Long Weigh down Poems
Long Weigh down Poems. Below are the most popular long Weigh down by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Weigh down poems by poem length and keyword.
Heal the sorrow, uproot the sad willow
Make it happy
There's another tomorrow to borrow
To set you free
Burn away the icy ickiness inside me
Churn away the sea of distress that I see
Brew away the sensation of solitude
Chase away my ill-tempered interlude
Many smiles will weigh down the frowns
Many suns will guide you towards moonlit towns
Many hours spent with you is oh so wonderful
Many times, I tell you you're always beautiful
You are...
Beautiful and free
My star...
You'll be free as can be
Your scar...
Will be cured as you flee
You are like an alien on this planet of plenty
You are a passerby, roaming in liberating captivity
Ready or not, I'm coming to the rescue
Believe me, you will be the happier you
Make it happy -
The sorrow that leaves you feeling
Rather crappy
I know, these emotions aren't so appealing
Reality is a cruel, yet honest weapon
That fights our battles or stabs our back
You need some faith fuel once again
So, carry on, carrion heart upon your sack
Never forget how much you mean to me
Never seek revenge, but forgiveness alone shall live
Victory is in the hands of the man of glee
Never take avengeful actions lightly - there's love to give
Enliven the gladness, enlighten the owl's ancient elegance
Make it restore grace to this verse
Renew the remedy of relieving remembrance
To ensnare the burden's curse
And to unwrap unconditional utility...
Uprooting the sad willow's vain insanity
It's the only way
To unchain you from your fatality
Starting today,
I'm going to make you beam, truly
It's the only way
To make you beautiful and Free
With my cheerful sway,
I shall encourage eternal ecstasy
It's the only way,
My beautiful and free angel
It's the only way
Above the ruins of your cell
Beneath the knots of time hidden in fallen planks,
Feet dangle, shattered by the shadow of oblivion.
Through an eyebrow of sun clothed in pollen and decline,
A hand strikes a bargain to see how light spins a new face,
A shadow play mimicking that all is sublime—
Will the morning be born with another chance at rebirth?
Deep are the marks of denial that weigh down my efforts,
In the tomb of night's silence, I find myself a fortress.
Abandoned in thought to rise from the prayer of the evening,
I reject the bitter pulp of disillusionment that poisons my palace,
Love has left me with yellowed skin, a testament of solitude.
Moved by the peace of the darkness that enwraps the blinded sky;
A queen in a black onyx gown with a crown on display.
Cleansing my strength through the weakness revealed,
I regain elegance through the Spirit Father — I felt you guiding me in the night.
The cool balm of twilight for my scorched wounds,
You witnessed my ascent towards dawn;
Rising above the fissures of insanity,
It is as you said it would be—I am alive,
Enriched by the supreme gift of existence.
Love used to feel so proud
It shined and gleamed with its own glory
Love felt its strength
Love trusted this strength
But then love was shot by bolts of lightning
Love could not understand what was happening
Love went on its own way
Letting the Beloved regret his loneliness
Love was torn apart
So much that even the angels wept
Dark and gloomy was the whole of the Universe
Why, it felt its own burden weigh down on itself
Love no more wants to be united with the Beloved
Love does remember its past
But love shoulders scars
Scars which are not healing
Love enjoys its solo ride
Love enjoys its selfishness
Love has had its rays multiplied into zillions
Now, love flows, free and fair, in all the air
Love stays at hand, waiting for whoever wishes to grab its hand
Love feels happy
But the angels do still weep
For the Beloved has turned into a dull and morose statue of matter!
The angels do still weep
Even if love flows freely over them
The angels do still weep
Pray, they ask, when shall love have a change of heart?
I never possessed time.
Time that I would call my own.
You see, amidst a broken heart.
I had heard a friend cry.
She said her own heart had been broken.
So I listened, counselled and wiped away her tears.
There was no time to sit and feel sorry for myself.
With a broken thumb.
A pounding headache.
A hard day at work.
I wanted a hot bath and cup of coffee.
To lay me down, I took a couple of pain killers.
But you see, amidst fatigue.
I had heard a cousin sob.
She said she had lost her job.
So I listened, counselled and wiped away her tears.
There was no time to sit and nurse my tiredness.
With a heavy heart upon seeing an accident.
A horrid image in my head that I had to let out.
I went looking for my best friend.
But I had heard her cry.
She said she was not happy in her life.
So I listened, embraced and wiped away tears.
There was no time to share and offload.
With yet another broken heart.
I had told myself to cry and shut it down for once.
I had planned to watch sad movies.
With a box of Kleenex by my side.
But you see, amidst another heart break.
I had heard a sibling cry.
She said she had hurt a person unintentionally.
