Long Unwearied Poems
Long Unwearied Poems. Below are the most popular long Unwearied by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unwearied poems by poem length and keyword.
Open Secrets :
https://youtu.be/inEu2qQuGZ8
If we want a great nation, we have to change it ourselves.
To survive in peace and harmony, united and strong, we must have one people, one nation, one flag.
My message to you all is of hope, courage and confidence. Let us mobilize all our resources in a systematic and organized way and tackle the grave issues that confront us with grim determination and discipline worthy of a great nation.
A battle lost or won is easily described, understood, and appreciated, but the moral growth of a great nation requires reflection, as well as observation, to appreciate it.
A nation whose youth are endowed
with self as strong and hard as steel .
No need of piercing swords in war,
such people brave can ever feel.
The world of Pleaders and the Moon,
By natural laws is chained and bound .
whereas the world in which you dwell,
Owns insight, will and mind much sound.
what do the quivering waves imply,
save enormous zeal and zest for quest?
what lies concealed in mother shell
is a Gift of God who knows it best.
The hawk is never tired of flight,
Does not drop gasping on the ground :
If unwearied it remains one wings,
From hunters' dread is safe and sound.
I always like to look on the optimistic side of life, but I am realistic enough to know that life is a complex matter.
My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.
Life doesn’t require that we be the best, only that we try our best.
By Miss Aliza Kashmala Kiran.
In this boat that we dwell,
It can be a walk through hell,
Yesterday haunting today,
Today pervaded by sombre rays,
Tomorrow being spun by the unseen.
The world is a rocking boat,
Sometimes the night shields its coat,
Dawn chauffeurs the unknown,
We sojourn on a lane that leads to the untold,
Hope is the hand that guides us when we're lost in the fold.
Time is a precious commodity,
Nothing on the world’s threshing floor can be compared to it,
It’s an unfettered train,
Advancing in its course in the sun and the rain,
Time is an unwearied athlete.
Never forget to express gratitude,
It’s a ladder to higher grounds,
It’s a door to blooming meadows,
It barricades trailing shadows,
It advocates for us in moments of ineptitude.
Life is a masked stranger,
Today is insufficient for tomorrow,
There's always something to learn and borrow,
Life is a book,
No one has seen its end.
September 8, 2023.
Awakening Perpetually
by Odin Roark
Awakening perpetually knows well
Perfection’s tuning fork disquietude,
Its awareness that any off-key meandering
Can cloud over a caressing sunshine rising,
Sour a dawning’s gardenia fragrance.
One reaches skyward with morning’s extension,
The opening of shuddered windows,
Inviting breezes to find purpose
Among slumber’s expended air,
The body’s unwearied resilience.
About the room
Timeless ghosts bow heads and implore with stretched arms,
Aroused by their history’s carillon, matins and lauds,
Even as cobblestone passage below traffics today’s gluttonous appetite,
Fulfilling its locust-like consumption,
Unabated by cacophony’s garrulous conceit
Propelling a different consciousness
Self-destructing by tourismic mayhem.
But…
To step forward and lean on man’s balcony of hope,
Is to lift weary eyes above the clutter below
Onto rising light’s warm-colored horizon,
To give one’s tuning fork its earned reward,
The sense of harmony and melody
Being born of another day.
Such is the embrace of dawn’s meaning,
The anticipation of canvas to paint,
Verses to write,
Preludes to compose.
For lest we forget,
Awakening remains perpetual,
Whether for man, creature, seedling or flower.
It asks only to be honored.
“Aslan, why does the sun shine so bright in Narnia?” I queried.
“My friend,” the big lion told me, “it is a light that is unwearied.”
“Why must we all feel so full of this darkness, dear Aslan?”
“The dark shadows fall away once you repent to the Son.”
“Dear Aslan,” I whispered quietly, “when will I know true hope?”
“When you let go of the past – it’s pain, dread and fear, learning to let go and cope.”
“Why do I feel like I don’t have the strength to make it, Aslan?”
“Because you are weary, my friend, just believe and I’ll give you the power that won’t be outdone.”
“Aslan, dear lion,” I pled, “Will I go to heaven when I’m dead?”
“All you need to do is believe, friend, for heaven to be ahead.”
“Whatever comes in this life,” I asked him, “Can I depend on you?”
“I’ll always be there, dear child,” he said, “from end to end, all through.
I’ll never leave you nor forsake you. I am available to protect you.”
