Long Weeping Poems
Long Weeping Poems. Below are the most popular long Weeping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Weeping poems by poem length and keyword.
"Life offers divine moments that can only be shared with an angel."
~ by poet
Softly, she swaddled me within the warmth of welcoming wings
I shared my shadowed secrets, then she spoke in subdued voice
'Do not dwell in darkness and despair for your sweet soul sings
of sorrow for your sins. Repentance gives you reason to rejoice'
'From the courage of confessing comes clemency of concession
You have found favor with God and garnered His good graces
He has heard your heartfelt words, and my own in intercession
Our Father forgives you, and with empathy, eagerly embraces'
Tenderly, she touched me, tempering the torrent of my tears
Held me close, calmly confiding, 'Your bane of burdens I bear'
When her weeping wet my cheeks, faith freed me from fears
My adoring angel sighed, 'Persevere by praising God in prayer'
Then her golden gossamer wings fluttered their fragile feathers
Graciously given to me was a glorious gift. Solace cut the strings
that kept my suffering soul trussed in tenterhooks and tethers,
for I'd been safely swaddled within an angel's welcoming wings.
December 11, 2021
"A" Forms Contest sponsored by Constance La France
Please! Leave me alone and let me be
Leave me just the way you found me
It's too late to try to change me
I'm running away from today,
And turning my back on yesterday,
Because I cannot bare facing tomorrow.
Many times I have heard your Christian song*
And I must confess that it made me strong,
But right now I want to be left alone.
When tomorrow comes, I want to be gone,
Because I'm too afraid to face tomorrow,
On yesterday, the powers that be planted seeds of hate
They never dreamed their fruit would bare at this rate
They never understood the law of sowing and reaping
They never realized that they too would be weeping
My generation has given birth to gloom
Its choices force us a life of doom
Our days are numbered; our destiny is soon
I do not have the courage to face tomorrow.
No more lies! No more disguises! Away with debates!
And do not bore me with your apologies. It's too late!
We have been deceived into taking the bate
By midnight 40 days hence is the final date
By then there will exist an impenetrable gate
I am in anguish and fear of facing tomorrow.
Oh God, I pray, take these tears of sadness and sorrow
May my tears be put in a bottle and cast into the sea
It's the least I can provide and contribute to my legacy
Perhaps survivalists in a distant land, my tears they will see.
May they read every word, especially the line, "Please forgive me".
Perhaps they on my behalf will face and build a better tomorrow.
073020PSCtest, Be Inspired, Regina McIntosh
Poem inspired by a picture in the contest
*"Because He lives, I can face tomorrow"
Hard To Recognize
America's face, battered ...
Freedom's image, shattered.
Feeding Frenzy Fodder
Foundations of Democracy,
Shredded with hypocrisy.
Party Over People
Lady Liberty's fears,
Weeping rusty tears.
Truth Will Out
Veracity's tempest blows ...
Treachery's warmth, expose.
Martin Luther King, Jr
Simply shaking hands ...
Shook humanity's lands.
Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi
Pauper's sole directive ...
Brotherly love's perspective.
Jesus Of Nazareth
Red phrases spoken,
Old covenants broken.
Jesus, Gandhi, MLK, Jr
Simple doctrines - LOVE ...
Humanity's grace, thereof.
Still, Hope Remains
Trustworthy faith's unshakable,
Love, steadfast ... unbreakable.
Our Lasting Legacy
Humanity must embrace,
Single ... HUMAN race.
FACE The Truth
The answer's clearer,
In ... that ... MIRROR.
(I Must Apologize
Forgive me, critically,
I strayed ... politically).
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Six-Word Couplet Series" Poetry Contest
Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
(Victor Hugo fought against the dictator,
first on the barricades, then in scathing
poetry like this - "Souvenir de la nuit du 4".)
She took him to the hearth to warm him up,
not noticing his legs, already stiff.
Alas! Our mortal fires can't give back breath
to those who've felt the icy hand of Death.
She bent her head and took his little feet.
"And isn't this a thing to break your heart?"
she cried. "He wasn't even eight years old!
The teachers in that school thought well of him.
I tell you, Sir, if I should need a letter,
he'd write it for me. Are they terrorists?
Sweet Jesus! Are they killing children now?
I watched him play this morning, at the door.
This gentle little creature. I am old,
it would be nothing if I had to die.
So couldn't Monsieur Bonaparte shoot me,
instead?" She stopped. Her sobbing took control.
Emotions mastered once again, she said,
"What am I going to do, alone? Tell me.
