where the hounds of nonexistence bark,
Vigilant guardians of silent eternity,
On the land of somber undulation, the dogs of death howl relentlessly,
They are the keepers of the secret in the tattered webs of time.
I hear their deep cry and recognize their feeble sentence,
Rainhearted, we cannot delay the ferocity of death.
Even if we strive in vain to tame the fleeting passage,
Enslaved by blind fate that leads us, pauses in nonexistence,
I confess with a shame-burned cheek emerging from the depths,
The greatest sin is not that we exist, but that we are not eternal.
The dystopia of death with its outstretched arms encompasses heavy horizons,
In the realm of silence where the spindle of light has never rolled,
Under the humble earth, we shall entwine coolness in a night,
Becoming amnesiacs to the thought that once animated us all.
In the great abyss of nothingness, an uninvited shack lays its threshold,
A refuge for souls that cannot withstand oblivion,
There, with knots playing with thoughts, I bow in respect,
In the labyrinth of silence, I kneel, making an altar out of the spark of a weary world.
Towards the cycle that returns, where the threads of life and death intertwine,
The warmth of a new beginning burns me in the tumultuous crucifixion that repeats,
In the myth pulsating in the depths, where life becomes dying the moment it enters,
After the forgotten universe lies, draped in yesterday's cloak over today.
The copulation of worlds, that cruel game of ignorance,
Childhood and old age mixed, the eternal tale,
Constantly enveloping us in the cloak of false hope,
I wander like forgotten dreams among memories that attempt to quench my thirst.
I let the echoes of deaf death soar over the embers of silence,
The poetics of a lost soul, the song of inkless passage.
Time flies and takes shape in the chaos of estranged grandeur,
Like an altar raised for the madness of unknown and unmarked gods to come.
Yet the dogs of death howl with a crescendo that shakes my bones of history,
Their tears reveal themselves like acid rain over dying and distant times,
Under the weight of the earth, our sins prepare for solemn decay;
We were born and live in a world where perhaps we shouldn't be.
The brush too needs a cubist eye,
hands that inscribe
the architecture of
aftergrowth’s return
to collapse and crawl ~
into the crying rivers of chaotic colors
where the canvas reflects
the cruelty of craving
the tortured tremors of thirsting,
for love did not know
how to lull the lament
of childhood wounds she suppressed
in solitary silence,
while the claustrophobic ghosts
in the murky depths of her mind
keep screaming for an eloquent release,
tracing tumultuous teal,
tearing at the greying grief,
confined in corpse cloudscapes ~
like embers of equinox
emanating from the deep dull darkness
of her splitting sight,
a crippled conscience
in need of a cosmic cure,
while the artist perceives not her angst,
but only her magnetic madness,
distilled through sharp,
shapeshifting shades…
She was an enigmatic alteration,
~ picturesque paradox ~
of a melancholic mannequin,
composed in clamorous calmness,
yet no breeze could
read her unwritten truth.
She fears intimacy, imprisoned
in black-and-white blurs,
the imprints of commitment,
for her nails painted in envious acrylic
resemble her jaded heart,
roaring with jealousy,
afraid of being abandoned,
as romance is the demise of tranquility.
No pill, no pigment can purify
the poison that lurks within
her pining veins, paining in vain…
O demented diamonds of drowsy dusk,
must dialects define
what ebbs and flows between the lines,
like phantoms drifting
through cloudless lamplight?
The psychological turbulence
no fingers could frame ~
and no flame could fathom,
as every emotion ~
is a geometric fracture,
painted as the
funeral of a fragranced future...
uphill climb,
rigorously relentless
with ambling ambitions
and schematic stratagem,
blueprinted blatantly
on the blank
parchment of marooned mind,
sketched skillfully
with chameleon color shift,
transiently transfixed.
gripping gravity
of transcendental time
of the loaded past
pulls back incessantly
the strings of present,
fastening in retrospect
the incoherent network
of faltering footsteps
at the refurbished root
of existential essence.
intent inertia
of living force
creates proactive
causal momentum
of tumultuous time configured,
permeates the perception
of the fourth dimension.
construed continuum
of elusive eternity
strives to unveil ineffectually
the shrouded acuity
at the summit of actuality,
emotionally evasive,
abortive climb connotes
futile foray
to somewhere intangible.
"As the mind is permeated by the darkness of despair,
in the sanctum of my soul God’s blessing lights the lamp".- by Poet
The formidable mountain of life I’ve to climb,
the summit to be reached on the track undefined.
I surrender to the designed will of the Almighty,
and in His prescribed intent I repose my trust,
for I know faith will pave the pre-defined path for me.
The tumultuous ocean of life I need to sail CALM,
for the last anchorage on the TRANQUIL shore I’ve to reach.
I’ll kindle the beacon of hope at the edge of twilight time,
in the stormy sky of despair I’ll see the silver-lined cloud.
The pole star in the dark night will shine STILL and bright,
help me chart my ordained course to the destination,
the divine light will take me to the shore of liberation.
The darkness flooding fallen sky of suffering I’ll illumine,
find flowers bloom in the debris of the broken heart.
