Long Unanswerable Poems
Long Unanswerable Poems. Below are the most popular long Unanswerable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unanswerable poems by poem length and keyword.
my life isn't over as far as i know
there's no enemy chasing me
or disease that have shown
as far as i know i have another fifty years
to march through life and many more tears
i have a wisdom that comes with time
i have a learning that taught me to rhyme
one of the tricks i play with words
a game i play with other boys and girls
i play with emotion when it's my turn
sometimes i play fairly or so i have learned
it's time to pass on what i have been given
help the younger understand their living
for some there is worship a type of praise
and others a picture in which they gaze
periods of life or particular days
some described clearly others in a haze
love our chosen vanity filled many a page
never ending are our stories
but there are only two plays
i the same actor played a few leading parts
modern, Shakespearean, and musical art
comedies and tragedies are the stuff of life
yet only once was i given
that thing i called a wife
but deep runs the river that flows through time
heading for an ocean where it is no more
when it's time to go through it
we don't knock at the door
the game is over, time to tally the score
with words our written testimonies
telling the deeds of souls and hearts
some with solemnity and some with art
asking unanswerable questions
seeking something in the dark
giving unacceptable explanations
for that which was torn apart
we love god, we love each other
but we mostly love ourselves
our hurt that we share with others
our pen at paper yells
our preaching and our pleading
pretending to be spells
repeated down through history
after every love there is a hell
whether warning, prophecy or story
we cannot help but tell
those wondrous things that befell us
while in heaven before we fell
our writing is not for fame or fortune
we don't care if it sells
but it's our turn at ringing
the same old emotional bell
(Dedicated to the memory of Linda-Marie the Sweet heart. )
What is the meaning of life?
A profound question that seems unanswerable
and yet, deserves an answer.
Intelligence distinguishes fantasy from reality.
But what of the human soul?
That intangible, ethereal link to the impossible?
Call it God, faith, hope, or wishful thinking,
but I feel there is something more to life than merely living!
I've examined life through the eyes of science
that sees Man as a series of genes;
genetically linked in a chain through time.
But what purpose does that serve?
It's enough to drive one crazy!
Is the purpose of life merely to procreate forever?
If that's all there is to life, then mission accomplished!
But I believe there is more to being alive;
a purpose for being.
Is it selfish to want more? Maybe.
I sense there is more to life; it's just a feeling,
yet it's getting harder to ignore over the years.
Could it be that I fear death? No, it isn't fear.
It's more like I'm missing out on something.
Perhaps something miraculous!
If I blink out when death turns off the switch, so be it!
I'll cease to exist, and that will be the end!
But, if when I die, I experience a reawakening
to a metaphysical, spiritual realm, despite my misgivings:
I would welcome that experience even more!
You get weary of the big questions,
the seemingly unanswerable
and the ones you thought
were resolved but resurrect
as doubts out of hard won certainties -
the mind rewinding arguments
to discover a fatal flaw.
And so you look to find a refuge
somewhere in the experiential,
a connection to the hard substance
of things, form fitted out
to house the spectral strands
of a fraying soul and make
thought manifest in the real.
A place of unfolding wonder,
a pebbled stream flecked
with sunlight, tall trees
carrying whispered conversations,
wildflowers bending in a warm
breeze - a place where
there is only what is taken in
and where all else dissolves,
losing the boundary
holding together the very sense
of self - the bright afternoon sun
blazing overhead, the soft, leaf
filtered shadows in prayer,
the Infinite experiencing itself.
Along a heavily trodden way she sat where many people came and went.
Some of whom she loved and thus began to walk their side.
Her heart whiter than white, now stomped upon by their indifference bore not retribution but confusion.
With a steely resolve she marched, only to find more unanswerable questions.
She panicked most of the way, not revealing her questions in mind.
Then came along more people to whom she gave her second chance.
Some people black and some people white, each of them left her baffled than those before.
"What is the objective of all this", she thought.
Resuming her walk along this path, more was the animosity she saw.
Only this time none gained her reaction.
For she has become a moving husk, filled not with questions no more but void.
Somewhere along this path she recalled, the purpose was to just observe.
She said we don’t sit together in the car anymore
Remember when we first met and how we grooved
I said too bad but I’m still here behind the wheel
So can you answer this, guess who moved?
