Long Unbound Poems
Long Unbound Poems. Below are the most popular long Unbound by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unbound poems by poem length and keyword.
Love someone setting it free It wasn’t a bug it wasn’t was a bee It was just flying free that captured me What was the delicate romance squashing a bug The spontaneously ancient thing Written on the butterfly’s wings Rejections fragility like unbound jealousy Excerpting their power on the loves fate Giving it the same chance the lovers mate Love someone setting it free It wasn’t a bug it wasn’t was a bee It was just flying free The butterfly whispered a verse As it lightly chose your finger If it chooses to linger awhile just smile If you grasp too hard good becomes it worst The nectar becomes bitter the song loses it beat While tender love me not’s lay at your feet Love someone setting it free It wasn’t a bug it wasn’t was a bee It was just flying free
She sprinted through a rugged woods
Away from free loading fathers and filthy no-goods,
Away from tear soaked teddy bears and lungs filled with smoke.
She found herself unmoving, crying in the arms of a weeping willow oak.
She is what remains of a fractured household,
A rotten tapestry of liquor stains, bruised bodies, and secrets untold.
She imagined what lied beyond the waterfall of misery that cascaded infinitely over her,
For she was stuck observing the world in a melancholy blur
Her blistered ankles fell weak and she crumpled towards the ground,
Peering up at a glistering light that left her wonderstruck, spellbound
She made out the shape of a body descending from above
They gazed at each other, her eyes as doleful as a mourning dove
He whispered in her ear as softly as the whistling wind,
Leaving her once perpetually dark world seeming only to be dimmed
He held out his hand to her and urged her to run away
To a place called Neverland, a world where all somber thoughts are kept at bay.
Though it seemed of her to be giving in to her broken mentality,
She longed for an escape from pain and poison personality.
As they floated above her home town,
She suddenly couldn't hear bottles shattering or doors breaking down.
She felt the pain lift from her small frame,
And the inferno of sadness that burned interminably was but a flickering flame.
They sailed across the second star to the right and flew straight on ‘till morning
She hadn't prepared for the wondrous sight before her that came with no warning
She broke through clouds that brushed her face with cotton candy kisses,
The world of true happiness and ephemeral sunshine was once real only in her wishes.
It was in the land of everlasting childhood that she was freed of all regrets,
And she held flowers between her fingers instead of cigarettes
Her face was flushed with shades of pink instead of black and blue,
And she decided it was time to write her story anew.
That night she traded her tattered nightgown for rags and a dirty fur coat,
She chose put her past in a bottle and set it afloat.
In that moment she could feel her true identity come unbound,
They called her Lost Girl, but in that moment she never felt more found.
Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please -2- Poetry Contest
N/A- 100 in a ROW contest--15 9/24/16
Nationalism,
nation supremacy,
rooted in competing patriarchal capital rivalries,
is entirely incompatible with EarthPatriotism
rooted in loyalty to cooperatively healthy matriotism
Wherever MotherEarth may yet be healthy climate rediscovered
in sensory input and outputs of a child
unbound breathing in enculturing good humor
Still fully awake
meaning much more than not yet dead,
Embracing Earth's Paradise found
means far more than ending homelessness,
bareness,
hopelessness,
For restoring cooperative peace
more than competing retributive-avoidance models
for justice as invoking a fee
and loss of freedom punishments
while preaching skills in anger and depression management,
but silent about happiness and compassion cooperative ownership.
Competition in nationalism,
whether white
against pink,
royal purple
against ultra-violet feminist,
even green
against black and brown prejudice,
each autonomously anti-ecological nationalistic stew
when we simmer down
into non-violent communication
of spatial Here
with temporal Now,
Competing FirstChoice nation-states
miss golden global opportunities
to embrace healthier polycultural outcomes
of multicultural cooperative grace,
polypathic WinWin karma,
polyphonic musing face
of Earth's well-timed expansive soul
revolving space
A healthy organic way to speak
and think
and feel as a day and night revolving child
naturally embracing WinWin
co-redeeming spiritual ecopolitics.
