Long Unuttered Poems
Long Unuttered Poems. Below are the most popular long Unuttered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unuttered poems by poem length and keyword.
You’ve lived through loss—
you’ve battled unuttered shame—
yet you hold onto Love like it is more
than a Delusion—it is Honor—precious
and rainbow-like—shimmery and
shadowy all in one.
You speak to her with Soul,
truths that seem simple—
truths that survive in warm hands,
in melodies,
in cadences,
in overtones,
in steady Voice.
You are creased at the edges
like a letter read too many times,
but your words—
your words are both
soft lanterns and sunlight—
lit from somewhere deeper than breath.
Some people are put here
to hold others when they cry,
to remind them that they are still real—
still seen, still envisioned, still worth
writhing, weaving weights of
Dream-drunk Love.
3.3.25
There is a name the dusk will keep,
A low, unuttered thing—
It stirs beneath the olive leaves
And will not rise or sing.
Rocco, they said, as if a bell
Had tolled beneath the sea,
And something cold with jeweled eyes
Turned once, and looked at me.
No wind had moved, no branch had sighed,
Yet stillness grew so deep
I felt the world draw in its breath
As though it feared to speak.
Basalisk—O shadowed word,
With fire beneath its skin,
You walk the edges of the heart
And turn all longing thin.
For beauty held too long, they say,
Will harden into stone,
And eyes that dare to love too much
May petrify their own.
So let me pass with lowered gaze
Where quiet mercies lie,
Nor meet the gleam that stills the soul
And teaches it to die.
Yet somewhere in that silent dark
A fragile sorrow wakes—
For even stone remembers once
The shape that love could take.
They’re not for you
Nor you for them
Unwritten words from unwritten pens
Like shades of white
Blanks on a page
Unwritten words in an unwritten age
They speak in volumes
Though tongues may fail
Unwritten words that tell no tale
The poem that’s never penned
The bell that’s never rung
The hero who’s unheralded, unsung
For words unwritten
Are without heed
That none the wiser will ever read –
Unuttered words
Are words unheard
By man or beast or woodland bird
They give no voice
To mice or man
To emulate, evolve, or take a stand
And with no voice
No song to sing
The robin sighs and folds its wings –
Unspoken words
Are words unknown
In aching solitude adrift, alone
Unexpressed
And lost in time
As beacons in the night that never shine
Within every individual's mind resides a poem,
casting doubt on the assertion that each person is an island.
An internal dialogue permeates,
encompassing both positive and negative elements.
As I traverse the bustling street,
I observe others who may also perceive my presence.
Nevertheless, each of them harbors a poem within their innermost thoughts.
No matter where you end up on this planet,
You will never forget where you originate from
A mango tree is thriving in Brooklyn,
Though it may seem improbable.
However, it is still a mango tree.
However, where are the fruits,
Where are those concealed poems destined?
Will they return on the same route,
Will the verbs and nouns remain silent as well
While conveying unuttered expressions?
Did the Pied Piper know he would be deceived?
Was he aware a poem would emerge from his story?
Within every individual's mind resides a poem,
Eventually, someone will understand it correctly.
My ears are sealed, forever bound by quiet/
A world of stillness, no sound can riot/
Yet my mind pulses, alive and aware/
With whispers and images you unknowingly share/
Every thought, unspoken and raw/
Every dream, every flaw/
They flow to me, a bittersweet stream/
Of joys, of sorrows, of hope, of esteem/
Your words, unuttered, cut me deep/
Your judgements linger, wounds that seep/
I yearn to mend the hate that you keep/
To wake the love in hearts asleep/
I see your regrets, the burdens you bear/
I glimpse the pain beneath the glare/
Life's weight is heavy, this much is true/
But why place that pain on me too/
For though I live in silence stark/
My soul is tender, it feels each mark/
So spare your scorn, your anger untamed/
There's kindness in you, don't leave it unnamed/
Quite far we have traversed, in pursuit of goals we chose,
Through troubles and trepidations of seasons in throes;
Sometimes reveling sunshine, sometime in glum of shadows,
Always together~ on barren terrains, or verdant meadows.
In albums of yore, we ruminate now, turning pages of life,
Banishing anguish of feelings-forlorn, fuming in strife;
Reminiscing in moments passionate, of love sublime,
Treasured in memories-beloved, accumulated over time.
