Long Unrewarded Poems
Long Unrewarded Poems. Below are the most popular long Unrewarded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unrewarded poems by poem length and keyword.
The Judgement Day
The Shaking and quaking of earth, the splitting and blasting of heavens
The undeniable promise of the Lord shall happens
Unmounting of the mountains and outbursting of the fountains
The signs no one will question again
Impregnating the Pregnant earth and women
Happening of the irrefutable Event in Sudden
Every breathing soul and living beings as a whole
Meeting their fate , no way of escape from the Parole(One that is Promised)
Fleeing from the Brother, nursling kid and women
The man, nursing mother and the husband
Deeds or misdeeds however small it may be
will not be left unrewarded, indeed
That day the order of the Lord will prevail
Thine decisions , no one dare to rival(challenge)
The inequalities and injustice, will be equalized all
The idols of the infidelity will have a down fall
Muhammad Imtiaz
You wanted to be the savior in my story, the healer, the King.
The way I looked into you, full of mystery, but eager to fulfill the void I saw through you.
It was the dance with the unknown, intrigued
Intriguing you.. seeing thru but not understanding … not reading in between, but ignoring everything I was seeing.
Seeing the red but still laying in bed beside you
Hiding behind what I felt was love but an unhealthy connection
With unclear conversations
Unknowns, mysteries, and still misreading the voids.
Not the king.
Not the savior.
Not the healer.
To be discarded and unrewarded left with big disappointments
How can you hurt the lover - it wasn’t me.
I was just the filler. The filler to your mystery.
The filler to your void. The void of you using me to find you, the void to recreate you at the expense of me.. you, The king in my story.
Dear Romeo,
There is no time on the clock that does not hold your memory. There is always a breeze in the air that carries the essence of your presence.
The most pleasurable sight of my entire life is the lotus I have. My lord of life and love, I offer you my purest feelings, for they are the only treasure I possess—a collection of years, the purest of the pure and the sweetest of the sweet.
I have nothing but vivid images in which you looked so beautiful and soft, like a flower.
I cried hard, but love did not vanish into the sea of seven tears—neither the love from my heart nor the flame of you from my mind.
This Valentine’s Day, I am still waiting for you, this time far away in an unknown land.
My dear Romeo, a day will come when time shall turn, and I shall find you, for love never goes unrewarded.
In this city of temples, I will worship in every shrine for years, praying for our union. And I hope you will come from the city of trains.
May you glow more and more in the moonlight as you watch over my balcony.
My moon-like Romeo.
Middle aged man in Docs,
vintage leather jacket and
grey haired pubes around his cock.
Ill fitting tour shirts rekindling a hazy past.
Barrowlands, The Bunnymen. Hammersmith Odeon,The Clash.
U2 at University pre Bono crawling up his own ****.
Danced and hugged on stage with Terry Hall,
arrested for d&d outside Bradfords Great Hall,
after watching John Cooper Clarke supporting The Fall.
Life reinvigorated by the post punk explosion,
no longer searching the NME gig guide,
but a Spotify recommendation.
or an even sadder email notification.
A pre gig meal opposed to a walk home pie in a barm.
Ear buds for the tinnitus and Bisoprolol to keep calm.
Heartbreak to watch the talent unrewarded,
by a government devoid of a cultural foresight.
Stifled opportunities
through Tory Brexit lies,
Allowing the corporations of Cowles and the EMI’s to
reap million upon million,
leaving the grassroots unnurtured, venues struggling to stay open.
Our greatest export,
an industry broken.
So cold…black cold…old cold,
wind burns through the cars broken window
as it speeds down the black ribbon into the onyx night.
Tears of cold seep
from the corners of my auburn lashes.
The whoop, whoop, of passing phone poles
and the engines whirrrrr
force my lids to close lazily.
Street lights lemon blast them open
once too often and I whimper;
squirming to get at my thumb,
mittens leave me unrewarded.
So cold..my cheeks burn cold.
So cold…my nose runs clear.
Mother turns backward toward me,
purple in the dash lights flame wiping my face
with her frozen fingers;
plumping the blankets and tying my wool cap.
Father sings Sinatra songs
and clucks me under the chin at a stop.
“Baby needs a new pair of shoes!” He says.
Gambling that the flight from farmland
to M’Yorka would get all of us just that!
The prodigal son returns home.
disappointment whispering at every corner
pride is not a voice in your soul
no longer a girl
only a voice
a voice
only
no
yelling at me to "just do it"
it's not that simple
it's not that easy
it seems that
no matter
how hard
I try
it's never enough
it will never be
never enough
for anyone
no matter
I'm fine
everything is fine
but it's not
it's not
fine
its
not just ok
it's hard
every
time
it gets harder
but
you don't see
and you never will
every action seems pointless
every word well-spoken goes unheard
unrewarded
every time
the light
unseen
my voice
unheard