Long Unraveling Poems
Long Unraveling Poems. Below are the most popular long Unraveling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unraveling poems by poem length and keyword.
If I could but feel!
I would feel the warmth
of the sun upon my old,
cold, featureless face....
If I could but touch,
I'd touch the grass I lay on
and revel in its texture like
a little happy king....
If I could but smell,
all the flowers of the world
would be mine: roses and
daisies and even orchids
would be endless delight....
If I could but hear,
then all nature would be
my own symphony--
the birds rejoicing,
the bees buzzing,
dogs barking, even
rolling thunder, all
a continuous music
to my soul....
If I could but see-- ah,
what would a stone see?
The ever breathing beauty
of a world of color and life?
Or would I see its slow and
merciless unraveling by that
other sentient being, burning
its forests and dumping what
cannot be dissolved in eons
into proud, awesome oceans?
But I would treasure my
newfound mind and seek
to thank the Being that
could make even a stone
see and feel and hear and
think and even, in time,
perhaps love....
O, how then I would pity those
born with eyes and ears yet
unable to see Life or hear God,
living their lives scurrying about
like blind, deaf and dumb rats
while the eternal Light bathes all.
[posted February, 2020]
My life is the subject I live.
Every story I make,
Every breath I take,
Every line I write.
They tell well-spun tales, sure.
But underneath, lies the unraveling of a harsh past.
Between elves gilded in gold,
hides the bleeding heart of an artist.
Every experience in my life shapes me.
From the times I remember gripping a knife, holding my sister behind my back as I defended us from my parents' arguments.
When I heard glass shatter after my dad threw it at mom.
When I sat on my once friends bedside, crying softly due to what he made me do with him.
When I was pulled aside at a party and beaten.
In Between all of Ellomin’s regal towns, all the golden fields that stretch miles out.
Lies the story of how I aimed a pistol at the back of my once friend’s head, tempted to fire.
But I didn't, because at that moment, I remembered the most evil trick he pulled.
He made me fall in love with him.
I spent years despising people for being so vile.
I became a narcissist, turned into the monster that abused me.
Taught the devil what it looks like to make a man into his servant.
I learned to make peace, but it took years of hardship.
I remember my mother crying because she didn't have money for her insurance.
I remember when my friend’s dad died.
I remember pain I shouldn't feel.
I remember my friend’s sister running away from home, trying to cheer him up then was all I could do.
I later asked that friend what he sees when he looks at me,
He said I was the soldier who got to come home.
“What war did I fight?”
I asked myself this so many times;
I think the only answer I could come up with is the ones honey-coated in my words.
“Plenty.”
Written: August 24, 2026, for: Week's Poetry Challenge: The Color Blue
Blue, a zealot turned arrogant,
fervor fading into hauteur,
devotion darkened into disdain.
sapient in its sway,
dulcet as hymns
and still a shade of seashell.
It limns the sky’s scriptorium,
A selfish scroll of sequins
Stippling clouds with crevice cracks.
A symbol for suns that sail away.
desuetude drapes the shore—
The ocean exhorts
a savage screech
a spindle scream
against scree and stone.
Blue epitomizes arrogance.
indulgent in its rejection,
a wicked shade,
funny but sad,
a spirit of saudade.
It speaks in sonic waves, furtive, fecund, effete—
a hallucinative hymn unraveling across the horizon.
flecked with fanfare froth
Blue is the ache of elsewhere,
a pertinacity of longing,
an obvious evil,
yet a harvest of comfort—
an ethereal respite,
a lullaby of light.
And silence, salient, settles—
blue bows its zealot head,
a final hush,
the sky exhales,
a lucid lull remains.
As the clock ticks on,
the soul
encounters
tiny fractures of death
hairline cracks
seemingly invisible, superficial
yet they run deep
one
more
word
one
more
look
one
more
reason
to
S h a t t e R
and
nothing
matters
anymore
Nothing.