So I listened, counselled and wiped away her tears.
There was no time to cry and weigh down my feelings.
With a torchlight.
I had decided to do my favorite thing.
On a warm summer evening.
Walk about the park and listen to the night.
Amidst my time of reflection, I had heard a close kin cry.
She said, her husband had cheated and had another child.
So I listened, embraced and wiped away tears
There was no time for me to reflect.
I never possess time.
I don’t think I will ever possess time to myself.
But you see, that’s okay.
I have made my peace with it.
So I guess that’s what someone meant when they told me:
“Straighten up soldier, There is never time to cry”
© Herzel Poshiwa
Cold hands of the doctor in gloves and mask
lay her on the hard surgical metal table.
A numb sensation travels down arm to wrist.
Sedation spreads to an EGREGIOUS sin.
Breathing deep through monitored heart rate
eyelids weigh down in heavy haze.
Frills of a DELICATE flower shrivels
as a mother prepares to abort her child.
In OBTUSE position an ultrasound image
still haunts her in false INDIGENT hopes
In slurred words, she sinks in quicksand.
A blissful DELIRIUM of noiseless chatter.
Epiphanies of painless moments
when foggy memories forget to eavesdrop
Nothingness of empty feelings
when clogged synapses trigger only to stop.
Eyes AWAKENING to a bleeding world
find a graveyard heart pumping relentless pain,
and camouflaged stories rehearse in veins.
Promises that could not CONSECRATE
Conflicts that could not MEDIATE.
An Indifference that was worse than hate.
The nurse says ,' Do you need anything? '
She needed analgesics...she needed amnesia.
She craves, "Can you put me back to anesthesia?
29th August 2019
Sponsor John Hamilton
Contest Name Eight word challenge 9
Place a stone under any banyan tree,
Decorate flowers of all sorts around;
Apply crimson or sandal-paste or ghee;
Hide, to witness, how devotees abound...!
Stick-incense smokes spread with nose-drilling scent,
Oil-lamps lit, by men and women unknown,
Heaps of coins, like hills and peaks, soon ascend,
Faces shine, masks of blind faith balloon-blown...!
Tent erected; Altar constructed; hymns broadcast,
Priests pop up, like white termites after rains;
Grab all gifts as though, for self, God had asked,
Rational beings laugh at their lost brains...!
This is frequent in my precious nation,
Midst her classical wisdom abundant;
Pull of heart toward easy salvation,
Drowns our masses into myths inundant...!
Rituals, like rocks, heavily weigh down,
Blood-cum-heart chain-like link with the divine;
Wisdom, not blind faith, should become true crown,
Shouldn't new wine-skins be filled with new wine...?
18 November 2022
Plunge boldly into the thick of life, and seize it where you will, it is always interesting. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The alarm screams, but I let it fade,
pressing palms to warm sleep-swollen cheeks.
Outside, a crow cracks the dawn in two~
I want to taste its blackberry beak.
Coffee steam writes promises on air,
each sip erasing yesterday’s debt.
My socks mispaired; the universe winks.
The freeway hum stitches the sunset.
Dandelions breach the concrete,
their gold teeth gnawing at parking lots.
I pick up a pebble, smooth as time,
letting it weigh down my what-ifs and nots.
The moon arrives early, drunk on light,
slurring silver across my doorstep.
I step right through tomorrow’s thin skin.
Cast away the sorrow from my soul
Make the ugliness seem so beautiful
Craft me with your eager elegance
Resurrect me with your pure radiance
My veins are flooded with the blood of my enemies
Please don't catch me off guard and set my soul at ease
My brain is whirling like a windstorm in the desert once more
The breeze of the monsoons' core has so much in store
Almost blinded by the light of His mighty hand
I take His hand and land in a lovely land
Where I can understand
Where I stand
Almost cascading into the watery pit of bitter lies
I take His hand and say my last goodbyes
Where I can meet my utmost highs
And my lows dries and dies
Almost falling away into the darkness below me
I take His hand, so He will set me free possibly
Where I can go way above the cold concrete
And gravity cannot weigh down my feet
Where I stand
Where I can understand
I take His hand and land in a lovely land
Almost blinded by the light of His mighty hand
Cast away yesterday, so I may live for today
Make my inner distress transform to joy I pray
Craft me with your words of wisdom right now
Reassure me that there are brighter days somehow
My veins are flooded with the blood of my enemies
Please don't catch me off guard and set my soul at ease
My brain is whirling like a windstorm in the desert once more
The breeze of the monsoons' core has so much in store
Almost blinded by the light of His mighty hand
I take His hand and land in a lovely land
Where I can understand
Where I stand
Almost cascading into the watery pit of bitter lies
I take His hand and say my last goodbyes
Where I can meet my utmost highs
And my lows dries and dies
Almost falling away into the darkness below me
I take His hand, so He will set me free possibly
Where I can go way above the cold concrete
And gravity cannot weigh down my feet
Where I stand
Where I can understand
I take His hand and land in a lovely land
Almost blinded by the light of His mighty hand
Endure the hardships that take place
Find a cure to help us gain His grace
End this nightmare that we all face
Ensure that happiness is here to stay,
Not just a day or night away -
Tomorrow isn't promised today
It was sunny the day our hearts broke away.
