Long Unbinds Poems
Long Unbinds Poems. Below are the most popular long Unbinds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unbinds poems by poem length and keyword.
It was when the bowl
smashed,
and my hands slackened
I knew
lips were moving
a throat was talking nothing
and my eyes were seeing
what my ears could not follow
the ties that bound
had been cut
as each piece of glass
shattered into moments
of every second we shared,
a ripple went through
the tableau of my life
changing its geography
forever
my blood pours to smash
chambers of memories
and as the cymbals of your life
clash its finale
your arms are lost
and out of my reach
the knot unbinds
that first touch
the one that said no matter what?
is now sleeping
where no shadows fall
I pull the silk drapes of night back,
and I watch as my darkest reality
merges into nothing
and everything
where the beginning and the end
are cradled in the hands of Mother-time
and fold together, forever in prayer
where the departed
have yet to arrive,
and the living genuflect
on the unknown origin,
of everything and nothing
this wonder was unveiled
in my awe of a universe,
but a cord in the material
of time, unbinds
and now
resting in solitary,
forever confined to the black,
of lost beginnings and abrupt endings
and worried between the hands
of the Mother
I find I can only hold
one end of the cord at a time,
and its slipping through my fingers
Eyes are closed but souls are not yet
A wrap of white envelopes glow
Holding the four sides with a heavy toe
Darkness unbinds the weeping flow
A bed of dazzling flowers welcomes the white
Angels of love enchantingly bow
Birds twittering in the garden of glory
Daisy Dahlia and Camelia murmur to grow
The castle of fragrance invites the blossom
Fairies decorate the Garden of Grace
A white dove holding the innocent phrase
and the garden glitters as the beats become bitter
Tulip tweets and the lavender bushes
White dove with closed eyes flourishes flawlessly
Melodies of love welcome the innocent
Hibiscus hoovers and azalea utters a holy blow
White covers the courageous color
Asking Petunia now about the awful overs
Garden of Eden embraces integrity and futurity
The ritual ends with happiness and a glow.
Written: November 22, 2025,
***********
I cherish the solemn stillness of the night,
where veils of mist cloak the moon's pale face.
Its threadbare curtain, a tiara slight,
of sanctity and shadowed grace.
There, catharsis prowls in whispered tone,
a voice that has faded yet still unabated.
Though death has seized its throne,
hope's luster gleams, amaranthine, fated.
Wretchedly wilted, the petiole lies,
hubris humbled in dismal decay.
Yet dreams, those viceroys of disguise,
transform burdens into light’s array.
And only sleep, at fate’s silent behest,
Unbinds the soul’s relentless, stubborn chain.
From hecatombs of grief confessed in chest,
To wisteria’s bloom, soft peace regained.
In mania, the body unbinds itself.
The skeleton’s dense marrow becomes hollow,
an avian adjustment. It is accelerated evolution.
Fluttering and floating in a slew of thoughts
like nervous wind chime chatter.
My brother blew in through the rattling gate
accompanied by October’s cruelest gale.
Eyes unwillingly wide, levered by a crowbar
his hazel doorways ripped from their hinges.
He ran fervently through the streets of West Chester
with lungs coated with cannabis and amphetamines
until there was blood beneath his toenails, dripping out
just like Jesus’ wine weeping out from his searing limbs.
As he entered into the home of our distant childhood,
his back burned from the warm wrath of penitent leather
the self-flagellation, the begging for the flames of Purgatory
To appease the eyes of a looming Lord
his fate-sealing gaze hidden in twilight’s comforting veil
He says he holds a guilt beyond human comprehension,
that he is an evil person. I tell him we are just flawed people.
After a decade of intentful detachment, my brother cracks open
his ribcage as it blooms like a flower from his sternum.
He says there is a sickness in his soul, and that I will
never truly know him.
My mother and father have had heads made of granite
since he has come home. There are heavy eyes shadowed with
bags made of storm clouds. They have prayed with their
clergy. They have contacted multiple attorneys.
My sibling is a storm that has wrought ruin, but
he can heal. His violent storm might sow a beautiful season
The warmth of his first real smile will bring upon renaissance,
and as the tears and snot seep into the soil of my shoulder
our cheeks may grow a vibrant emerald moss.
In a lonely garden is a shrine
where upon a rough hewn stone is writ:
“GOD IS LOVE.”