He's all that I had left of his poor mother.
What did they kill him for? I wish someone
would walk in and explain it all to me.
Some shout for the Republic, that I know,
but not this little scrap of life. Not him!"
We stood there glumly, speechless, hats in hands,
helpless before this grief which couldn't be eased.
I'm sorry, Ma'am. You don't know politics.
But Monsieur Bonaparte is full of tricks.
A commoner like you, he feels that since
he has the name, he ought to be a prince.
He likes fine horses, servants, palaces,
and Sandras, Julies, Saras, Lucy's, Alices.
Of course, he'll save the Church, the Bank,
protect the Family, and folks of Rank.
But first, he needs Saint-Cloud's unblemished lawns,
where second-rates can come and grovel, fawn,
and flatter him. Such things just have to be.
That's why old women who can barely see
must sit up, weeping in the dark and cold,
to sew the winding-sheets of seven-year-olds.
EYE DISCONNECT
i’ve always been drawn
to eyes — a smorgasbord of colors
but that’s not what i see
i drift beyond what most can tap into
the shroud of evidence
the red rivers
a canal lock
bulging, ready to burst
the big bang
the upsurge of rage
shocking severance
the world in ethereal mist
the feel of goosebumps —
a spirit throws a sodden blanket,
arctic cold around shoulders
shuddering teeth like ice picks
wincing of pinched nerve ending
but she’s like a statue of Mother Teresa
They whisper...whissss…
“She’s so calm.”
“So strong.”
“A saint in her circumstance.”
But the Spirit tells me, “See… Feel...her.”
Through her eyelids, I wander, not for myself
but for the gift of God,
I touch her arm, I ask
with godly inflection
“How are you?”
and her heart stirs…
...the high and low pressure mixes
...quite like a cold engine whirring to start
elephantine tears, wrinkled and gray,
splatter...her trunk collapses
and God collects the sudden stream into a cloud
for no bottle can hold this torrent of weeping
others walk away, afraid, embarrassed, imposters
a dove turns into pure comfort
a solid hand of flesh
a form strong enough to hold her up
she rests in the Spirit of the love of God
i see a smorgasbord of colors
she smiles
12/28/2018
Time, they say, heals the pain,
Where there is deepest mourning,
So many feelings I can’t explain,
Grief that aches without much warning.
Time, they tell me, will mend what’s broken,
Where there is the heaviest dark, so bleak,
Like the shadows who’re all so outspoken,
Trembling beneath faith that just can’t speak.
Time, they say, heals the heartache,
Where there’s a wound that continues its bleeding,
I can’t help thinking they’ve made some mistake,
Anguish this profound ‘tis surely not receding.
Time, they tell me, will restore your soul,
Where there is darkness, light will stir hope,
Secrets weep where love could once console,
Will I ever feel like the me that knows how to cope?
Time, they say, fixes the heart who is breaking,
Where the hurt seems to move hearts to tears,
And, the sadness just keeps taking and taking,
Leaving this wound weeping through the years.
Time, they tell me, will make the spirit whole,
Where there is a feeling that all hope is gone,
There comes a light burning through that hole,
Reminding the one who has lost, to continue on…
Because, in time, despite the heart’s deep grief,
Where there lives despair that feels so appalling,
There is a memory that sings a song of belief –
Edged in grief, is assurance that God’s grace is calling!
In Middle School, I played in several basketball games, two of which
were most memorable. One of them we lost but won the other one.
Once in a while, we are blessed with the presence of a magical moment.
They are rare; they are few; cherish them and understand why they are sent.
We are graced by heaven with an unspeakable and thrilling event.
Your greatest sports victory; absolutely spectacular!
Your greatest sports defeat; it’s also sincerely yours.
It’s your life, your story; dreams are made of these.
Remind yourself; tell your children and their children.
Tell them that life is best when we learn lessons that we need not repeat.
Tell them that life has balance, and provides both agonies and defeats.
When in the eight grade, I made the basketball team at my school.
It was both fun and work as I played and learned the rules.
As in every sport, winning is great; but losing is not cool.
One season, my school played a rival school.
I played the two-guard position and scored no baskets;
Nor did I succeed at anything else.
By game’s end, our rivals had scored 52 points.
And my team had managed a measly total of 12.
They were big and confident; we departed deeply defeated
and sorely beaten. I started the season with pride and expectations, but finished weakened.
But in the game of life, we pick our faces off the floor, head for the door, and stop our weeping. We cheer and shout our wins, but it’s hard to master how to lose. The greatest wins are those we celebrate when in defeat, we paid our dues.