A decade has passed—but some wounds ignore clocks.
The news bloomed like bruises on a nation’s chest.
Shoreham stood still.
Time forgot how to move.
Eleven men.
Men of mornings and small routines.
Lunchboxes. Laughter. Motorbikes.
Some had children. Others were children—still.
And one…
one kept wildflowers on his phone.
Too shy to say, “This made me think of you.”
There’s no symmetry to this grief.
It leans sideways and doesn’t apologise.
It smells like engine oil and funeral flowers.
It hums in the throat of widows and mothers,
grows moss in the cracks of pub tables,
clings to the wings of the plane that didn’t stop.
Somewhere, a bottle of red remains uncorked.
Somewhere, a bike rests against a wall no one will move.
Somewhere, wildflowers still bloom—
and someone remembers
the man who loved flight,
but stayed grounded
for everyone but himself.
Still.
Author’s Note:
For the eleven lives lost on 22 August 2015 at Shoreham:
Dylan Archer, Richard Smith, James Mallinson, Mark Trussler,
Matt Jones, Matthew Grimstone, Jacob Schilt, Daniele Polito,
Tony Brightwell, Mark Reeves, Maurice Abrahams.
You are remembered.
Dear Editor,
I won’t let you stand on my throat—
Stifle my compassion,
Weigh down my shoulders
With a chip — not sweet like chocolate,
But sharp like ice.
Not from the old block,
But cracked from the freeze
You placed in my bones.
You guillotine my fire
And return me only grief.
Dear Editor,
I know your job is important—
But is it louder than the truth
That begs to be heard?
Just because a stanza doesn’t touch you,
Or it ends without rhyme or convention,
Does that make it any less real?
Dear Editor,
Please see the substance beneath the design.
We poets are crucified
For daring to call out—
For letting our voices
Tremble, burn, and bleed.
Dear Editor,
I once wrote about loss
So heavy, it cracked the sky.
A plane fell — and a friend was gone.
And I wrote it raw.
And I sent it whole.
And it came back with silence.
Maybe the timing was wrong,
But the pain was right.
Dear Editor,
I beseech you:
Look into your heart,
And look at the piece.
Admire the craft,
But let truth ring through.
Then maybe more of the unheard,
The undervalued,
And the unpolished
Will shine, too.
Smith’s Octopuses Party On Pontoons
Rumor Has It My Dear
Rumor has it my dear something spectacular is near
Bring your batik hats to our grand lavish scene
Wear flowing Kebeya robes
Let them flow in the air
We’re having our party upon the ocean
On pontoons made of bamboo notions
Flown in from Indonesia with crews
Planks will connect all the segments
Chris Christie will help with construction
Bridging rafts with bamboo shoots & roots
(We understand he understands bridges)
Yachts will punctuate the festivities
Covered in purple red flowers with care
Tied to the floating swaying affair
McCartney and Sting will be there
Octopuses Garden is the theme
And Paul will bring Ringo to sing
The Clinton's and Bushes are on the list
Paparazzi will see if they kiss or do tricks
And who can resist our guests of honor
Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt
The main menu is set like this;
Foie gras loco moco carne
Matusaka beef
Pheasant/Mallard breast roast
Beluga Sevruga, Osetra caviar
Goût de Diamants, Taste of Diamonds champagne
Haute chocolate ice cream
This all seems like a dream
We pray that the weather holds up
The only waves we wish to see is from us
In the form of greetings and pleasantries
The party has been planned for ages
If storms should gather
It won’t really matter
We’re thankful
The Royals, Mr.& Mrs. Smith are here
To weigh down pontoons and rafts
With billions in sacks of gold trinkets
Door prizes for sure, (sorry no doors), for those who attend
500 guests will arrive at the gala
A date with Mick Jagger and two jaguars
Assured for each person as gifts guaranteed
Compliments of King & Queen Smith
Whose parties should never be missed
A mystery guest, no surprise
A legend in his own mind
Mr. Trump and his hair might arrive
Since the pope is preoccupied
We’ll sway to the music with fine company
All are welcome to our heavenly scene
At the octopuses party on the sea
7/11/14 Rumor Has It contest