Long Voids Poems
Long Voids Poems. Below are the most popular long Voids by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Voids poems by poem length and keyword.
The poem "VANTABLACK" exhibits a profound exploration of emotions and existential themes. As a poet, one would appreciate the nuanced use of language and the depth of introspection conveyed through the verses.
The title, "VANTABLACK," immediately draws attention to the darkest substance known, emphasizing a profound sense of darkness or void that permeates the poem. The tumultuous street and the notion in flight evoke a sense of chaos and uncertainty, setting the stage for the emotional journey that follows.
The poet skillfully employs imagery and metaphor to convey the complex emotions experienced. The notion that "hastens in haste" and then "averts its gaze" suggests a fleeting and elusive quality, mirroring the transient nature of emotions. The descent of the heart's echo into a "crimson abyss" hints at the depth of emotional turmoil, perhaps symbolizing pain or longing.
The lines "Your name, I called, yet emptiness replied" and "A bloom of yours, I drew, withering away" express a sense of loss and unfulfilled connection. The act of calling a name and drawing a bloom implies a desire for presence and beauty, but the responses are characterized by emptiness and withering, adding a layer of melancholy.
The exploration of choices in the lines "Life's lines extend before me, To choose, where your love resides" delves into the existential theme of navigating through life's possibilities and seeking love. The word "resides" suggests a search for a meaningful connection within the vastness of life.
The recurring ritual mentioned in "This ritual unfolds each day" implies a cyclical nature of introspection and perhaps a daily struggle with emotions. The poet peers within, describing it as a "melancholy abode," suggesting that the internal landscape is characterized by sadness.
The concluding lines, "Where my heart, a vantablack canvas, remains," encapsulate the essence of the poem. The heart being a "vantablack canvas" signifies an emotional void, absorbing and reflecting no light, emphasizing the depth of emotional darkness or emptiness.
As a poet, one might commend the poet for the rich tapestry of emotions woven through carefully chosen words and metaphors. The poem invites readers to contemplate the complexities of human emotions, the ephemeral nature of connections, and the existential quest for meaning in the face of emotional voids.
Once we were the greatest of friends
We enjoyed each other’s company
We could talk to each other for hours
We talked about anything and everything
Nothing was off limits or sacred between us
I used to love to make you laugh and smile
I never thought you did enough of either
You once said that we had a special connection
I thought nothing could ever come between us
I thought you would always be a part of my life
I thought we would be friends until the end
I cared for you to the very depths of my soul
I came to love you for unique reasons
Your difficult life made me crazy with worry
Your silence only served to make that worse
I would wonder if you were hurt or dead
I foolishly tried to be your everything
knowing full well that was impossible
but that did not keep me from trying
because you were always worth it to me
Once we were the greatest of friends
You once said you had a big heart
but there was no room in it for me
You must hate me to your very core
You knew nothing would hurt me more
than to leave me writhing in confusion
behind your unrelenting wall of silence
forever to wonder if you are dead or alive
silently praying that your life got less scary
because I will never stop caring about you
I refuse to give up on you like others have
You and others may think me a fool
but realize that I do not have it in me
to do to you what you are doing to me
I truly hope you are in a better place now
and nothing but good ever comes to you
I hope you find everything you seek in life
Maybe someday before I take my final journey
you will realize the kind of friend you had in me
Hopefully someday you will find a way to forgive me
for being crazy enough about you to foolishly believe
that I could fill all the voids and vacuums in your life
that others deliberately caused or callously left behind
Perhaps someday you will finally come to understand
that I did this because I believed you were far better
than the sum of all your mistakes and bad judgments.
When I looked at you I never saw just another woman
who had simply been ravaged by life and left broken
I saw what I believed was a “Masterpiece Undefined”
Alas maybe I am nothing more than a crazy blind dreamer
stumbling through life seeing only the very best in people
daring to believe that I can make them see what I see.