Violent competitions,
mutual abuse and neglect,
between ZeroZone sacred nations
are antithetical to cooperative conversations,
planning and nature development,
in EarthTribe non-violent WinWin communication
CoArising nighttime dreamscape melodies,
non-conspiring feeling peacefully immunized
against conspiracy theories
playing WinLose roles
embracing evolutionary predative jihad anxieties,
risks to bully or become bullied by chaotic capital climates
and internal bicameral storms,
nightmare feelings nauseously disassociating inside from outside,
ego against eco,
concave overbearing convex,
ZeroZone soul ignoring OneZone body's primal needs and feelings,
Right bipolar conflicting Left dipolar co-arising
EarthSoul Health integrity
prefers co-reflecting
4-SpaceTime Revolutionary Boson Models--
opaquely expanding DNA-structured splendor.
Light bubbles of painted canvas, dancing amongst the softness
Of heavenly space amidst the skies above, wind walkers captured
In a timeless waltz of everlasting eloquence and grace!
Swift air lanterns, set drifting, uplifting the mortal spiritual soul
Of the beguiling eyes of those enlighten, whom watch in sheer
Awes amazement, at the beauty of these gliding giants, in the
Distant horizons blazing sunset!
Currents breeze chasers, swaying to and forth on the delicate
Fridge of the starry night’s encroachment, oh brilliant weavers
Of this dreaming quilt of opulence majestic, I’m lost within your
Fabrics motion, as waves of air flutter ever so lightly, in the rippling
Effect of thy flight!
Floating elemental orbs, steamily bouncing between the heavens
And the earth, chariots heat balloons elevating the inspirational
Heights of mankind, exposing the grandeur of our magnificent
World that surrounding us all, in natural beauties ultimate
Masterpiece beyond our mortal existence!
Splendor’s optical window of the open air experience,
Lifting the physical being on the wings of imagination,
Casting away the shackles of the land, and releasing
The inner dreamer, welcoming them to join within their sacred
Dance amongst these vast divides of Nirvana!
Free falling angels, cradled within this timeless basket of inspiration,
Gently are thee to be rocked by the very breathe of God himself,
For you’ve entered into the kingdom of the heights most majestic,
Be still now, and just listen to the whispering of the angelic,
As your heart beholds the wonder beneath gravity’s unbound
Feet!
Carelessly let these moon children be illumined, by the
Ivory pearl that lingers within this glorious twilight surrender,
No journey’s end will ever capture this spiritual moments
Experience, in such glorious detail as the remembrance carried
Within the human hearts memory so tenderly embraced!
Light bubbles of painted canvas, dancing amongst the softness
Of heavenly space amidst the skies above, wind walkers captured
In a timeless waltz of everlasting eloquence and grace!
Swift air lanterns, set drifting, uplifting the mortal spiritual soul
Of the beguiling eyes of those enlighten, whom watch in sheer
Awes amazement, at the beauty of these gliding giants, in the
Distant horizons blazing sunset!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
In the whispering silence of a moonlit night,
where stars wink like old friends,
I drift along the river of my thoughts,
an unbound stream of consciousness,
Flowing through the landscapes of potential and purpose,
where dreams dwell like forgotten treasures.
Most of us,
shadows of our true selves,
live in shallow waters,
afraid to dive into the depths,
Creating busywork,
weaving webs of distraction,
as if afraid to face the stillness of our own souls.
Oh, how we toil, like ants in an endless march,
building castles in the sand,
Not because the work is urgent,
but because we do not know the art of being.
We are craftsmen of the banal,
architects of the mundane,
lost in the frenzy of doing,
When all we yearn for is to float,
weightless and free,
on the river of life,
to be carried by its gentle current.