I was watching the game with a bowl of ice cream
She looked at me asking are you going to eat all that
I said no, I’m leaving it melt to put it in my tire
I thought it would work better than fix-a-flat
She said my word you are much too overweight
How are you going to get rid of all that fat
I said I’m not. You used to say you wanted
To see more of me. Now you can do just that.
Are you going to shovel the sidewalk
It’s getting deep out there you know
I said no, I’m letting the sidewalk be
I’m just going to shovel the snow
A deer ran out in front of us and she screamed
If you hit it how much do you think you’d have to pay
I said oh, he would have lost in court, dear
I had the right of way
She heard the bag crumbling
And yelled you are eating again I bet
I said No I’m not eating again
I’ll have you know I’m eating yet
Form:
The Great Beauty
by Odin Roark
How short lived
This laughter made for releasing
Buried in the tragedian
Locked in the universal clown costume
We
You and me
We might watch Fellini’s balloons part
But the message of La Dolce Vita
Has faded into paparazzi history
Or perhaps
Never was
But
Taking up the Master’s baton
Paolo Sorrentino runs like a gazelle
His Great Beauty
Revisiting the question
A man lent to us
Provides a moment
Where one’s man for the ages
For our lifetime
A sufferer for both woman and man
Torn between the paternal instinct
And imagined freedom…
Becomes alone
Yet all-embracing
Such a price
We might say
Italy’s microcosmic decline
Man’s countenance on trial
His worth awaiting
A Christie's auction
Everything with its levy
Yet
What price the good life?
The good life seldom realized?
The kind lived
Then rebuked in
The Great Beauty?
Oh to seek
The unanswerable
Not the self-cocooning
Of “I know”
And the peace of inner-nothingness
Sublime’s secret
Like Sorrentino’s protagonist
We all live in bubbles
The question is about choice
Your bubble
Or
Mine?
Widely stretched landscapes are her asset.
Gurgling streams and rivers are her bulged vessels.
The pristine form is losing charisma and in acute threat.
The rocky glaciers are going down to increasing sea levels.
Roaming wildlife are her loving mates.
Astounding extinction and merciless killing of them lead to debates.
The talks about those innocent should be earned true weights.
Just wait and think, ‘Do we really need two Suns?’
An unanswerable loaded question posed by many tongues.
Priceless resources are diminishing in tons.
Let’s stop the blame game and join hands to reset
Don’t be childish; we will become nulls, if she rebels.
Sense the alarming bell that resonates,
Let’s pledge to be loyal daughters and sons.
Writing Prompt - Fragmented Spaces Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date: 02-08-2021.
Placed : 4th
So there they are, the three wise men,
(some declared them kings!)
It is not recorded if any women or camp followers
accompanied them, but if they were wise
perhaps that was so.
They were not pragmatists
nor did they follow the science,
long journeys following a star
on a swaying camel’s back
can lead you astray.
Meanwhile a child is born and
is moved on by its parents.
After many futile wanderings
they grew weary.
Their guiding star had faded.
The Orient was a ways behind them,
which was fortunate,
they had time,
time to put together
a few inspired poetic thoughts.
The wise understand
that not much is altogether true,
or not all that is imagined
is false.
Faith trusts the unanswerable
as if it were a shining star.
lonesome and lonely I walk
bore in and between every strand of life
as figures of gesture now pulls me to the stream of every reason
left unanswerable in this miniseries of love
within and without any careless reason of its own
yet no slogan to say
loosing my mind another exercise with no shame of stupidity
as everything becomes anything
in skepticism of telling you the truth
unbecoming i become mingled with the fear of coming up to you
for the love I feel and re-feel to certainty
fearing an irrefutable no from you
and in all,
I truly and madly fall deeply and sincerely for you
regardless of no courage of mine.
Past the hour when the clock stops ticking,
the mind begins its quiet, solitary work.
The barriers of the afternoon collapse,
leaving only the raw, unpolished thoughts
that are too heavy to carry in the sun.
In these blue and hollow hours,
memories do not arrive as warnings;
they arrive as soft, persistent echoes,
reverberating against the walls of the mind
like rain trapped inside a hollow valley.
The world believes the dark is empty,
but it is crowded with unanswerable questions.
We trace the geometry of our regrets on the ceiling,
weaving ourselves into the fabric of the night,
until the first cold thread of morning pulls it all apart.