Long Untraceable Poems
Long Untraceable Poems. Below are the most popular long Untraceable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Untraceable poems by poem length and keyword.
Between the blades of dewy grass
Mingle the particles of fresh dust
Their colour bleached to grey.
A bird descends and pecks for food,
Finding nothing it ascends today
Climbs higher than the trees, away.
Weeks go by without a soul
Tending the ever growing grass.
I chose that tranquil spot
For them to be blended in the soil
That many years before received
The bleached grey dust of her lover.
The years will effectively combine
Them in the soils embrace and then
She will be lost, untraceable,
Indistinguishable, shall become one.
My parent's will be done.
© Allen Ansell 2025
Everything changes right before my eyes
Just leave me be for a time…go hang out with your buddies
I wish there was a prescription for my type of depression
The aching sensation churned in my stomach…
I was about to vomit…and I reminded myself that I wasn’t alone
But, God is looking after me
There’s something really wrong with me
I seemed to be in a phase of depression
Isolated in a new school I call “home”
The lights are off
And I have no vanity in my heart
I haven’t cried since a few months ago
I sometimes get so perturbed
I don’t have to feel sorry for myself
I know that God will fight my battles…
But I got to put a stop to my bad habits...
I need to stop throwing my tantrums…my childish fits
I just got to fight
Even though I have many fears that corrupt my mind
I got to keep driving that road of recovery
God, save me from my unsatisfying misery…
I promise I’ll clean up my debris…if only He could shed some glee
And allow my mind to rest on a comforting pillow
I feel so alone,
But I know my friends from school are concerned about me
God has set me free…
And apprehension zips past my mind
I’m like a blind crossing the street, not knowing where he is going
And still, I type out these words…
Soon, they’ll be meaningless
Soon, He’ll pull me out of the abyss
I prayed to Him for some guidance
I was haunted by untraceable voices in my head
And now…I’m blinded by the light and I kiss dread
I see familiar faces glance at me
I forget their names…but I wave at them
But, I won’t let my downfalls tear me down
I won’t let myself shred into useless shards
I wish I could grow wings and fly away
The day is gone; the night has captured my eyesight
I have no clue why I have the hearts for the night…
There’s absolutely no reason to feel the showers of anguish
But, I would like to request a special wish
Tell Me a Story of the Untraceable You
I’m in awe, of you, as I run my fingers down your petite body;
For within this view, I must insist honesty I love you madly;
I am embracing,;
Clutching your neck, ever so, so true;
You’re holding my face, my cheek, my ear;
Never letting go soft spoken words I hear;
Gazing downward at your pretty eyes;
It is at no speculation, no surprise;
Noses close, closing in for to touch;
Holding you I love you so, so much;
Eye to eye contact; I can smell your breath;
What’s left, I am embracing, the untraceable you;
Holding on to your warm beauty this I choose;
Caress me my darling, embrace me the untraceable you;
10/19/18
Tell Me a Story Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Brenda Chiri
A heart read and quoted by many in this lifetime
Battle scars that remain and yet shielded by a peace of mind
Walked several miles and traveled while teaching others how to embrace
Remains courageous, faithful and strong with persistence in any given case
Blindsided by those who are willing to love and cherish her to the end
Silence becomes her guard, her armor, her protector, and best friend
Tears of pain, and sorrow, all of which are from a past memory
Times shared, lost and gained, the negative days are history
Mental pictures are drawn from imaginations that lead her to an untraceable place
Recruit no one, for life has taught her that there is no room for more mistakes
A mind reader that has established herself to be two steps ahead
Portrays an interesting novel, a world kept secret unread
Admire her dearly for her patience, wisdom and knowledge untold
How does she continue to live life so freely far from her empty soul?
Pace, G
INK-U-SCRIPT
Unnameable the moment when it starts
The sun goes turns black and flowers die on the stalk
The agony in the garden of the heart
Unnatural rhythms subvert accountants’ charts
Poor nestlings feel the onslaught of the hawk
Untraceable the moment when it starts
For always seemed our love, and quiet its art
Banal the labels in a doctor’s talk
Of agony in the gardens of the heart
Speechless,cold and numb the separate parts
Each one with its indirection walks
Untraceable the moment when it starts
That one who knew our measure must depart
Wounds our sense of self now writ in chalk
Such agony in the gardens of the heart
Like a skylark trapped,untimely, caught
I the one time lover fear the night
So minute at the moment when it starts
Agony strips the garden of the heart
The Blue Sapphire Necklace
was a priceless heirloom
passed down for three
generations.
Arthur and Ella Vance
cherished the gem, keeping
it locked safety away from
sight.
Their closest friend, Julian
Croft, visited often but secretly
craved its immense wealth.
Julian sank deep into gambling
debt, desperate for a way to save
his reputation.
One stomy evening, he broke
into the Vance estate wearing
gloves and a mask.
Arthur caught him in the
study, resulting in a violent
and fatal struggle.
Ella ran to the hallway to
scream for help, but Julian
silenced her too.
He ransacked the mansion
from top to bottom, tearing
through every drawer and cabinet.
To his absolute horror, the hidden
wall safe was completely empty
and wiped clean.
Julian fled into the rainy night
empty- handed, leaving no physical
evidence behind.
The double murder shocked
the community, and the case
went cold for a year.
Julian slowly began to think
he had committed the absolute
perfect, untraceable crime.