I’ll light the candle of selfless altruism laced with love,
see it radiate PEACEFUL divine glow of God’s grace,
perceive my liberated SERENE soul find infinite solace
in the QUIET abode of absolute bliss in the eternity
_______________
May 11, 2021
Contest : Writing Challenge-Calm
Sponsor : Constance Le France
May Donald feel lost love he never knew -
and see his tumultuous journey through.
A prayer for one who few would pray for -
whose feelings they'd rather chose to ignore.
Who are we who do not dare to relate -
or even consider another's fate?
Millions who've protested, marched and wept -
in hopes that things held sacred will be kept.
Aren't we all dear children of the Divine -
each entitled to touch the sublime?
Could there be respect when we hear his name -
confident that all are treated the same?
May we feel kindly towards each other -
and reach out to Donald as a brother.
You’re an *******.
Words muttered out of context, out of line.
A rage-shadowed truth,
but with such unexpected forthrightness,
it missed its mark,
serving only to deepen our divide.
Home is no longer where happy is.
I’m not sure it ever was.
There’s no abuse hurled or fists weaponized,
and much
— if not all —
is done with the intent of love.
But even so,
my nerves are frayed, and I can take no more.
Three hours pass,
and I begin counting down the seconds till escape.
Has distance weakened me so?
Have the miles between myself and that tumultuous guilt-laced anger
made me so fragile and contemptible of thought?
The fatigue enters my very bones from the moment I cross the threshold,
and anxiety-heightened feelings fight their short leash
with new resolve.
Where before I ruled my emotions and responses
with resignation and an iron fist,
I’ve become a feeble-willed sovereign,
allowing them to run amok with freedom previously unexplored.
No part of my reaction
or unbidden tears
are based in reason,
no matter the (harmless) judgments passed or words that can’t be rescinded.
Countless crueler realities play out
near and dear to my heart.
I must be pathetic and wicked,
(for others truly have a cross to bear; I have none)
and I should believe I deserve
to pay for my disfavor
in the very blood that runs through us all.
Matthew 15:4: “For God said,
‘Honor your father and mother’
and
‘Anyone who curses their father or mother
is to be put to death.’”
I cannot apologize enough
to erase the stains of my thoughts,
nor can I gather the resolve to twist this on myself
any longer.
I am unworthy of a love such as that which I receive.
A boy’s tears are distensible, like a brittle platter
embodying the face of rejection.
He collapses into the opposite of a child,
his hands in soot, trembling around a book.
Knowledge has no place in the mind of one who begs
to be fed, who escapes life like a skip button,
and bids his future into a refugee camp.
The quiet act of peace is the noise inside his dreams—
the raven’s voice telling him, Believe. Believe in today for tomorrow.
And by the wall where he hides to read, where he manifests freedom,
he clings to drawings, rehearsing his tracks back to a home
void of his name, its people, its purpose, its creation.
With his fingers, he traces humanity back to Eden,
to where water flowed without parting ways.
What do forgotten things know about justice?
If peace mutated the first time the sun hit Mars,
would the Earth still flutter?
Who passes rights onto a species?
Are we not all specimens walking into divagation,
laid on tumultuous eruptions, unable to see our toes
through our eyes?
If trees could water themselves, you think they would
dream of becoming fountains?
We have been reliving freedom like chickens birthing eggs—
endlessly, redundantly.
Until when will this wish be granted?
The boy knows grief as rebellion against his thoughts,
where bullets and bombs are not the only things
calling his death to nothingness.
For any living thing, to dream is grace.
And destiny, we know, malfunctions its way into adulteration.
So let him seek peace in the ways he wishes—
to free a bird from its cage,
to grasp in chaos and name it inspiration,
to be utterly mad and call it poetry.
Let him.
Far away, out in the evergreens, comes a tumultuous sound of nature
So distant yet so near, magnetic arms of serenity just waiting to allure
High, rugged mountains, a perennial playground for big goats and big cats
The desolate valley to the foot, a vestige of meekness and a suspended moment of wildlife acts
The constant flux of a raging river, as the water thrashes against the rocks to and fro
A lake that echoes the sweet sound of tranquility and stability, a place where the ducks can go
Tall pines and almonds wavering here and there as mother-nature exhales from her breast a wind of exuberance
Sun flowers and daffodils basking in the light of the sun, a picturesque moment for romance
Author Dana Redricks
October 20, 2023
In the vast expanse of time and space, there stands a God with boundless grace, no mortal soul could ever compare, to the love and faithfulness You bear.
Oh Lord, Your faithfulness knows no end, a steadfast love that will never bend, in every trial, You remain by our side, guiding us through life’s tumultuous ride.
You are the God of miracles untold, in Your hands, the impossible unfolds when all seems lost and hope is frail, You step in and prevail without fail.
Breakthroughs, like sunbeams through the mist, You bring into our lives when we persist With not unwavering trust and hearts aglow, You lead us to where blessings flow.
Your love, a beacon, shining bright, in dispelling darkness with eternal light, in Your embrace, we find solace and peace, a love that grants our souls sweet release.
No deity can match Your divine embrace, for You are the embodiment of love and grace. In awe we stand, humbled and true, for there is none like You, Lord, it’s true. Faithful, loving, and forever true, We lift our voices, our praises to You, with grateful hearts, we humbly proclaim, You are our God, and in You, we acclaim and praise Your Holy name.