Imagine a world where laziness is a virtue,
where idlers are the sages,
Where shaking off the chains of duty is a path to enlightenment,
To bask in the golden glow of a sunset,
to savor the sweetness of a moment unclaimed by time,
To relax into the embrace of existence,
to find joy in the art of simply being.
I do not preach a life of total inactivity,
for such would be a disservice to the soul,
But rather a life where each act is a dance,
each gesture a poem,
imbued with meaning and grace.
Let us not be prisoners of our own making,
bound by the chains of needless toil,
But the artists of our destiny,
painting with the colors of purpose and passion.
For in the quiet moments,
where the heart beats in sync with the cosmos,
We discover the true rhythm of life,
a melody that calls us to slow down,
to listen, to feel.
To be busy is not to live,
but to be alive is to flow,
to ebb and surge with the tides of meaning,
To find the balance between action and inaction,
to dance on the edge of potential and peace.
So let us embrace the wisdom of the river,
to be lazy in the pursuit of joy,
To be idlers in the garden of dreams,
to cultivate a life that blooms with significance.
For in this dance,
this flow of consciousness,
we find the essence of our being,
And though the world may rush around us,
we shall move with the grace of those who understand,
That the river of life carries us not to the shores of accomplishment,
But to the ocean of our own infinite potential.
In a realm where shadows dance, the world will be but a howl of pain and ecstasy,
Where the purest among men, in their quest for sanctuary,
Shall find themselves teetering on the brink of weariness,
Facing a choice that echoes with the agony of despair and its emptiness.
The skies painted with hues of sorrow, the earth a canvas of tears,
In this melancholic landscape, the heart battles its fears.
The whispers of the wind carry secrets from ancient legends,
Tales of souls who wandered, seeking something more.
Among the ruins of dreams, where hope once proudly stood,
The echoes of laughter now drowned in a somber flood.
Those with pure hearts, in their silent vigil, watch the world crumble,
Clinging to fragments of light, as dusk turns endlessly gray.
In the labyrinth of thoughts, where consciousness flows like rivers,
The mind wrestles with torment, the body shivers.
Metaphors dance in the twilight, weaving ancient tapestries,
Stories of agony and ecstasy, in whispers, they are told.
The choice of agony, an open path where shadows tread,
Where the soul's lament is a song of the dead.
Yet, in the heart of darkness, where despair seems to reign,
There lies a flicker of hope, a respite from the pain.
For in weariness, there is a surrender, a silent plea,
To find solace in the void, where the spirit can be free.
The purest among men, with hearts heavy and worn,
Seek refuge in weariness, a sanctuary from the storm.
The howl of the world, a symphony of sadness and delight,
A paradox of existence, where day merges with night.
In this magical journey, where consciousness flows unbound,
The soul seeks meaning in the melancholic sound.
The choice of agony, a testament to human suffering,
Where weariness becomes a beacon, a guiding light.
For in the depths of despair, there lies a hidden grace,
A promise of redemption, in life's intricate maze.
The purest among men, in their silent contemplation,
Find strength in weariness, a profound revelation.
The howl of the world, a reminder of the fragility of being,
A call to embrace the pain, to find the true meaning.
In the heart of this melancholy, where shadows intertwine,
The soul discovers its essence, in the esoteric divine.
The choice of agony, a journey through the soul's night,
Where weariness reveals the path to the eternal light.
In the silent corridors of the cosmos,
where whispers of ancient wisdom entwine with stardust,
lies a realm unseen by the mortal eye,
where truths, pure and untainted, float like ethereal whispers.
Literal thinking, a shadow upon the sacred light,
turns the divine into chains of superstition,
crystal-clear waters of wisdom, now murky and confined,
where once the spirit soared, now tethered and bereft.
In the twilight of understanding, where shadows breathe,
a journey begins, a river of consciousness unbound,
flowing through the valleys of forgotten lore,
where the heart's whispers are the compass true,
guiding the soul through labyrinths of light and dark.