Today, the game is over, and we lost; tomorrow, we again, lace our shoes.
Tomorrow, a new day will unfold with new battles; but a new story will emerge.
cj09032007
Puffy fat potato heads, skinny stockings sewn,
bunched and hunched in bedrooms where
they’re scattered, scrapped, or thrown.
Clara, Dolly, Elmo, Sally, three wise sisters, Mr. mittens;
shoes and bags, skins in rags, scars from dog-teeth bitten.
Clothing torn, striped or plaid, missing parts they never had,
history’s pages on their faces; looking forlorn, sad.
Children’s memories locked inside, forever silent keeping .
Days caressed in sunshine blessed; or hugged, to stem the weeping.
Playmates past, forgotten days, lost within each one;
days recalled in tracing touch; teatime’s cradled fun.
Diaries of tearful words, smiles and laughter banking;
stories shared of lost pets found, a scolding, or a spanking.
Secrets gave in sacred trust; travels, hopes, and dreams;
stitched for unknown days ahead, inside their crooked seams.
Hands to Hold; Courage Given; needed tug or shove.
Closest Friends and Dearest Ones, Safety Nets of Love.
Refuge when the world at large; became too large to bear.
Afraid and lonely in the dark when only they were there.
We talk with all our Friends and Neighbors, Teacher, Husband, Wife
Long outgrown the need for dolls, to help us deal with life.
Fears and Trials, Tears and Laughter, shared in other ways;
but in our heart a prayer felt, and in our throat a lump still stays;
For none retain the deepest feelings only children show;
but those we clung to growing up, with love they could not know.
That secret room, of memories filled, with friends we’ll not forget.
All left behind in closets dark, who travel with us yet.
"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces,
I would still plant my apple tree . . ." Quote - Martin Luther
_____________________
I have died twice,
sorry, I should be more precise;
I have twice knocked on the gate up above.
but was sent home with love.
It seems this girl still has things to do in this world,
so back to earthly living- with wings unfurled;
knowing this life is gnarled,
and today- must suffice.
Yes, today is mine,
for my tomorrow may not twine;
I have known often the sorrow- of death,
waited, weeping for a breath.
Have loved my beloved like there is no tomorrow,
and been left in today- holding only sorrow;
somehow, finding strength to borrow,
waiting for- a sign.
So, I live moments,
for in life there are no agreements;
if tomorrow does not arrive for me,
it is 'cause there was no guarantee.
Oh yes, "What if there was no tomorrow?" You wrote,
well, my answer is- that in today I will float;
setting sail for my true north in a boat,
cherishing - life's fragments.
___________________________
August 19, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/Tomorrow
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1174-422-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, What If There Was No Tomorrow
sponsor, Silent One
First Place
In Pahalgam’s embrace, where solace bloom
Dawn’s tender hues now fade into gloom.
The innocent sleep, their laughter now stilled,
In cold, silent graves, their dreams unfulfilled.
A crown of bright jewel on our mother’s brow,
A snow-white dove, now lies crimsoned in woe.
Through mist-shrouded peaks, a wail scars the air,
Beauty and anguish entwined in dark despair.
Through shadowed pines, fiends crept in the night,
Their cruel hands drew blades on hearts pure and bright.
Guardians faltered, their watchmen grew blind,
Merciless guns left weeping remnants behind.
Unchallenged they returned, no fear in their tread,
To venomous lands where their hatred is bred.
Who carved them a path through the valley’s embrace?
Who shielded their malice, defiling this peace?
Yet free they roam, in shadows they thrive,
While graves cradle hopes that will never survive.
Young dreams, unshaped, now buried in dust.
While tears carve deep rivers through valley's crust.
Enemies sow seeds of hate, in heartless disguise,
Haters watered it to wage wars with in lines
Drown cries for justice in hollowed-out lies.
But our defenders roared fierce, their fury ablaze.
With flames of vengeance, their wrath set the stage.
They wrecked their heart, blazing their den
Yet foes, unrepentant, slipped free from the chain,
As an imposter uninvited gate crashed in disdain.
Cowards in disguise, displayed on road side stand,
Their gilded deceit seeks to spread only their brand.
In meadows where joy once danced with the breeze,
Grief whispers of wounds deep no time can appease.
Justice, a specter, haunts hills with its plea,
Pahalgam weeps still, unhealed, never free.
Till butchers lined to gallows, no redemption arise,
A valley of dreams lost to fear’s ruthless guise.