“Aslan,” I smiled, “I seemed to know you – even as a small child. Were you there even then? When I was so small I couldn’t see you were mild?”
“Yes,” he grinned, “I have always been your friend. The guide to your heart and soul. The one who helped you to know – comfort and faith, the miracle that made you whole.”
“I will always love you, Aslan,” I spoke louder, “my heart will always yearn for your home above.”
“Listen up, sweet child,” he spoke, “let your heart be your guide and always know… in life and in love, faith will make a way for your soul to know the joy of silencing the fear and listening to the One who pours out His blessings, His love on the heart who knows that this life is only a stepping stone to the real life that is yet to come. Have faith, show grace and give God your embrace!”
a conversation with a fictional character Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
(Aslan, my character, is from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis)
February 20, 2022
—Skeletons—
I found a weather-whitened bone and thought
The earth had finished with its difficult art.
Yet nothing in that chalk remembered death.
It held an order drought could not erase,
A hush no weather ever learned to break.
Thereafter skeletons appeared in all.
The river journeyed by a bed unseen.
Blind roots drank darkness, lifting it as bloom.
The hawk entrusted emptiness with flight.
Night's constellations kept their ancient joints,
Though no hand fastened heaven into place.
Then language bared its marrow.
Bone never waited for the flesh to fail.
The flesh was only bone becoming seen.
Whatever lasts is scaffolded by silence;
The hidden shape rehearses every bloom.
Words fell away like leaves from autumn speech.
Grammar remained, unwearied by the tongue.
The poem shed its music line by line,
Yet something still upheld its vanished song.
I looked again at bone.
It was not what survived.
It was what every living thing obeyed
Before the blossom trusted light,
Before the river entered its own bed,
Before the bird discovered how to fall
Without surrendering the law of flight.
Since then, when beauty startles me to stillness,
I seek no relic hidden in its light.
The blossom never carried spring.
Spring carried blossom into sight.
Every shadow keeps the shape
Its brightness cannot hold.
Bone was never what remained—
Only what life borrowed
To become visible.
When I glide into past, your imprints, I can find
You enjoy my high-fliers as if they are yours
Unwearied marathon with you for many years
And I proclaim that you are always on my mind.
Your muses add hues to my thoughts and go aligned
Keep going with the feel of your aura around
No fear of nightmare instances which pull me down
And I proclaim that you are always on my mind.
You chalk out my concerns and set them well designed
None knows the top secret that you are my first judge
You taught me how and why people crop up a grudge
And I proclaim that you are always on my mind.
Can’t imagine my journey without you, my heart!
Solicit your stay on my mind till I depart
Even upon that I cannot guest,
this world that is free and fair,
the latitude here is 45s, of course the other test,
did the law permit me to bear?,
the strikes of all hear say now,
imagine if I dreamt a nightmare,
that last September a horizon is vow.
Seems now what appears a twist,
how can it be that there is a smoke without fire?,
how can it be that criticism is just first?,
ay!, things of the earth of sere,
ay!, turn now and then and there and here,
ay! gnome so, ay! acne, ay! life of wilt,
the sky did contained stars, unwearied there.
Nigerians are happy to once more strive,
yore,now and morrow, of course, did we serve our own?,
did we tell that sunshine is love?,
alas!, when we can no more check,
these, who loss through almost due,
is it ourselves?.
O my country—
I cleave to you through cataclysm and grief,
even as avenues bleed vermilion
with the coagulated ire of the dispossessed.
The atmosphere quivers
with the dirge of the abandoned,
their supplications dissolving
into the ashen ether.
Yet, in the clandestine chamber of my chest,
a prayer still germinates—
fragile, obstinate.
Your rivers, unwearied,
intonate their primordial canticle;
your fields, still fecund,
proffer aureate abundance.
But the firmament, once lucent,
is now barbed with malevolence,
and the throats of the guileless
are muted mid-cry.
Once, benevolence flowered here,
now calcified suspicion
roots itself deep in the soil.
And yet—
if the hand sows fraternity again,
if mercy’s sap ascends,
perhaps a concord can still unfurl.
Let the splintered heart reconverge.
Let compassion accrue
like rain in a desiccated land.
Let faith, austere and indomitable,
illumine the labyrinth toward amity.
Through maelstroms I remain,
through conflagrations I endure—
for even the umbral abyss
concedes to dawn.
Your essence is unyielding,
your anima indestructible.
My country,
through the alchemy of hope
we shall resuscitate your breath.