In the dawn of creation, where the first light kissed the void,
truths whispered by the divine, gentle as morning dew,
were pure as the first breath of dawn, untainted by man's hand,
yet as they touched the soil of mortal minds,
they hardened into idols, rigid and cold,
sculpted by the chisel of literal thought.
Metaphors, the language of the soul,
once vibrant and alive, now dulled by concrete minds,
where the moon's gentle glow becomes a sterile sphere,
and the sun, no longer a celestial flame, but a mere star.
In the silent temple of the heart, where shadows and light dance,
a candle flickers, fed by the breath of the divine,
its flame a guide against the encroaching dark,
where superstition lurks, a specter in the mind.
The inspired truths are rivers, flowing free,
unbound by the dams of dogma's cold embrace,
seeking the vast ocean, the infinite expanse,
where the spirit merges with the cosmic dance,
and wisdom's light shines in every drop of time.
Oh, to break the chains of literal thought,
to see the world through the eyes of the soul,
where every leaf whispers the secrets of the cosmos,
and every star sings the songs of eternity.
In this sacred dance, where metaphor reigns supreme,
the heart finds its voice, the spirit its wings,
and the truths once perverted by the concrete mind,
become again the living breath of the divine.
So let us journey, with hearts unbound,
through the mystic realms where wisdom dwells,
and find in the dance of shadows and light,
the inspired truths that set the spirit free,
in the sacred whispers of the cosmos’s embrace,
where the eternal song of truth and love forever resounds.
In the shadow of the night, when the wind weaves endless spells,
There you stand, eternal rock, at war with time itself.
The night, with its new moon voice, whispers to you its secrets,
And you, living stone, clench your soul in the citadel of mystery.
Dawn brings you serenades from the infinite, hails you undefeated,
Watching as the universe regains its voice,
In the dialogue of the wind, in the celestial solstices,
You hide your soul, a relic, in a smile stolen from unbound times.
From the depths, the past measures you with ash-filled gazes,
Holding within memories sealed in ancestral oblivion,
You remember how you unleashed dreams, letting the music of your heart reign,
And you rest your forehead in the palm of eternity, dressing in the garment of silence.
Listening to the whisper of the cold seasons,
Your fingers open the frozen chest of your ancient pain.
Your soul, caught between two worlds, in crystalline silence,
Counts your heart's steps on the thin path of time,
Turning your gaze upon yourself, seeking in the mirror of the present,
Examining your eyes, lost among the leaves of time.
The wind interweaves its song with your being,
You are the rock in the face of the storm, the stone in the temple of the night,
Dawn kisses your existence with promises of strength,
You are the power, carved in the heart of the world.
With your hand, you capture the wind, hold onto the rock of fate,
Turn yearning into beads of dew,
Seal the pain in the stone heart, crown it with oblivion,
Embrace the infinite, bind your soul to the sky,
Tie spring to your footsteps, lighting your path,
And you walk the road of life, weaving a song of freedom with your smile.
In the magic of the night, you rise, an unyielding rock,
In the embrace of silence, you are an unsolved sphinx,
And as dawn spills its light, you take on its courageous song,
Living statue, in a story where each step becomes mystical.
The wind becomes your companion, lighting the candles of hope,
You hide in stone an eternal fire, a trap for forgetting.
In your hands, you mold eternity,
And your heart, a tall tree, embraces the sky in rare harmony.
Thus, on the paths of life, fearless, with spring beneath your bare feet,
You step to the rhythm of an everlasting song, in a world where every moment is magical.
I close my eyes and I hear a sound,
Running water, joyful and unbound.
Leaping and roaring, swirling and swishing,
Loud slaps of waves crashing.
But the chaos yet fuels peace within me,
As I close my eyes and let my mind see.
Past the horizon, beyond the mundane,
My mind wanders off as I hear the sound of the rain.