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randomness
balisa
young heart
frog-in-throat
the thought of ... .
the snots phase again
wanting to scream
wanting that dam to break
but forcing it not too,
too much, that the belly of the dragon hurts
and the demons
become unhidden
unmasked
and no, they are not imaginary
just frozen all along
and with the heat of
emotions,
the forced melting of these glaciers
lead to the unraveling
the shifting, actually
of mindsets
and heartaches
this makes no sense
again,
I ramble
just lost
with the thought
of having lost you
all these years
1220541620 years
4132016107113
you dismantled my
wisteria-covered walls,
unraveling my defenses
like frayed silk...
my nights are now
painted with your kisses
soft as twilight spilling
across an oasis
in an Arabian desert...
I am lost in the
reminiscence of your rays~
the taste of sunbeams
sweet yet sharp citrus
tantalizing my tongue ...
the warmth lingering
long after the moonlight
on meadows that have faded...
but beneath this bliss
breathe a
lagoon of lemonade lies
where truth dissolves
in the tang of deceit
in the form of a mirage
as the veil slips
my exposed heart~
now bearing the
embroidery of your poetry
subtly sewn in
demure damask hues~
feels each word
as a poking plunge
of the needle
weaving through
the fabric of my being
binding me to
the memories we’ve created...
yet with every stitch,
I wonder if I am adorned
or undone~
whether this beautiful façade
Is a gift
or a curse,
f o r e v e r
trapped in
this poisonous paradise...
Oh Moon, high above
Long associated your
Luminance with human love; your many phases
Simply uneven reflections, heated blushes of
Of our often less than perfectly performing hearts —
From your lofty altitude, can you give a hint,
Where has my love traveled? Since I drove
Her foolishly away, my heartstrings regretfully
Unraveling —
Dear Moon, can you not flash a code for me,
Project before me a hopeful beam that I
May follow? Give this foolish, remorseful soul
Relief from his own self-imposed hollow.
Please tell her of my longing, in your many dreamy ways.
Tell of my sorrow, clearer to me my own darkness, now in
Lightness days. Tell her using your best romantic displays.
Perhaps your graceful gleams will find a fond
Opening for me, if one yet remains in her distant
Heart? You, Mother Moon, bringing strays together, investing
Love's all – to see us then so sadly, thoughtlessly apart.
Patchwork Musings
Vying for order
This square
That corner
One's center
These squared-off life experiences
Know well jockeying for position
Is fraught with chance
Disappointment
Acceptance
The waking state knows
Nothing resolves naturally
No stitch in one's original design
Arrives at needle's focus point
Matching perfectly the original intent
Red threads
Clash with its attracted yellow
Black outs white
One's colors
Opting to make permanent
That square
Or the next
Find unraveling threads
But a question of time
Permanence better hung
On the wall of one's imagination
Still
We hope
Will our dream impressions
Be nestled beneath chin
Or atop restless feet
Where nightmare's fragilities
Thrash about
Disturbing tucked images
That lovingly comfort
Dream's Neverland
So long
This task of bringing together
The peach trees of youth
Nestling next to briar bushes of adolescence
Awaiting adulthood's gnarled disappointments
One's patchwork cover
Taken every night to bed
Merely wants the blanky of security
Insuring a safe slumber
Until tomorrow
Where more patches await
In the chamber of silence where souls converge,
Masks lie in wait, the nocturnal guardians of our being.
Adorned with grimaces and velvet smiles,
They are armors against the unknown arrows of the estranged world.
Oh, how they descend like curtains over our fragility,
Sitting so carefully upon the shoulders of pleasure, the cloth of outward beauty.
We learn to parade with them, in a masquerade where every step is watched,
Where each breath, heavier than the last, is veiled by studied nonchalance.
Few are those who dare shine without the borrowed mask,
To stand bare, in the harsh light of day, unafraid of the whirl of rejection.
Even rarer is the creature that, in the human garden, stands unwavering in its truth,
Unfettered by earthly fears of 'seeming' and 'not being enough'.
The mask, once a shelter, becomes the dungeon of the spirit, still in the shadow.
A surrogate of identity, which over time melts into the skin of existence,
Making it hard to discern where the persona ends and the self begins.
You see it, hanging there, lightly, on the hook prepared by the world,
A means by which anonymity weaves its web around our essence.
