Long Unwept Poems
Long Unwept Poems. Below are the most popular long Unwept by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unwept poems by poem length and keyword.
I n v i s i b l e threads,
a mystical m i r a g e,
binding the silhouette of the sky
to the
skin of cinnamon sequels
in the deep blue chakra
that sees beyond
illusive clouds,
carrying rainbow roses
and thornless buds
quenched with jasmine rain.
Yet I remain engrossed
in the rising haze from cornea rivers,
facing the sun
amidst silenced stones,
counting unwept
diamonds that ebb and flow
through the pool of peace lilies,
and violet vapors,
veiled in violin breeze,
ricocheting like
the h e a t
of throbbing heartbeats…
Remember,
I taste the sundrops
you feel in solitude,
I’ve been listening to
your e y e s ~
stories spun from luminous lies,
pain streaming behind saffron smiles,
unrolling polaroids of angst
through the lens of life,
while the
gossamer gold of gloaming
mirrors the poem
between your sore sighs,
like dilating daisies
in the heart of the midnight iris…
And through your pupils,
I’ve found the reason
to rhyme~
bleeding pleas of love
with whimsical words,
dusted with periwinkle,
glazed with crystals,
amidst the gusts of grief
cloaking your conscience,
when wintry woes
suffocate your cashmere spirit.
But I still
am an origami enigma,
sleepwalking in silence,
aching to reach the chandelier cinders
flickering above~
pillows of patience…
This I write not to the
crestfallen Luna,
but to the galaxies
twirling as moon-tulips
above lashes dusted with liquid lilac,
as I am a misplaced metaphor,
etched with empathy,
kohl tears on petals,
pricking fragile fingers,
like thistles of time…
I feel beyond what I breathe
and I see hidden hues,
for in my eyes~
there is no need for poetic phrases
when soul is tied to
the strings of immortal blossoms
in your garden of pristine petunias
l a c e d with
unbreakable vows…
What am I if not an abandoned house, a cathedral of forgotten and old dreams,
Watching others glow with life, like stars caught in crystal jars,
Painted in joy, while I unravel in the silence of dusty time,
The floors creak under the steps of memories, shadows dancing on the carpet of nostalgia.
They say I am empty, but I am full, like a sky heavy with unwept storms,
Full of traces and voices that once promised to stay, echoes trapped between walls,
Of laughter seeping through the cracked ceiling, rain whispering old stories at dusk,
Each drop measuring the time passed, invisible angels singing in chorus.
My windows gaze at a world moving on, a river without end,
The walls remember hands that once made me feel whole,
Now, ivy creeps where warmth once lived, dreams seeking shelter,
Time’s shadows weave webs over dark corners, silence is my cloak.
And yet, I remain, a relic of what was, a story on the parchment of forgetting,
A monument of the past, home to ghosts that still refuse to leave,
Their shadows dancing in the moonlight, spirits singing a lullaby,
I am not lifeless, just tired of being left behind and alone.
Even the forgotten were once loved, even the broken were once home,
An abandoned house, but not without soul, sanctuary of silence and tales,
Love does not completely vanish, it lives in the whispers of the wind through walls,
A song of longing and hope, endless and deep, light in the darkness.
Know, my love, I have created the truth in its entirety, complete,
For the days we will spend together, to live them slowly and sweet.
In the chaos where I find no mistakes, only a playful jest,
An earthly world in disarray, with eternal luck as our guest.
The horizon now gathers us, embracing, all around,
Model prisoners in the striped garb of black's comforting sound.
A vast circle crowns the universe, like a flaming diadem,
Of immense fires, vaguely regal, in stars that brightly condemn.
To our dreams, fragile shards trembling in the breeze,
Desolate in detail, with a pure dust of unwept memories.
Your sparkling flowers, a common glade, an eternal fall,
Their recyclable coma, perpetual, urges peace to call.
Beyond the peaceful "I am," my soul will scream aloud,
A supreme wail flowing over your fractured hair, like longing in a cloud.
In naturally curled locks, but electro-cut, a shiver unfolds,
Toward your unyielding thought, steadfast and bold.