Harboring wisdom, inlaid in life’s waning phase, as we age,
In realms of reflections, insights-sapient, now we engage;
Learning from knowledge gained, from choices we made,
Accepting with grace, laments of secrets, as yet unsaid.
Regrets unmitigated, voice remorse of unuttered sigh,
Seeking empathy from goodwill of repentant goodbye;
As life tallies good versus bad, that introspections confide,
Eying a tranquil state of mind, devoid of hate and pride.
It’s time to reflect, it’s time to mend, it’s time to befriend,
As journey of life, beaming content, approaches its end;
Living final days in covenants revered, humbly we penned,
Elevating self, in peace of bliss, to heavens we shall ascend.
Hurdles have been a battle of compromises,
worse than thistles growing in my grass;
they prick me when I weed them out;
and I bleed on them when I'm fraught.
Two souls crossed this long path of sultry stillness,
one gladly went away, the other sadly stayed;
restless is the one feeling wrath. The unfairness
of fate is a crucial debate hurling words of hatred.
The farther these footsteps trudge,
the longer time delays their aim;
hardening the core of rightful claim.
The unuttered rage is another unheard cry
of my wailing and it may suddenly
cease along with the essence of my existence.
Absurd the thought, the pretense of not weeping,
there's much unneeded silence in this field of weeds;
much has been endured at the bristling point of leaves-
unable to find shade under a tree, I burn painfully.
Life must return with the thrilling
sounds of robins and blue jays,
with gaudy flowers rising in the spring,
and with a happy deer that leaps.
I won't be a keeper of another failed quest;
blackened clouds of a treacherous storm
will turn bright by sunset...
to bring all things to norm.
Yes, tomorrow will open doors and dismiss
restlessness, promising days without tears;
I'll be able to live my life, without counting years,
getting rid of the thistles growing in my grass.
Lush stubby grass bends and sways
A perfect place to spend our day
Forever, it is spread, beneath our feet
Green carpet as far as the eye can see
Encompassing silence with its prickly touch
The sky so blue, with touch of gray
Appears to enjoy a game it plays
Gathering clouds that tease the sun
Who darts, and hides between each one
He sends a yellow ship that sails,
Upon a sea of flowering hills
We spread our blanket under the trees
And marvel at the fickle breeze
It takes a turn, from hot to warm
It soothes the brow, then cools us down,
We lunch with wine, French bread and cheese
Big apples, grapes, of red and green
We nap among the shady groves
Awakenend by the scent of rain
A run for cover beneath a bridge
We laugh like children, once again
And like ripples on a silent stream..
Dripping songs, and unuttered words
Sweet music is played.... new memories are heard
For Carol Brown's contest "Picnic Time"
Bitten by love bug,
my heart swells with edema
my love, like gnawing anxiety,
burdens me.
Like a knotty noose,
stifles me
Like a watch dog,
follows me
Like an inalienable shadow,
always with me!
When I turn around,
it is right behind!
It lingers in me
like a lovely metaphor,
like the intoxicating smell,
of the first summer rain.
In my world there are only two of us-
You and I
Wherever I go,
the world wears your face.
a face I have never seen,
seen only from behind.
I don’t know where you are now
in which alien shore you dwell
Yet I write this message,
in secret code
pouring out my longings,
my unuttered love,
my invisible desires,
into this scroll of paper
in cursive, indelible ink
I seal it in a bottle
with no address on
and let it drift over the currents.
It is meant for the one,
who finds it
and thinks it is for him.
He is my Valentine!
If you feel, it is not for you,
please don’t throw it as garbage.
Kindly put it back,
and let my love vessel float,
over eddies and currents
because my soul is encased within!
Just know this much:
It is for my Valentine from a lovely lass-
A blonde with golden hair!
Jan. 18.2023
Valentine Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mystic Rose Rose
your moment of concentration
has me mesmerised
I'm no longer a poet ~
just a fool with unuttered longing
this day already drew its close
but I can steady my weary gaze
settle it upon you
all but your beauty ebbs away ~
I look on with tired eyes
"lit by a match"
I'm half dreaming ~
my favoured state
and you
within arm's reach
as I drift aloft
caught between the shadows and smoke
that swirl together
one last time
Inspired by The Sulphur Match by John Singer Sargent