Long Weary Poems
Long Weary Poems. Below are the most popular long Weary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Weary poems by poem length and keyword.
rhythm of tears, in dewdrops, fresh as the dawn
listening for the light, so gentle, sincere, like the hope
who abides on the night, breathing joy through the soul
who knows the forest, the oaks, the laughing hues,
beautiful truths, like music erasing the darkest grief,
silencing the fears who reach beyond the awful storms
muted gentle, freeing the winds, the rain, the thunder’s roll
singing through the heart who can hear the music of grace
praising, praising, praising with ballads of woodlands song
revealing the faith that comes alive in souls who feel Him
in the prayers who will not fade, prayers who know the way
through a puzzling maze of doubt and dread, the sinner’s past
where pain is fed with darkest sorrow, anguish that humiliates
dusty mists of disgrace, shame and indignation, skeptic’s wariness
the makings of a weary life, bred from fear, uncertainty and strife
through the moments, bound up in faith, woven together by seas
unending beauty, still streams of light, filling the spirit, filling the life
so forever, wherever she abides, knows the meaning of His sacrifice
love that consoles, comforts and calms, like a broken moment
when kindness erases the broken, the shattered, the ruined
with His light, reflected on the souls of the follower, the heart…
who knows He is the wonder who bleeds through the past,
caring for souls, for moments who decide when hope knows
the song of His life, where love will decide who abides,
by His side, forever – eternally – alive
always His child, the promise of His word,
a promise only heard by the soul who can see…
beyond the feelings, beyond the grief,
to the moment when He saved me,
He is my King and the reason I sing.
He is the love to which I cling,
He is the moment only God could bring,
the moment of grace from a forever King!
Watching the marching ants, while I wondering their monotonous strife,
A weary one left the line, away he walked to a lonesome land.
Hands on head with faltering gait, dearth of joy he wandered a bit.
There he lied low to the ground, kissing mother earth like a depressed ant.
Is he an osculator, mourning on his vacant love?
Or he an emulous one, cudgeled by a better brain?
A miffed rummager of copious grain, or he repenting on a horrible crime?
I pondered on his dreadful distress, longing for the profound stillness.
Watching the painful life astir my humanity, finer ways I posit to end his endless tomorrows,
From a creative mind, unknown to the quizzical ant,
First I gifted a bubble of water, for him to drown in style.
But he moved in insolent silence, may be knows the art of swimming!
Then I helped him to the edge of the land, for a profane jump to the bottomless deep.
A coward, fearing height he retreat, back to the land panting nervy.
Later I offered bane of death, but he sniffed and moved away.
Then a knot for him to hang, eyeing it he jumped through it.
While my drained splendid mind, puzzled by his mocking insolence,
Sneering at my humanity, picking a hill on his shoulder,
He walked back to the line of labour, leaving me - the foolish human.
Life is dancing in the background, on the stage of silent death.
Date of Entry : 26/07/2020
Contest : Pareidolia Poetry Contest
Sponsor : craig cornish
I lifted myself as though I were made of light,
Walking proudly upon the skin of the earth,
Blinded by the arrogance of unlearned ways,
Stumbling forward, deaf to the voice of wisdom,
Living as if life itself bowed to my command.
But with each step, unseen vines clung to me,
Clouds gathered, the heavens tore with lightning,
A single bolt split the trembling ground,
The ancestors’ fury set the soil ablaze,
And I watched the lamp of life dim into night.
One heavy evening I closed my weary eyes,
And sleep swept me into visions,
Not dreams, but the deep ancestral kind,
Drawing me into the dark belly of the ocean,
Where unseen beings circled in the silence,
Their breath purifying the air around my soul.
They touched me with truth wrapped in tenderness,
Unfolding the teachings that shape a life,
Washing away the stains of forgotten ages,
Revealing the secret architecture of strength,
Unearthing mysteries long buried in dust.
A fresh page opened gently before me,
A new purpose written in lines of light,
A glimpse of tomorrow shining clear as dawn;
And new eyes were gifted to me,
Eyes that pierce the veiled, hidden places.
I rose adorned in a mantle of glory,
I rose bearing the quiet power to heal,
And at daybreak I awoke unbound, renewed,
A creature born a second time.
My voice transformed,
My tongue sharpened with truth and breath,
And so I walk this world,
Reborn.
At end of days, it is too late
To set our heart with bliss ablaze
Death looms, we feel life force abate
What’s the use now, to sing God’s praise
Dead man walking, as though in daze
The life we led, crooked, not straight
Weary now, in life’s final phase
At end of days, it is too late
With each breath, we’re at heaven’s gate
If we but turn inward our gaze
Whence divine aligned, nodes pulsate
To set our heart with bliss ablaze
Love never ceases to amaze
Shift now to the heart, why for wait
Embrace divine brooks no delays
Death looms, we feel life force abate
Our thoughts, words and deeds, shape our fate
So resonate with love always
But if the fruit of lust we ate
What’s the use now, to sing God’s praise
The time is now to mend our ways
Spread joy, heart contractions negate
Erst fears and desires, to dust raze
That one with God, we celebrate
At end of days
07-March-2023
____________
Double The Fun Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
HMS, Rhymezone, PS Grammar
A tenebrous void occupies my soul
like a queasy, dark, wintry cloud
hanging low and heavy with sleet and frost.
No gelid wind blows it away
and I despair. I cannot forget the dead.
An empty, lonely chapel still beacons.
It stands alone
amongst the tall dark pines
of an abandoned forest.