Loneliness of Gray
by Odin Roark
Could It Be…
The mirror by which we see ourselves
This captive freedom of art in all of us
This necessity to communicate
Desire to become
Is but destiny’s
Loneliness of Gray
For if
As in physics
The typical complementary colors
Blue and yellow
Red and green
Passion's mainstay
When mixed
Yield gray
Then why
When one’s being
Claims gray
Must disappointment ensue
When there is such empirical truth at hand
When there is no opposite for gray
As it is its own opposite
It’s own quintessential purity
Of emotion’s blend
why
Yes
Some would say
The artist’s mind lives unique perceptions
Available to all
Yet determined by most
As out of reach
Few
Accept this fourth dimension
Others reject
Where hands and feet
Colors and viewpoint
Change about
Inviting the dual organs
Nostrils
Ears
Eyes
To express like colors
Embracing opposites
Allowing vocal cords of multiple mode
To render art’s communication
Imagination’s reverse tongue
Creativity’s spoken proclivity
To forever accept extremities of the mind
As wonderment
As living
Ever notice
How simple the artists’ walk
It appears to be on whatever surface
Imagination might volunteer
Be it floor
Path
Greensward
Or bomb-rutted road
Where surfaces creatively experienced
Reveal a virtually abstract pressure-balancing of gravity
Requiring little of tactile distinctiveness
But merely an accommodation
Today’s levitational force
Accomplishing needed transfers of altitude
Where the climbing of stairs
But a walk up from lower levels of existence
To higher realms of selection
To the Artist
Passage from one scene to another
Needn’t be a factor
Rather trust in gliding
Where shadow and blurred focus
Claim one’s mingled curiosity
Into a chosen whole
Where much of vision
Voids transient objects
Ambiguous appearances like
Furniture
Or details of vegetation
Seeking instead
A diffuse lighting of every scene
Rendering the scheme of reversed colors and texture
Bright red grass
Yellow sky
A conundrum of black and gray cloud-forms
Down to the white tree-trunks
Green brick walls
Embracing
A Lovingly
Angelical grotesquerie
Such reveals one’s essence
One’s creation
One’s smile at chance
Depending on how
The mirror might be hanging
From birth to death, each of us walks alone,
in as a narrative we wish to feel,
thus as we embrace, release and atone,
we rely on God’s love and light to heal.
In a subject-object relationship,
we believe ourself to be feeble form
and engaged in games of one-upmanship,
earth life for most part, is a turbid storm.
We know not who we are and yet live on,
in pursuit of ephemeral desires
and so it continues, both praise and scorn,
until the day our exhausted heart tires.
Shifting horizons now hold no appeal,
somewhat diminished is our zest and zeal.
Somewhat diminished is our zest and zeal,
discovering our efforts were in vain,
upon which in altar of God we kneel,
praying love and light glows in heart again.
Recognising that we script not our fate,
shifting into silence, we become still,
making our heart once more, childlike and chaste,
that by grace divine, voids within may fill.
Having thus relinquished our thought flow crutch,
we surrender, melding head with our heart,
ingraining direct wisdom by soul’s touch,
mindfully choosing to add love to cart.
Emptiness then, is the way to begin;
cave of heart’s open, so we go therein.
Cave of heart’s open, so we go therein,
remaining aware with nary a care,
whereupon we feel magnetism plug-in,
cajoling our polarities to pair.
As a receptor, there’s nothing we do,
for to be truthful, there is no road map
and each nuance felt is pristine and new,
drawing us to God by closing the gap.
We shout from the rooftops but no one hears,
unable to comprehend the bliss flame,
held in benign currents, God Himself steers,
revealing deep wisdom that has no name.
In a realm dual, in bondage to mind,
we know not the truth, because we are blind.
We know not the truth, because we are blind
but now having seen, with our inner eye,
we cognise God is wise, loving and kind,
known if we agree to let ego die.
We cling to identity, which is not,
in as it is merely a thought construct
but on shifting to heart, as we all ought,
our false self dies, we see it self-destruct.