It is a game of appearances, where we are all unknown thespians on a vast stage.
To traverse beyond the false face and to see the raw core of your proclaimed existence,
Is the art that binds us, without unraveling the ties that keep that sliver of secret,
A silent call to acknowledge the soul, even beneath the daily makeup.
It is not just denial, but the desire to feel understood, even behind the shadows.
Power, the world says, lies in hardening the heart, but how deceitful is this thought!
For true stature arises from embracing vulnerability, a force that lifts us from the ashes of prejudice.
You, be that gentle murmur of your truth in every counterfeit day,
Be that fragment of sync with oneself, amidst a choir of disparate voices.
Do not fear to dance, even when the dance embraces the void, authentic and raw.
In the world of men, to be seen as you are is a gift you offer,
A brave smile in the face of a world that demands you to be unyielding, impenetrable.
Love and be loved, as once said by a sage long asleep,
For in this recognition lies a whole universe of love, before it even begins to be infinite.
His green gold flecked eyes stare into mine and I am whole
My love for him etched itself perfectly into my soul
I thought I've loved before but oh i was so wrong
His hands dance upon my body like a melody, a beautiful song
His lips meet mine and we are fire
His warm skin against mine is pure desire
And together we mesh, two perfect puzzle pieces
His soft lips kiss me in all the right creases
We come up for air and stare into each others eyes
He moans at the sound of my soft muffled cries
It's pleasure, excitement, and pain all rolled up into one
And I feel as if I'm coming undone
Unraveling, opening like spring's first bloom
And he's moaning like he's unraveling too
Making love is better than emotionless intercourse
This lust and love is churning at full force
And I let myself fall deeper, sink into the motion
Our bodies in tune, sway like the ocean
I've given him all I have and even more
Pleasing him, teasing him, pleasure galore
He loves the way I caress him down there
And I see the burning desire in his pleasured stare
After we're done we fall into each other once more
Holding each other tight, it's him I completely adore
I'm reborn feeling thoroughly brand new
Before we fall into a deep slumber we both whisper, "I love you".
Written: May 06, 2025 for contest by Edward Ibeh
*************************
Like kernels, the day's enigmas start to unfold,
The green folk are still waiting, eager to corrode.
The creaks of a shaky bridge echo pain and despair,
Connecting the shining heights where flows the air.
A vibrant veil of violin weaves, with fiery flares bright,
As the bus rolls by, mourners gaze at fading light.
It appears that diligence fails to become a hero
Signs may lead us to Rome, yet destiny is Nero.
Let's begin our journey to reclaim Rome,
To restore sovereignty of our cherished homes.
Everyone rallies behind me in this quest.
Yet home builders destroyed bluebird's nest.
Gather your steeds and your weapons,
Steer clear of the roots of Agropyron repens.
We engage with the tasks at hand,
Weaponless, knock on doors, striking with firm stand.
A prosperous goal feels like a distant dream.
Greed drives man, hope and desire fuel the scheme,
Until he clings to the fragile bridge suspended high,
Stretched over an abyss where destruction lies nigh.
Rome wasn’t built by mere artistry or lore,
Nor by tales sung to Babylon’s god, Marduk of yore.
Chaldean Dynasty measured the world in degrees,
While at Napoleon’s Circle, first trapeze swayed with ease.
The icy chains bind the Scythian main,
Once inhabited by barbarians on the eastern plain.
Watch as homes with cracked walls slowly decay,
In trendy townships, where clay fills the hallways.
Silent nights scream, a pale face turned to the wall,
Men forget the pain, and that becomes their downfall.
We labor with crimson lips that pulse with each kiss,
Longing for cold, clasping arms that we sorely miss.
Mourners depart, unraveling the chain,
Sadly, the dead linger in our souls to die in vain.
For memory flickers like a flame, it rises and goes,
Sinking in human light, grief swells in woes.
Cross the Rubicon with us, liberate those in need.
Are you with us in this noble cause, fellow friends indeed?
Unless we’re overwhelmed by terror, there’s no turning back.
Join us as we march to safeguard the areas and their tracks.