The devoted supplicants make wail,
water the flowers, feed with crumbs
the sacramental dove.
A priest, decrepit, feeds the holy fire,
rakes the embers of the holy hearth.
Heaven is grey above.
Daily he laments in doleful orison,
unbinds the holy scroll and reads:
“Thou shalt not kill.”
His sentence is short and simple,
without exceptions and parentheses,
declaring God’s will.
though many about have forsaken
Love’s fane, have fallen prostrate
before a god of ill.
And this god has three faces,
one wreathed in pleasure’s smiles,
when the cup is full.,
a brazen face of terror
wrought in hatred’ fire,
And a skull.
Jesus walked up that hill to Calvary
Freeing a sin filled world from slavery
To evil that was caused by God’s enemy
A fallen angel who was filled with jealousy
Because he knew God was the mighty one
Who shaped all of creation before He was done
Thank God I’m saved
I’m thankful for the road He paved
Thank God I’m free
I want to thank the One who died for me
Jesus rose from the dead on the third day
And He’s living today despite what they say
He is with the Father, our creator, the fearsome One
Who sent His Son into the world not to be outdone
But to deliver us all from the plans of His enemy
To the nail scarred hands of Him who is our destiny
Thank God I’m saved
I’m thankful for the road He paved
Thank God I’m free
I want to thank the One who died for me
Jesus sent down the Holy Spirit to live inside
The true believer who allows Him to be their guide
He works through the faithful to reach others
Who need to take His gift and be our brothers
He lifts the broken, heals the hurting and reminds
That He has the answers to prayer that unbinds
Thank God I’m saved
I’m thankful for the road He paved
Thank God I’m free
I want to thank the One who died for me
In a lonely garden there' s a shrine
where upon a rough hewn stone is writ:
“GOD IS LOVE.”
The devoted supplicants make wail,
water the flowers, feed with crumbs
the sacramental dove.
A priest, decrepit, feeds the holy fire,
rakes the embers of the holy hearth.
Heaven is grey above.
Daily he laments in doleful orison,
unbinds the holy scroll and reads:
“Thou shalt not kill.”
His sentence is short and simple,
without exceptions and parentheses,
declaring God’s will.
though many about have forsaken
Love’s fane, have fallen prostrate
before a god of ill.
And this god has three faces,
one wreathed in pleasure’s smiles,
when the cup is full.,
a brazen face of terror
wrought in hatred’ fire,
And a skull.
long scarf of a night
clasping the bracelet of a moon,
what emptiness is this when i have you not near?
the distance of a thousand galaxies collecting stars
unbinds me,
when once i could tumble upon your
nape so bronze
as if there to fly
swept by every lingering breath
borrowing some endless moaning of time:
a stewing chorus of sacred yet raw vignettes
coming together then parting...
farewell, a few more steps closer
and i shall disown my soul and bones under
the cloud's dark awning
to silently memorize your fading eyes
entombed in the burial of an unbecoming night.
.............
Contest Form-E of Broken Wings
Originally written: 1/23/2014
Reposted: 1/24/2017
Your viewpoint can be comforting,
Or your viewpoint can be troubling:
Either comforting as a safeguard,
Or as troubling as a canard.
A safeguard tunnels Saints through sin.
A canard tunnels sinners through spin.
Though God created man upright,
He schemes to hide sin from the light.
With idols in front of their faces,
The Lost stumble in dark places.
Seeking a number of oracles,
Swells their number of obstacles.
Hypocrites whitewash their walls.
Their ruse of righteousness forestalls,
Examining what lies underneath.
The Spirit's Sword stays in its sheathe.
The Weak wrap their sin inside "love",
A "love" that belies truth from above.
They will not progress anymore,
As rottenness spreads from their core.
Rebels should open their minds,
When Scripture reveals, it unbinds,
For mankind is much maligned,
Projecting their bias resigned.
The Perfect focus on God's plan,
Having the mind of the God-Man,
A conduct that's surely becoming,
For Saints prepared for His Coming.
By embracing this point of view,
We achieve the promised breakthrough,
Being perfected in the Master's way,
God's will we're faithful to obey.
Strive for the Prize that lies ahead,
Through the One who rose from the dead.
His light and immortality shine,
Dispelling the darkness by Design.
Adopt the pursuit that frees us,
That intimacy with Christ Jesus,
And exchange the viewpoint of mankind,
For the viewpoint that transforms your mind.