It is clear that although monks wish to share,
the wisdom sublime, they have so imbibed,
those who refuse to see, just cannot pair,
enslave by ego, which has always lied.
Harvest of grace is reaped, as of seeds sown;
from birth to death, each of us walks alone.
VOICES”
There are voices crying out loud screaming for help in the wilderness
In need of spiritual healing Im uncertain if anyone else even notice or are they hearing them
They are lost and broken draped in total despair
Thirsty spiritually starving in famine visually impaired
Chewed up and swallowed by the noxious cracks of the asphalt
After relentlessly roaming the undefeated streets
Blind tunnel vision in survival mode they could never compete
Devoured by the trauma in life they simmered in their bottomless pits of defeat
Mis-led by lack
Neglected in lax they would impulsively react
Wearing careless unnecessary consequences across their backs
Immune to daily afflictions
Their paradise was the hood that they live in
Tragedy, Poverty, Hustling, Guns, Death
Fatherless figures oppressed
Driven by currency as the enemy put them to its test
In their minds streetlife is the only life I know mentality dressed
Our young minorities are now the soldiers on the front lines making ruckus
Enticingly introduced to straps they’re lost their focus
Juvenile bred hitman so the stiff felonies wont stand a chance
How can we reach and assist them to cope with their voids
Without any possibilities of hope how could we approach
The lost and broken toys
Thats in the wilderness making all that noise
How can we manage their self-sabotaging outlets of addictions
Whats healing and fixing
The abusing distributing or using
Premeditated death dates
Suicidal temptations another form of escape
The mind is a battlefield and its hard to find peace in the midst of confusion when life on life terms get real
So their reality is only an illusion in the midst of their confusion
I hear voices crying out loud in the wilderness
And I pray that someone reach them in enough time to heal them
Before this lurking evil kill or steal them
Lets be the beacon that guides them toward the light
Exposing them to a more significant purpose
Oppose to living life so reckless and worthless
Expressing to them that all things are possible with a reach
You can find your significance by defying the odds if you just stop and listen to the words that the redeemer speaks
A change will come
Even with gradual progression we all will eventually overcome and make it to our real paradise up in heaven
Voices
She sits beside the fire
As failing embers dim.
Lost smoke trails up the chimney . .
Like dreams she’d shared with him.
She sits and grieves for children
That never will be born.
Because his life was briefly lived,
There’s darkness in each dawn.
She thinks of how he looked that day
When last they had embraced . .
Young and handsome, unafraid,
Of perils he would face.
While she must stand there brave and strong-
To meet each day with hope.
She kept her outlook bright and clear,
She’d done her best to cope.
He’d left her for a war, you see . .
So proud and full of fire.
His country and his flag came first,
“Stay free” his great desire.
For on the day the towers fell,
He vowed to God above . .
To do his best to keep 'Her' safe,
This country that he loved.
Then in the fiery sun of May,
In a land beyond this shore . .
He laid him down and shed his blood;
She'd see his face no more.
Now time has passed since learning
Of the sorrow she must bare.
Grief still raw as at the first . .
No lessening of despair.
Her anger now replaced by voids
Of empty time and thought.
A life now full of nothingness;
Is what his death has wrought.
Summer’s past and then the fall,
Now winter cold and sad.
She sits beside the fire
And remembers all they had.
She can’t remember springtime
And renewal of her life.
Surely this must come one day
With the lessening of her strife.
She can’t remember laughter
Or smiling from her heart.
But God will refund gifts like this;
In time He’ll do His part.
It’s then she'll come to realize
That her love is safe and well.
He’s in a place far better
Than the land in which he fell.
Then she will grow to honor
The love that sent him there.
That day she’ll fall on bended knee
And speak to God in prayer.
Then life will once again become
A wonder to be lived . .
Touched by wisps of sadness
When remembering his gift.
Love and children will be hers,
Then joy and laughter too.