Inside, the dim light filters poorly
through dirty broken stained glass.
There's nothing inside but dust.
No chairs, no pews
for the weary traveller.
I sit on the cold slab tomb,
wonder who was laid to rest
inside the sepulchre.
Then did I realise I was alive.
All memories stored deep inside me.
The waking of empathy
especially to the self, is painful.
How oft had I tried to erase
my thoughts on you?
I leave the disused chapel
and return to my empty home.
I still think of you.
Author Dana Redricks
September 13, 2024
My heart is broken, shattered on the floor, a fragile echo of what was before. The shadows linger, cold as winter's breath, devouring the light, whispering of death.
Each tear that falls, a drop of aching doubt, in this empty space, I scream yet barely shout. Lord, deliver me, from chains that bind my soul, I seek a kindred spirit, to once again feel whole.
The night is heavy, laden with despair, the winds of sorrow swirl, their chill cuts bare. I feel the thunder rumble deep within, a storm of anguish, where will it begin?
Release me from this pressure, a weight I cannot bear, lead me to a haven, a place where hope is rare.
The waves of grief crash hard upon my shore, with every heartbeat, I plead just once more.
Lord, open the door wide to brighter days, illuminate my path with warmth and gentle rays. My soul is weary, but I yearn to rise, to find the sweet embrace, beneath forgiving skies.
So as I stand trembling, on this edge of pain, in the silence of despair, I call your name again. Bring forth the light, break this endless night, for in your gentle mercy, I seek to find my flight.
Wake up – Good morning, sleepyhead!
This bright day grows hotter;
Precious are the sun’s playful rays;
Ugliness doesn’t earn any praise;
Today, the flowers are a rare beauty that never dulled
I am amazed, I shall be bold.
Oh Father, make our hearts merry!
Poor souls – don’t be weary tonight!
Wings cannot complete their superb flight;
Majestic MOON must reach its end.
Everything that dies soon comes back to life, I don’t mean to offend;
The twilight sweeps over the city;
I am safe, I long to be free.
Oh Father, make our hearts jump with joy!
Danger is But for a Moment
Which attempts to make us weep like an infant;
Abyss arises, attacking my eyes;
Travelers have survived old and wise;
Stay away from the crow’s talons.
I am terrified, my fears weigh tons.
Oh Father, lend us a pair of sturdy wings!
Courage crawls into my once flawed and fragile heart,
Butterflies persuade me to fly with them – I’m on a good start
Folly follows me with futileness;
Feeling life’s stress overwhelm me with distress;
I hath no eyez to see its sight, replacing lament with love
Heartless heart destroys the Earth for good
I am needy; I want to gobble up spiritual food
Oh Father! Let me experience an awe-inspiring rebirth!
roses and roses around
unveiling scarlet drops
echoing voices where
raindrops fall
a rally of imperfection
painted into ..
tapped touches
sudden whirling whispers
secretively drew blood
prickly feistiness thriving in
haze spun surroundings..
twinkling doves suffocating in
an angelical sisyphus halo
tender moonlight bringing
an eunoia swiftest remnant
nemesis against armies
of withering shadows..
ebullient blooming daises
manipulating fluorescent beauties
with a frantic fabricated aurora
in a frantic peony mixture
luxurious mystery somehow
reminiscing rumbling
engraved doom..
aroused slithering vines
piercing whilst communicating
spitting needles
crystalline skies snickering
above lands full of
pitiful peonies..
but..
sparkling flutter butterflies
once whispered to me
a soft hymn lullaby;
when ethereality our nature
becomes brutal uncomforting rays
whilst enchanting asters
disguise hiding the
unavailing daises ..
stars, dimmed
dwelling in perpetual
solitary cycles shewing
forth agony in pitfalls of clouds..
fragile sagacity dandelions
parched evermore
darkness grasped a bud
n plucked it from weary soils..
shall it come a time
to flee
I fear the hounds - ever they chase;
I must keep my pace or risk their overtake.
I fear the hounds, their hurtling pursuit;
I must watch my path to avoid rock and root.
I fear the hounds - ever they follow;
My feet must not fail me if I’m to make it to the morrow.
I hear the hounds, frantic as they bay,
My life the spoils they scrabble to claim.
I hear the hounds, and I wish to just rest;
I’m so weary of fleeing and giving my best.
I hear the hounds, and the temptation is great;
I slow my pace, and my end I embrace.
I see the hounds, and my blood runs cold;
They snarl with triumph and sprint to take hold.
I see the hounds - love of pride, love of me,
The easy path, wide and sloping in gentle degrees.
I see the hounds, and myself I revile:
Am I truly that tired, or just lacking the will for self-denial?
I flee the hounds; I lengthen my stride -
I’ll give them no easy victory tonight.
I flee the hounds - oh, they howl in rage;
They were just within reach of snaring their prey.
I flee the hounds through the brambles I run,
With faith that I’ll rest with the return of the Son.
Revelers loiter in my backyard,
smoke pensively, whisper low.
Some pace the thin snow
writing their slow thoughts on the chill earth.
All of them shuffle and wait
for the big glittering yell
and the last minute kisses of reprieving angels.
At midnight I am not sure
where my thoughts will land
it is too cold for bat flights around the moon.
When this year topples into the next,
if not too weary of watching
from the top of my plasma screen,
I will crouch like a comic book gargoyle.
As the bells ring out
I might crack one gothic stony faced sneer,
listening stoically to ‘auld lang syne’
sung by roving bands of reapers.