The breakthrough came when
Julian hosted a lavish anniversary
party at his new home.
Guests admired his sudden
wealth, unaware of the darkness
funding his lifestyle.
His unsuspecting wife walked
down the grand stairs, dazzling
the crowded room.
Around her neck gleamed
the unmistakable, legendary
blue gemstone of the Vance
family.
A retired police detective
among the guests immediately
recognized the stolen heirloom.
Julian had hidden the jewelry
inside an antique grandfather
clock he stole that night.
He thought the police would
never check the hollow casing
of the wooden clock.
The necklace was finally
recovered, and Julian was
led away in handcuffs for
murder.
In the silent kingdom of lost seasons, where shadows measure the silence,
A day will dawn when you let the burdens of confession fall like leaves,
An old blanket of crushed convictions, your unwavering testimony grows weary.
You will tire with outstretched hands, carrying the proof of your existence,
You will tire of squinting your eyes towards approval-seeking skies, where clouds care not for aspirations,
You will tire of pouring from your tea, the elixir of validations, into foreign cups,
You will tire, a monk in the temple of understanding, longing for an echo that will not come.
And then, under a moon round as a reconciled zero, you will freeze with revelation,
You need not sell the price of your self, script your breath,
Your presence – a poem in itself, does not require recitation to exist.
You will let go of burdens, opinions, and unsigned words,
You will let winds whistle, cleansing the imagined realities of dust,
You will do your work, immersed in the deaf sound of your own beating heart.
You will exist, you will live, you will be on your crucible path of making a difference,
A play performed behind closed doors, for those with open eyes to see,
A sculpture in the infinity of time, where each serrated hammer leaves a star,
Only for eyes that can open the abysses and see the light from the depths.
And when this day comes, emperor over inner realms,
You will leave behind an untraceable trail of steps, felt but unseen, an impact born from silence,
It will no longer be hard, it will no longer be a struggle, just a free dance at the gates of dawn,
Where each breath is an act of art and each moment – a precious stone.
And then... then you will float, you will float like the sound of a bell on seas of mist,
And you will carve your own tone, and write your own music,
And you will row your boat in white, on the waters of a silver lake,
To shores of hearts that understand the rhythm of your steps, and hold value in tomorrow.
understand and forgive my confusion
simply put, i just want you to stay
i wish i had the perfect formula for a lotion that prevents you from being so rash
reality chaps the skin more though
i slice a vein with glas from the door that brought us here
just yesterday we were splashing in the crystalline waters of Divine Fun
it only take a slight incision of a light poke to lacerate a scar that untraceable until the sensation is felt
santa claus also comes on valentines day
comprehend and visualize my wrapped delusion
simply put, i would like a happy ending to this play
i wish i had the proper blueprints for a heartbeat anvil that will accurately crush and smash
actuality really does make a merciless wind blow
Lakes and beaches are wiped clean like a whiteboard,
each day by waves, tide, wind.
Then marks of ripples and tracks provide transient tell-tales
of what has gone on since, of what is yet to come.
What caused those ripples? Where did they come from?
What caused those tracks marking crisscross paths on the sand?
From whence did they come? To where are these interlopers going?
The agents and causes know nothing of these things.
They do not care.
They can't know they are being tracked.
They do not wipe their foot or finger prints clean.
They wander furtively wary,
scarily and carefully looking about, but unaware.
They dare not look back,
lest they be cast into salt or stone,
or sent back to hell,
for defacing such clean pristine spaces with
their street-art hieroglyph graffiti.
A hushed stillness lies over the lake at dawn
A single plop or tremble stirs a ripple the mirrored plane.
Soft as a whispered caress on a sleeping cheek,
Perhaps the kiss of wind, barely daring to touch.
Perhaps it's the kiss of fish rising to take a fly.
Perhaps an insect flitting, skittling onto the surface
Or a bird dipping to drink from beak.
The ripple propagates outwards in concentric rings,
echoing and resonating on its journey,
long after the cause has passed and gone.
Where are these ripples of unknown causes going and why,
The sources are untraceable via back-tracking,
remaining hidden and mysterious,
long since gone.
Do these ripples want to cuddle a distant shore,
to caress a foot paddling in the shallows,
to rock a boat with sleepers to sleep,
or to kiss the pebbles puckered up to kiss in rows?
Or to simply go and then fade gently and dissolve from view,
happy in their journey getting there.
In time the wind and water gathers breath,
to blur the lines, to wipe the scroll and slate clean,
To blow the sand grains around to cover the tracks.
The tide comes in, obliterating the imprints.
The wind builds waves to crush the ripples in chaos.
The defaced becomes a pure clean mirror surface unmarked again,
With no trace of regret, or memory to replay.
The defacers, shakers and movers,
long forgotten, forlorn and forgiven,
have faded away, to dreams and memories,
forgotten, hidden, wiped away, until awaken.
Ancient tongues
Make covenant
In your presence
A god of destruction
Taking life at will
Lies are his essence
Down by the barn
He slides on hay
Slithering with sweeties
He laps up his prey
Up on the throne
Where stone speaks
Laws are nailed to feet
Left, right, left, right, left
Plodding desperate ground
Dying to retreat
Sacrificial systems
Forged in empty wells
Birthing concessions
Ringing silver bells
July's Jupiter rises
Foreboding vibrates wide
All will be revealed
Slightly slipping south
Belief in the end
Fear's children are sealed
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-09-2022