She will know that he looks down
And smiles upon his view.
For he is always with her
Even though he’s not in sight.
He’s in the heartbeat of our land,
He’s in our country’s might.
He’s in the vastness of the plains,
In mountains capped with snow.
He’s everywhere that freedom rings;
He’s where 'The Brave Ones' go.
*Image of Child Sad Suffering provided by Pixabay.
Not Of This Earth
Poetic Form: Narrative
Asymmetric mistrals warp speckled vaporous pallidness toward rhythmless voids. Obviates an evacuating azure as a midday star pivots to a twilight qualm. Numinous absent souls of supine prying pupils, yon ethers sinister obscurities, caught in stained oblique ocular whites. Drunken sanguineous veins to gluttony as impish tinkers sporadic doubts riveting telltale images. Metallic aerials ousted the clouds to unperceived iniquity.
Exhausting times since the alien armada infested Earth in a furrow of carnage. Abominable hordes disembarked, eviscerated whole metropolises. Hideous beings, an abysmal sight, smothered the remote vestiges of our civilized world. Cities ere their decimation had numbers reduced in fleeing desperation. The annihilation of life on Earth engrossed thoughts upon the scraps of humanity left. Ravenous creatures generating utter rampage to and abroad, slighting none to decay. Be they mortals or breathing existences of our lesser kingdom, perished in the bloodletting. Some kept as breeders for the succession of consuming time.
A cohort strung of plain folks, thrust as one in a nameless realm, sought ephemeral refuge in a subterranean hollow expanse. Bestill for the scarcity of fragile credence as the intrepid one, espy a grotesque glistening of crimson blood, secreting from the sheathed hoariness of fangs. Sentient rouses heedful footfalls per monstrosity exposed jawbone, that swapped shrill for snorts, neath laden eyes that had shrewdly scowling luminous orbs. Creepy anvils pierced hairline, afeared incus, sensitively measures close octaves, spurs the labyrinth's nerves. Alas, its vulgar pelt of bulky fur stretch hither and fro, bars clamors reach.
Cavernous chambered partitions mimic as trepidation ebbs nevertheless. Unceasing progress to that bemused destiny, as anonymous atrocities, plague each within their shells, e'er crucifying the last semblance of their true selves. Ardent impulses seeping via their lithe ruby channels, crossing neath the bits of their betraying skins, as they escape the nebulous sepulchral. Beasts at 6 o'clock, tho' what unknown lurks yon pits facade, save a future yet to be titled.
2021 May 12
“When centred presence, by employing free will, grants love consent
Resolutions we make, as prayers to the universe, reflect pure intent”
~ Quote by poet
_______________________________________________________
Being not a doer but a mere resonator, may this mind-body vessel be blessed by cognition spherical, suffused with blissful rapture, enhancing soul stature, nearer to the domain of God’s healing omnipresent light, pulsating within feeble form, through each day and night, with the voids propelling both polarities of sentience, illumined by God’s radiance and reflected by us in playful childlike innocence
We do nothing yet all the doings are done, thus may we in time stretched stillness, be with the That oneness one, moment by moment, all moments entwined, playing out our earth life role with zest and zeal as assigned, with nary a care, always self-aware, as a humble divine conduit, unwaveringly resolute, with each point of life’s Ferris wheel having equal appeal
Boundaries blur as in-form nodes stir and as of God’s will, all voids within fill and yet there remains ego residue, whose feral cravings from time to time renew, which our burning yearning, for with God’s light melding, spawns a seeking that ceasing to weigh and size, we completely vaporise, to the music of the spheres jive, here and now, vibrantly aglow and alive
Whilst all analysis is paralysis and musings of lower mind by divine assistance we leave behind, imbibing direct knowing by touch, by simply resonating with universal mind, free from ego bind, may the wisdom of the seers be ingrained and assimilated without fears, recognising by direct sight, the noumena birthing phenomena, in incessant motion, in a continuum of time and space dissolved meditation
Each soul journey unique and whilst God’s love employs no force, our heart as yet seeks that free will be illumined to always embark upon the right course, obviating need for repentance and remorse, as layer by layer, truth we discover, with the false falling away, upon which standing erect, we cease to sway, from vagaries of life immune, in joy singing and dancing to the divine sublime love tune
08-December-2021
FIVE NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
I feel a choir of raw throats shouting hoarse warnings and then quieting,
Leaving a nervous stillness trembling on the lips of the morning,
Or riding the scrolling text at the bottom of the TV screen.
