Long Unloved Poems
Long Unloved Poems. Below are the most popular long Unloved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unloved poems by poem length and keyword.
If I could make you see that I am finally ready to love I would.
What you perceived as hate was me protecting my shattered heart.
If I could take back all the times I hurt you and made you feel unloved
I would.
It was not that I didn't want to love you, I didn't know how to love.
If I could I perform surgery on your broken heart, I would give you a
brand new heart.
All the times that I said I loved you , I desperately wanted it to be true.
If I could I make you see that person I am today loves only you, I would.
Inspired by The Response to “If” Contest
Sponsor:Silent One
Life alone unloved is a life unlived.
Do we dare let the truth go unbelieved,
The truth that Love is the only real guide,
Leaves the choice; to keep running or to hide.
To run and shadow your own existence
Is to turn guard dogs on your sentience.
To pretend that this happiness will last,
We only need the wind behind the mast.
To deny the storm in its wild dance.
Or hide in the dark cave of avoidance.
To find respite from the burning daylight.
That will not be allowed, that is not right.
The right path will force you to be brave.
You will be dragged out of that lonely cave.
To be trampled by wild horses of grief.
The jealous men act on their own belief,
But come to mar your sensitivity.
And hang you for your inactivity.
You cannot shelter from this daily chore.
To embrace the pain is the only law.
Accept the world with a fragile embrace.
Its how the sullen moon sees this dark place.
From a distance through eternal darkness.
Swirling around unwilling to caress.
Those who entertain Love, choose a quarrel,
Two great hammers pounding on raw metal,
That forge and shape an invisible chain.
That will hold you in this dungeon of pain.
But those who deny love disallow bliss.
Left the doubt of an unrequited kiss.
Be yourself
She paints a picture of the real me.
I know in my heart that she truly believes.
She tells me stories that I always forget,
But neither of us mind that fact,
Because it means she gets to tell them all over again, I guess.
She tells my story to those who care.
She sings my praises, even when I am not there.
I would tell her story, but it is not mine to speak, or write.
She has always been there for me, so I will respect her copyright.
She is not a writer, nor does she have a poet mind.
She works to pay the bills and she leads a completely different life.
She held my hand and I felt safe,
As we walked on stepping stones over the stream;
She still watches over me, always, as I dash her hopeful dreams.
They all went up in smoke;
But I’m no gambler or criminal.
I’m just a humane being and my glass is never half full,
So I can only ever let you down;
I try to be a star, but I am still underground.
I have lived my story; it is mine to tell,
But I have no need to explain why I never seem to help myself;
Because she truly knows me and still she keeps the faith.
I hope and believe that she knows one day,
I’m going to change my ways.
This is my story; this is the tale I tell.
I have no diary musings, except the poetry; oh well.
With understanding, you will see my soul
And when I leave you all behind without me,
I hope that you know that I could only ever ‘Be yourself.’
If I write things that make you think,
I hope you know your love has only ever helped me to be.
She is at the window, the kitchen sink.
She can see me walking towards her house
And she can’t help but be welcoming.
That’s what I love about her;
For all she does,
Because without her I could never believe one day I will find true love.
She said be faithful and love will come.
I’m getting older now and I am still here unloved,
But I will promise, to maybe, one day,
Show her the love which I have found;
The love that takes my pain away.
Your understanding; it is your own,
But this is my story and its meaning has no need to be told.
I hope you forgive me, but this is mine.
I would give it all away,
But then how would I justify?
You see this is worthless, but priceless to me,
Because when I find myself in love one day,
I will, at last, find…my…peace…
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Mistakes were made in the past
High on delirious hurt
Young and wild, hiding our bruises
We let our desires take us places.
On streets unlit, we paced
Followed curves that weren't right
Chased zest to escape words of fate
Built castles in the wrong times
And watched them decrepit.
We forlorned for long in alignment
Before finding escape in cross-trails
Desires come and go but love stays
We escaped to where love showed the way.
Our pasts are intricately woven mess
We carry the threads even today,
Unloved and untamed we spent
The majority of our days.
But now that we are here
In momentary confessions,
We let go of our weights
Guilt can't tame us; love prevails
Let love free us from the noose
And set the ties loose,
Stitch the scars in our hearts
Give life a novel chance.
22nd March 2023
Should i return to places I once knew
the landscape changed, the sky a different hue?
Should i return to people I have loved
the ones who see me now as one unloved?
Should I return and pick the thread once more
to try to weave the rhymes of times before?
Should i return when pain is all I feel
for friendships strong are fading and unreal?
Should i return, investing love and time
and try to resurrect poetic prime?
Should I return and share again my heart
and hope the feelings bridge the times apart?
You know the answer, speak it clear to me
Your "Yes" will bring the bloom to poetry!
Eileen Manassian
From his bottle, Grandpa took a sip.
I gazed sleepily at his bottle ship.
Grandpa said that life could be so cruel.
Grandma said, your grandpa is a fool.
Grandpa ran his mouth from his chair and
Grandma said he always runs a fool's errand.
Grandpa said he sought the Holy Grail,
but he came up empty without fail.
Grandpa's poured out tales, an ocean deep.
The bottle ship, soon gone, and I, asleep.