Pitter patter of raindrops on the window sill,
Exuding calm as I stand still.
The raindrops purge the earth and all within,
Washing away my wrongs and my sins.
And I envision dew drops, sparkling and profound,
As they fall from blades of grass, purifying the ground.
And I find that sheer joy I can’t deny
Myself to feel through my mind’s eye.
And I can hear the wind howling through the trees,
Taking with it the seeds and the leaves,
It ruffles the feathers of the birds flying high,
The feel of freedom none other can satisfy.
A dazzle of colour, gray, green and blue,
Circling and singing a melodious hue.
And such are the birds that sail the air free,
That in my mind’s eye I vividly see…
And far off, I hear the fain song of a bird,
Ecstatic that the sun is now peeping at the world.
The first rays pierce through the darkness to reach the earth,
Lighting up a vibrant world, increasing its worth.
I can hear the pigeons cooing and the monkeys chattering,
Each one expectant and eager for a new beginning.
And a benevolent sun does smile down upon us,
Through my mind’s eye I can see him relish the early morning rush.
And through my mind’s eye, I witness time pass by,
As the sun hides his head under the blanket of his great bed.
And like the mice who play while the cat is away,
The moon peeps over the dark forlorn cloud
And invites a din magnificent and loud,
Of hidden creatures, loyal to the dark,
But beautiful and graceful like the singing lark.
With their voice like melody, they dance and fly,
This is what I see through my mind’s eye.
Animals of prey gear up for the hunt,
They move about stealthily, nighttime has begun.
An eerie silence reigns all around,
Such peace is very difficult to be found.
And again time flies as if on wings,
And the sun rises once more to brighten up things.
It seta again making way for the night,
My mind’s eye has shown me the most wonderful sight.
Part Three of the Sixth poet honored
(Emily Dickinson) in famous poets dedication series
(3.)
From Weeping Tears, No Longer Shall Joy Find In Heart Anything
Creeping thick fog has dimmed my view of morn's resplendent lake
so dreary is life's sorrows, more than this sad soul can take
yet tomorrow promises mysteries that leap from the dark
tho' my life's worries have wrinkled my skin like Sycamore bark.
Night shall come, with its agonies crying to be unbound
as its bellowing howls screech out, horrendous gasping sounds
very soon midnight moon will swallow up my despondent soul
spitting it out as fragmented black-stained pieces of the whole!
God forbid! That from this nightmare I never dare to wake
to that of Life, dear sweet Love, I never again partake
and from morbid sunken state, my heart crumble and be no more
fallen into heaps of crushed bones, spilled blood and ghastly gore!
Woe! The epic pains such broken-heart images dare'st tonight bring
From weeping tears, no longer shall joy find in heart anything.
Robert J. Lindley, 2- 12-2019
Sonnet, ( The Sad Depths Of Sorrow's Deep Epic Pains)
dedicated to Emily Dickinson, poets dedication series..
(4.)
There's More To The Old Forest Than Its Ancient Trees
As years are peeled back, this gladden heart now truth sees
there's more to the old forest than its ancient trees
mystery in places, savagery in its nights
more than just imagination, it hides from sight!
Yet such does not negate its most beautiful gifts
its Autumn colors, songbirds notes that so uplifts
bounty of its harvests, peace it oft can instill
calm that one may find there, treasures that oft so thrill.
Tho' darkness lurks there deep and hides its evil ways
one can visit its truth, find self most any day
walk along its well worn trails and about life muse
all of its many wonders, in this dark world use!
As years are peeled back, this gladden heart now truth sees.
There's more to the old forest than its ancient trees.
Robert J. Lindley, 1- 18-2019
Sonnet, ( Amazing That This Dark World, Has Such Beauty In Its Forests)
dedicated to Emily Dickinson, in poet dedication series
Note:
(1.)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Dickinson
(2.)
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/emily-dickinson