Something is wrong.
There is a restlessness seeping like mist from the lesions
Of the carnage yet to come, a slow decay,
As if all of life waits with bated breath for the moment
When the finger tightens on the trigger of imminent chaos.
And yet, good people go about their lives,
Whispering prayers in quiet corners, helpless,
Angry, or for some, a numb indifference,
Yet somewhere, hidden in the voids behind their minds,
A shadow stirs from its sleep,
Preparing to rise from the bed of silence. Elsewhere,
Across a nation, more and more cries remain trapped
In the throats of the fallen.
Something is wrong.
I feel the weight of the veil of a starless night,
A veil cast over thoughts, a curtain of anxiety,
And in my mind, a melancholic song drenched in shared human fear.
A faint light slips through the cracks of a broken soul,
Casting shadows in the mental alleys, an eternal dance of hope and fear.
Looking around, I see eyes laden with endless questions,
Reflecting the past and the unknown future, a kaleidoscope of doubts
Interwoven with every silent step, every blink of frozen life.
This persistent unease, an invisible specter,
Haunts my consciousness, a reminder of what might be.
A silent call, where the heart dances in agony,
An elusive respite in the tumult of thoughts.
I wonder if this feeling, this sense that something is wrong,
Could be the silent cry of a profound reality,
Whispering to me from the shadows of existence.
In the flow of my consciousness, I wander endlessly,
Searching metaphors and magical visions,
Hoping to find an answer in the labyrinth of the soul,
For I am bound to this song of unease, waiting for dawn to bring clarity
And to heal this crack in the fabric of life, a sign that perhaps, one day, all will be well.
In the mystical twilight of my thoughts, shadows and light
Weave a ballet of ethereal whispers, each movement a living metaphor,
As dreams and fears converge in the silent depths of being,
Revealing secrets hidden in the vestiges of night, awaiting the promise of dawn.
Before that day splashed everything with light
I played in solitude with cuddly clouds
And watched them form changing figures, blight
The sky or bring the sobbing sludge of rain,
Or etch your portrait
where the spindly sparrow fly
looping your beauty with the breathless sun
We watched them
fall like shattered diamonds
once from a window battered
with fragile
dreams
of tomorrow
And you said they were our prancing children in the water
Little Shangos you called them, and we kissed
In passion, filling love with lissom lilacs of laughter
For life was an eternal summer then
Winter was barred from where it had never been
Barren landscape scarred by the lecher, not the sun
Shrivelling petals and prayers, lynching the hearts like trees
Barren
and scraggy
shredding the eye
Brambled
fingers clutching sky
Tolling voids of air like a crucifix
Self important because of the importunate
Castling citadels of calamity against the hearts fear
The wind exploits the calamity of leaves
Only a shell of sultry shadows was left
And I bereft
Tented my exultation
To wait your coming again
And the annihilation of pain.
Clouds are drifters of the sky, I am enfolded in cerulean blue
Dark indigo of heart on the promenade
Children feet splashing the frazzled dry of sand
I shriek like a gull slant against the wind
Where the splashed sand grits the eye
Summer seas are all of winter's tears rinsed in light
Itinerant birds frolic here: innocence excited emits delight,
For lovers are children
Too trusting uncarefully
Undermarcated wrong or right
As summer splash them like sprays
Glinting the eye Where the starving eagle plays'
I slant away to reminisce alone.