Soon, I was a fisherman in a dream,
fishing for happiness in a saltwater bream,
The bream said, "I'll give you a little tip -
happiness, through your hands, will always slip".
I tried to catch freedom in a sailing fish,
but he flew away, along with that futile wish.
So, I tried to catch tuna, the fish of truth,
and came up with just a fallacy of youth.
Next, I looked for beauty in the marlin,
but she put me down, "Take a hike, darlin".
The fish of justice, my next angling goal,
took money while reading from a scroll.
Ah, so money must be the fish to grab -
but, sick and unloved, I picked up the tab.
Every fish and thing I strived for was a joke,
and one by one they all went up in smoke.
All the fish in my dream were just a school
to teach that searching is the errand of a fool.
When I awoke, Grandpa, too, was snoring,
Grandma said, "to himself, he's even boring".
I decided then, I would make my life at sea -
to catch anything, there'd be no guarantee.
I don't know anything worth anything anyway,
except the ocean's sand and salty spray.
For a long time
Maybe for years
Or maybe decades.
She thought she had lived.
For a dime.
Maybe less.
Or maybe none.
She thought she had worked.
For a minute.
Maybe for days.
Or maybe weeks.
She thought she had laughed.
And finally for a while.
Maybe for years.
Or maybe every day.
She thought she had loved.
At 75, she wobbled
She reminisced.
She realised.
She wept bitterly, she hadn’t.
She had watched.
The doors close, did nothing
She could have picked a lock.
Turned around looked for another.
She had toiled.
Been abused, did nothing.
She could have quit.
Turned around and done her own.
She had laughed.
At herself, she was told so.
She could have stayed grounded.
Turned around and took control.
She had loved.
Loved an alcoholic an abuser.
Bared unloved children, she could have left.
Turned around and loved herself.
She had.
Lived for other people.
Yes, she had.
© Herzel Poshiwa
S l e e p feels like a pathological lie ~
deranged dialect
spoken from the tongue of traitors,
and I listen to the heinous haze
of the insomniac breeze
moving to the splitting silver
of Judas’s coins,
a reflection of an estranged estuary
with no island left to revisit...
For I’ve seen it ~
all alone,
tasted the tormented
tones of tornadoes,
their truth tender,
warmer than the vicious voice in my head,
gaslighting my mind,
betraying my faith
clouding my soul’s compass
to believe in the
phantom fallacies painted
and pigmented
from my own poisoned perspectives,
the forest serpents of fears
sojourning in the skin,
hiding the terror
left in the arteries of abandonment.
But what would the
cynical mirror of existence reveal
when everything I have learned
was written from the crippled ink
of a burdened storm,
carrying chaos amidst calmness,
unable to grasp grey,
as hope feels like the
devil in a dress,
drenched in deception.
And I hurt
like an infant left unloved,
oblivious to the eagle anthems,
threatened by aerial oaths,
as I am the architect of darkness,
not a victim,
but the turmoil to the
Sun and the Moon,
living in the macabre
valleys thriving in shame,
as my inner child still dreams
in cursed colors of crestfallen angels.
The toxic tune in my head,
the venom within my veins,
the cataclysmic carnelian
beneath my feet ~
O beloved bloom unblemished,
remove yourself
from this collapsing castle
of cruelty numbed,
where dahlias grow from doom
and skeletons wear my name.
I am trauma
a walking juxtaposition
suffocating your silence,
aching for assurance,
ricocheting like rust
of infernal flames ~
so wipe the traces hanging
on the smoke-kissed
screens of stillness,
burn the addictive
madness of my name...
Let these ashes be,
as nocturnal stars
watch me turn into
a sonnet, unrhymed
and
u n f
i n
i s
h e d …
He cleaned his gun
Polishing the anger with disdain
Caring nothing for the life
Taken and the one that remains
...unforgiven
She cries for her loss
Always dragging her cross
All over town
The town joke
Among the country folk
Still in her wedding gown
...unloved
They shout profanity
At the right to choose
But even after victory
They lose
...hearing
We rail at authority
Engaging the majority
To join the fight
Seeing what we see
In the center of you and me
With no light
...and no sight
Blind, deaf, and rejected
More than ready to accept HEAVEN
Deserving our RIGHTeousness
Though it be riddled with leaven
...for the puff
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-26-2023
Oh, why must you of love be so afraid?
To hide behind the wall of broken dream
For once your love was callously betrayed
And now you will not bathe in passion’s stream
I wait for time with truth to curse that lie
That faithfulness illusive must remain
You think, unloved, that LOVE to you must die
And so you close your heart and nurse the pain
Lie silent, love, and let me soothe your soul
You’re battle weary, made to feel like steel
Succumb to me and give to me control
My soothing touch is able hurt to heal
Unchanging is my love, a fervent fire
Condition it knows not, nor treachery
To bless you with contentment, its desire
If you but test, you’ll know its constancy
My love for you lies dormant for a time
I wait awakening of you to me
I fear you will not feel its heat: a crime
There is so much my love was meant to be
My love for you is pillow for your head
My love for you is food for famished frame
My love for you is peace on restful bed
My love for you is lust devoid of shame
Give in to me; give in to this my plea
Let down your guard and let me taste of you
My lips have longed to kiss what eyes can see
This love that fills my heart is love that’s true
Eileen Manassian