Long Unworthy Poems
Long Unworthy Poems. Below are the most popular long Unworthy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unworthy poems by poem length and keyword.
When I was younger, days moved softly,
an endless waltz of hours beneath the cherry blossoms
where I walked alone, convincing myself
that solitude was sweet, that love was for the others.
My footsteps in the fall, crisp and solitary,
echoed through halls of laughter I dared not enter.
So assured was I in my unworthiness,
a specter at the feast of hearts, unseen and unseeing.
Now, here, amid these whitewashed walls that hum
with whispers of who should care,
I sit in my assigned chair, watching pairs of old hands clasp,
wondering how love sounds when it calls your name.
They tell me stories of my past, lit by the flicker
of doubtful memories; they paint me loved and cherished.
I nod, wearing their fiction like a threadbare coat
in a winter that I’ve claimed too long as mine.
It’s easier to believe in this curated past,
where phantom kisses mark my cheek,
and phantoms of embraces wrap me in warmth
I never felt—each lie a balm to the soul I doubted.
Night falls heavy here, and in the quiet,
I hear the young man I once was, whispering
through the crackling static of years,
how he wished to be proved wrong, yet never dared to ask.
What ghosts will they say loved me,
when I am gone, my seat left cool and empty?
Will they speak of me as one beloved,
or will they know the truth—that I believed in neither them nor me?
Oh, to have lived differently, unafraid of my own heart,
to have walked into the noise and found my reflection
in eyes not my own, learning too late
that I was worthy, always worthy, of the love I denied myself.
In the work of the Supreme God,
The Lord calls not the slothful and indolent…
…the proud and arrogant, the selfish and covetous…
…the faithless and doubting, the uncommitted and unfaithful…
…the disobedient and stubborn…
Oh, woe unto me: disqualified am I already!
In the mission field of the Sovereign Creator,
The Master welcomes those who see themselves…
…as nothing without the Saviour’s grace…
…as undeserving because of sinfulness…
…as unworthy, yet made precious by Christ’s love…
Oh, may God have mercy on me, as I find myself undeserving!
In the ministry of the King of kings,
The Almighty blesses those whom…
…He has called by His foreknowledge…
…He has empowered with His strength
…He has equipped along His instructions…
Oh, here am I grateful to the Lord for His compassion
For His goodness that enables* me…
Yes, I praise Him Who knows me fully well.
*1Timothy 1:12 And I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who hath enabled me, for that he counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry.
July 8, 2019
When a toddler of three, he knew not the debris
his Mother bequeathed when leaving him to feel free.
Left with a Father ignorant of his son’s ache,
age three stroked silent need for parental guidance.
Toddler distress combined his child phase with frightened,
amid thoughts and feel-storms striking him unworthy.
Traumatic ignorance grew his teen years fear-trimmed
and doubt-tinged as any alliance with sadness
can contrive when answers sought are Father-strangled
and maternal love desired is Mother-trampled.
No Father’s words served him; no Mother’s arms circled him.
Years of tear formed wishes were hope blurred by forlorn.
Through the slow toddler, child and teen years, he held on
until his tears smeared the dreams years wasted to gone.
However, the world seems hell-bent! Problematic and questioning.
No one here is the true solution you are looking for. Not even the extraordinary quotes. Quotes are just facts which are sometimes applicable.
People are unworthy of trust, and
animals are unaware of humans.
Still, you are figuring out—sitting in one random room or just lazily lying down—crying over small or big aspects of life.
The time you think a bit in detail, you see light, you urge for darkness. Or vice versa.
The heaven you are searching for is the questioning about the living in hell. There and here. Nothing is yours. Not your life before birth, after death, or in between. Neither your good deeds nor your sins.
Anger is you; calmness is you. You are fear and courage. God in you and Devil in you.
Good in you and Evil in you.
I hate you, but my love is you.
Calligraphy in the Air for a Fleeting Muse
Each morning I try to capture in the net of my metaphors the dance of your steps through the corridors of memory,
But the words melt like ice butterflies in the palm of a child who wanted to keep winter forever,
While you continue to exist beyond the edges of the paper, more alive than any verse could encompass.
Your laughter is a silver seagull playing among my thoughts like among the sea waves at dusk,
And I try to catch it in the web of stanzas, but it always escapes, leaving behind only echoes and shining feathers,
Which turn into stardust when I try to stick them to the page with the tears of my helpless inspiration.
How to describe in measured syllables the way your gaze makes light stop and dance,
As if the universe itself holds its breath when your eyes reflect constellations unknown to astronauts,
And I remain here, with a worn dictionary in hand, searching for words for colors the Romanian language hasn't yet dreamed of.
You are like a living poem writing itself on the sky of my heart with letters of fire and dew,
While I, a mere scribe of the impossible, attempt to translate into black ink
The multicolored symphony of your presence that makes the air vibrate like an Aeolian harp in the hands of the wind.
Every verse I write is just a pale shadow of how you complete
The gaps in all the world's unfinished love songs,
Like a secret musical key transforming the noise of existence into the purest melody.