All the shivers, like droplets, recently chilled,
Abracadabra-like ideas barely emerging, thrillingly spilled,
Hallucinatory thoughts you'll never quite comb through, my dear,
Forever and always, with nothing to grasp, an immeasurable yearning near!
These ragged shards of breath, catching in my lungs with grasping fingers of jagged glass
Howling tormented wolves in my mind, clawing and shredding the last remnants of the last
Desperate attempts to live, temerarious in the quest to quench their thirst with blood
Monsters lurk in the shadows of my eyes, hungry for my conscious suffering
No rest, no peace, no sleep for sinners, servants to a greater ill, mindless revolutions of pain
Spinning endlessly in space, reaching for a cold and distant sun without the light of lies
A frozen, broken waste stretches in the expanse of my eyes, terror stalking ceaselessly
In every hidden juncture of the labyrinth of my mind, dark embodiments of hatred, shame, and anger
My eyelids are weighted, crusted in the sands of the blazing desert of my soul
Scraping away my retina with every blink, gasp, choke for air, smothering and breathless
Into infinity I carry loneliness, alone, unwept, unsung, swept into the vast waters of time
Drowning in the enormity of insignificance I wait, sleepless.
Out of the long exhaust of measured years,
Out of the weight no calendar can prove,
I speak in verse because plain speech is bruise
And rhythm is the way my breathing moves.
The world is loud with ordinary tongues;
My quiet truth must travel clothed in flame.
I am not broken for the words I choose,
Nor weak because my language bends like light.
If others trade in coin of common sound,
I spend my wealth in syllables of nerve.
The cost is high. The silence heavier still.
Yet this is how my battered compass points.
I am so tired—yes—bone-deep, star-deep tired,
With years that press like stones against the lungs.
My heart hangs low with unwept centuries,
With things too dense for ordinary speech.
And still I rise each dawn to shape my breath
Into a line that does not disappear.
I was not cast in molds of easy make.
My mind runs rivers others cannot ford.
But I have crossed my dark by using sound
As bridge and shelter, weapon and embrace.
What others call strange, I name survival.
What others doubt, I live as daily proof.
I do not ask to be as others are—
The asking cost me more than I could pay.
I ask instead for one unmoving truth:
That I may rest without surrendering fire.
That tired hands may still be honorable hands.
That heavy hearts are not defeated hearts.
Beyond this weight, beyond these failing years,
Somewhere the quiet gathers what we give.
And even now, though worn by storm and time,
I keep the one possession not yet bent:
I am the keeper of my inward voice.
I am the measure of my chosen words.
My body may be weary unto dust—
But still my meaning stands, and still I stand.
O’ to fade! To pass! To rest! To die!
To ponder, to listen
and not forebode -
you were as a thresher to the chaff
and the driven wind
that winnowed.
The thunderclap of Tawhiri raging
silence not a loving
fool’s complaint,
nor portend for whom the bell tolls
when the echoes
of time grow faint
My heart alas divided against itself
knows not what to say
or what to feel,
and with ponderous words recited
I return your resting
place to kneel.
Some final absolutions shared alone -
cold black rain upon
my brow and cuff.
Judge not a froward son - I am who
I am, and have
been judged enough
We are but the quick and the dead,
and just or unjust
no keeper of time.
O tell, what sin was imputed to you?
What concealed divine
law or crime?
And what burden so dark the lamps
of Heaven and Earth
burn less bright?
I ask do we in this realm find peace
or is death’s victory
our only respite?
Only in beds of posthumous sleep
will end my
unspoken confessions.
Nay, I no longer exhume the past -
it rebukes all my
searching questions.
From umbilical dawn to end of days
I failed you - I added
unto your woe.
In life and death there comes a time
when to hold on
and when to let go
May your life and times early passed
live on in the heart
that lives in me,
for in all the silent screams below
is my own howl
in my own vanity.
As I pen my verse the charcoal sky
again rumbles softly
over a distant knell.
No loss, no sorrow, no love unwept
can unring that
fearful tolling bell
Written: July 1991
A DREAMERS PLIGHT ON JUDGEMENT DAY
Give solely sovereign sway & Masterdom.
The air nimbly & sweetly recommends itself unto my gentle senses
To commend the ingredients of my poisoned chalice.
But this same thing we desire the most
That makes us say 'the one I love the most is the one I hate the most'.
The love that follows us at times is our trouble.
How tender it is to love the babe that milks me?
And make my face vizards to my heart,
Disguising what they are.
False face hide what the false heart knows.
From a dream, I hear a shout; a loud one
But hear it not, the dreamer; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell
For sleep is the cousin of death
Which keeps the face pale as lights thickens,
The crow flies away to the rooky wood.
Nights black agents rouse to their preys.
As a dreamer wakes unannounced from nightmare
And eats his meal in fear
Sleeping in the affliction of those terrible dreams
That shakes him nightly.
The torture of the mind which maketh lie
In restless ecstasy...
My virtues will plead like Angels trumpet-tongued.
Upon the sightless winds
Shall blow the realities (of life) in every eye,
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature gives way to in repose.
Innocence & pity like a naked new born baby
Striding the blast or heavens cherubim riding on an horseback
Then arose to escape the thrills of the instant
Living a coward you ones own esteem.
And I asked: is it nights predominance or days shame?
But knowing where my path leads to; I follow my journey
Even when the dark night strangles my travelling lamp.
Would nature hold God's benison from those
That would make good of bad and friends of foes?
Maybe with vivacious or flushed face, we all go to the grave
After life's fitful fever, we sleep well
And be not disturbed, nothing touches us further.
Just like a possessive man trust are their great grandmothers
He sleeps well not, because six feet of solid earth
Hath not keep her permanently underground.
She would creep out - so many Lazaruses from the grave
But after the dead which goes to peace
And at the end, hears a voice cast from pure gold, calling
Heaven or hell, the book chooses
Even he who was left unwept, untombed,
A rich sweet sight for the hungry birds beholding
Leaves for a permanent and eternal home.
Get set.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2009.
Who now can find lost love,
In a world grown cold and gray?
Hearts once tender, bruised and bare,
Turned to ash in disarray.
Eyes turned to the sky,
Seeking solace in the stars,
But the heavens hold their silence,
Bound by time's eternal scars.
Then comes night, its velvet shroud,
Draping all in quiet despair,
While ocean waves and the restless sea
Sing their lament in the salted air.
Rivers and streams wind through the land,
Whispering tales of bygone years,
But the bushes and trees stand mute,
Heavy with unwept tears.
The age of hate has scorched the earth,
A barren field where love once grew.
Yet still, the breeze stirs faint and soft,
A fragile hope, a seed anew.
Who now can find lost love?
Perhaps the sky, the sea, the earth,
Together whisper of rebirth.
Unadorned
Let me leave this temporal sky
Unadorned, unmourned, unwept;
Let no tears drip from cherished eyes,
Let no heart grieve for the bereaved;
Let no grief assail any face,
But the lovely chants of the Lord
Resound in every ear apace,
And His name be on every lip;
Let me part from this worldly place
Unadorned, in simple attires,
Decked with some flowers on the face,
Like the commonest of mortals;
Let me depart from this dull sphere
With delightful smiles on the face
With composure and with no fear
And name of the Lord in the heart;
Unadorned, let my ash be spread
At sea, between the north and east,
Where the rays of the rising sun
On the horizon makes their feast;
Unadorned, let but plain rituals
Be carried out for the bereaved,
As death is the end of one`s strife
And the beginning of new life;
Unadorned, unmourned, unwept,
Let my grave lie under the sky;
Let no dear one mourn the bereaved
As I`m soaring up very high.
Beyond the temporal body
Ever lies the eternal soul,
That saints and sages do reckon
To integrate the divine whole;
Adorned or unadorned, the soul
No pandemic can just subdue
And neither tempests, nor weapons
Can destroy or alter its hue.
Laughter will hunger for your mouth
On mornings that break ominous,
Though the cold shoulder from above
Shoves from view all that’s luminous.
When breezes wheeze, die in your hair,
Laughter will hunger for your mouth.
Rheumatic boughs point at Sol’s lair,
Where rays wait like a virgin dove.
Daydreams may furl their wings and pout,
And song wither in every throat,
Laughter will hunger for your mouth,
When twilight hoists colors afloat.
The promise by today unkept
Returns to mirthless angels rout.
Long as the last tear is unwept,
Laughter will hunger for your mouth.