Perhaps your beauty is not meant to be captured in the cage of my unworthy stanzas,
But to fly free through the memories of those who have met you, like a hummingbird feeding on the wonder in their eyes,
While I remain here, between blank pages, trying to paint infinity with the finite alphabet of mortals.
He felt he owed it to the leader and fatherland the country
of ancestry and birth and joined the conquest in cold blood
convinced that a chill in his bones was better than defeat
a young universal soldier of courage and deceitful promises
Honour glory and battle screams lured him into the war
of all wars for freedom justice and a badge on his chest
With stealthy resolve and his trigger finger happy to kill
he marched crawled and cowered in bottomless trenches
fierce brave proud and ready to give his boyish conviction
cannon fodder no doubt but he never hesitated for the cause
believed to be on the right side of endless history and death
Invincible he had no conscience other than contempt for
the weak and unworthy who stood in the way of his rifle
They gave him the Iron Cross First Class for surviving
enemy fire so violent that most of his comrades vanished
with a last prayer and thoughts of their loved ones at home
Ultimately his battalion was mangled and the medal crushed
by tank chains when the rusty pin pierced deep into his thorax
Missing in action presumed killed he was reduced to a letter
widow notified that he received a distinguished service award
but the terminal token staid buried close to his shattered heart
23rd March 2021
Dear God;
Heavenly Father
Abba why? why?do you bother I feel yet so unworthy
My Christmas prayer is, allow me to be more loving more faithful grateful to be thankful
Help me to choose more be more loving, patient and caring, sharing
I'm in awe with all you do keep me and guide me revive me keep me true
I pray for humanity grant me longevity physical life, alas
Father save us
Father save me
Continually
That spiritually allow me to internally forever to be embraced by you forever always
Help us, Help me to feel better
This is my *Christmas letter
11/25/20
Christmas Poetry Contest
Free verse poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Halfway Closing a Chapter
Here's to all the beauties yet lived and had
My rain in the drought and my sun in the rain
Saying goodbye to a past so amazingly manifested,
'Goodbye to a life beautifully captured
Moments hardly erased and,
A nolstagic record of all things delight
I heard my heart break from my back being turned against.
A smile seems far distant from where these memories reside
Sadness seems to clothe itself as coat
Had I known I would've took some love to last me through these winds of June
Winds so cold my heart froze -
Where is I to shelter it when home took a turn against,
where is I to keep warm a heart that longs to live and,
where is I to capture another lifetime of love and delight when my someone unvowed herself to be mine forever?
I feel my soul cry with no purpose nor drive,
I feel myself die with no life to live.
Is a dream had unworthy of chance of possibility?
Is love had and so intensely desired not worth a chance?
My soul questions with no sign of an answer,
My heart longs with no chance of having and my mind battles with thoughts of how beautiful it could be
So why is I denied a chance to such?
Copyright © Bernice Makotanyane | Year Posted 2018
When I am one in two
I hesitate
To let my thoughts withdraw,
For in the safety of that zone
I trust my friend who hears my voice alone.
She may not finish my unsaid words,
Though sometimes she does,
She may not understand where I was going,
But she always faithfully tries.
The art of being two is a garden,
Where one hand sows, the other grows.
When birth takes place in the womb of the earth,
The hands fold together as one,
Dignified with grace,
Thankful for the blessing.
A trace of the everlasting
Seen in the unquestioned root
Of how devotion
A good life fulfills.
In my heart there is a chamber
I share with no more then one.
There is but a single key,
Whose power is to open a world
Where a dolphin lies anchored
To an unbound universe.
Who is in possession of this key,
Is responsible.
To fear, flee and drop the chance to enter
Is a choice the unworthy can make.
To jump,
To leap into that island room,
Where seas,
Stormy, serene, salty and fresh
Blind the senses and reshape thoughts,
Is to fall into an ocean where a great dolphin
Lies in shackles. Time and action
In slow motion
Must move.
The setting free of divine spirits an art
Beholden
Only to she
The right one.
She who enters this space,
Where private thoughts wordlessly are spoken,
Where flowers grow on the cusps of waves,
Where faith is more then trying,
Where roots grow from a seafloor miles below,
Where stars in the sky whisper secrets,
Laughing with affectionate wonder
At the two below
Whose only prison
Is the freedom
To say yes or no
To a risky life
Both bonded and unbounded,
Is she whose nimble fingers will by love alone,
Sink the chains and set the dolphin free.
Oh so long has he waited for she his chosen one
So long has he dreamt of the journey to come.
Upon his back she wept and held,
And into the open world they ever went
And never ceased to be.
William shows his absolute integrity and empathy when he says
“If I had anything tender in me, I shot it dead.
How can I write to you after what I’ve done?
What I’ve seen?”
Sure, he is a deserter, but there is so much more to this man.
He is not only a deserter, he is a husband and a caregiver.
He is a man who feels he has not lived up to his wife’s expectations.
He feels ruined, unworthy of her now.
This quote gave this reader hope, for I know that he cares.
He is concerned about his wife's wellbeing, about what she thinks.
He is humble, and unassuming.
It makes him more handsome and desirable.
I am cheering for him to write to his wife now.