Long Weightless Poems
Long Weightless Poems. Below are the most popular long Weightless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Weightless poems by poem length and keyword.
I behold the rose in bloom, and I cry,
I weep and I wail, then I sigh.
As the night draws in, my painful thoughts begin to wake,
I retreat into my mind and with fear I do shake.
Your clammy hand on my neck, your touch just like lead,
I close my eyes so you will go, you bury further in my bed.
I know I’m worthless, but please do not hurt,
And I try not to scream as you begin to insert.
The deed almost done, your sneer of disgust,
Your toes curl as we prepare for the final thrust.
You roar with delight, I exhale with relief,
My virginity now taken by a wretched old thief.
The memory still haunts, and the damage goes on,
I unravel the silk cloth that my knife lays upon.
Slowly but surely destruction is on its way,
I fear for my soul, but my body must pay.
Anticipation takes hold, and the blade does its work,
I press firmly down, blood appears with a jerk.
Is this the pleasure I've longed to have?
And a voice deep within screams "YES! ONE MORE JAB".
I am so frail, my young flesh so weak,
I can not go on, for my virginity he did seek.
The cold steel blade tattoos my white maiden flesh,
And the untouched skin becomes like wheat for the thresh.
I must abate, I must restrain,
This is the only way I mask the pain.
My eyes glaze over, my body feels weightless,
Each stroke is a prayer, and every cut a caress.
The guests have arrived, my relief has been fleeting,
He stands there staring, my heart is beating.
He looks at me inquisitively, mouth gaping,
And my mother knows not that her brother likes raping.
His gaze upon me, I'm his gift to unwrap,
He would rip me open and toss me like scrap.
I wish he would vanish and leave me in peace,
But his lust won’t be sated, and on me he would feast.
My legs are so withered, and my wheelchair’s a cage,
I wish that man in the Skoda didn’t have road rage.
I guess I should be grateful I can’t feel a thing,
But my mind is alive and every inch of him stings.
He gives me a present and pretends to be nice,
But don’t be fooled, it comes at a price.
He wheels me outside for a fresh of breath air,
When no one is watching he sniffs at my hair.
I wish I could lash out with my thin spastic legs,
But they are as useful as ice-cube clothes pegs.
I hope my diary doesn’t land in the wrong hands,
And if you’re reading this now then I’ve suck-cummed to his plans.
- Anonce
Its dark, i cant see
In this park, its just me
A wrong turn and I'm lost wandering
Was too deep in thought just pondering
There's no one around its dead quiet
Pitch black at night, total silent
I feel the cold of a beasts stare
From the shadows it's everywhere
teeth that'll tear through bone and muscle
Eyes that glow at night
Gotta pick up the pace and hustle
Theres no way to stand and fight
It's cunning trot is getting nearer
Try to focus my eyes to see clearer
It's large I can feel the steps on the ground
It's quick, I hear it moving around
It's stench is unmistakably evil
It's intentions are unmistakably devil
Like a bullets release, it's come
Now I know where it's coming from
No fight, just flee
At night, just me
What kind of god can let this be
Try to run, feet are frozen
My final moments, right now, I've been chosen
It's gaining speed
It's got one need
To feed
My first step weighs a ton
Step after step, one by one
Pick up the pace
Or it's my last race
It's coming
The fear is numbing
It's got no emotion
Beg for my life?
It wouldn't consider the notion
It doesn't wanna hear me plead
It just wants to make me bleed
Start to run
I'm thinking
This is no fun
I'm sinking
Like running in soup
I can't recoup
The speed I had as a kid
Wishing I could remove a lid
Of a can of whoop ass
On this beast but its too fast
It's breath is on my back
I can feel it
Everything's still pitch black
I can’t see it
One more step, and I'm weightless
Picked up twenty feet off the ground
This part is when I'm helpless
I land hard like a truck, and I'm stuck
It's weight on my back
Ready to attack
Face down
On the ground
The only sound
Is the sound
Of this beast
of a hound
With its feast
That it has found
Why am I awake for this?
Why must I be the only witness?
To these teeth ripping me to a shred
This beast wished me dead
No pain. just the pressure of fate
If anyone came now, it'd be too late
Acceptance is my only mechanism
This is how I die, no more skepticism
As my mind goes, my life passes
My loves, my losses, my contributions
It all passes
The last thought through my mind; this time
The beast that easily destroyed me
Will destroy you, you'll see
Because this beast has a name in this rhyme
The beasts name
Is time
Life on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if I included all the chapters of my life’s journey
from that of an old soul, from pure consciousness
to egg and sperm colliding, to embryo, to fetus,
to that of a baby, a child, youth, a teenager,
a young adult, a middle aged man, this old man
who has walked the walk of the living and the dead
with ghostly shadows floating in night time forests
blanketed by sheets of blackness, permeated with flakes,
specks of light from distant planets, long lost stars,
forgotten lives, as the reflective moon, on high,
tries to shed light upon the nightly shadows,
brighten the edges of all the black clouds
that fill all the empty spaces above the tree tops.
Life on the edge – I have been tripping – have gotten up,
have fallen from grace, yet stands up to face adversity,
have been trapped, yet set myself free, been lost
yet have found my way back to myself.
Life on the edge – time reveals all, all the efforts,
all the accomplishments, all the failures, the defeats,
and all the losses become weightless in the light,
of an old man who sits alone, on his own locked up
in the cage of his own design, his own making
as nightmares continue to haunt - to the end of his journey.
Life on the edge – has been sharp, dull, keen without tears,
in spite of all that life, fate, karma, choice have lain upon
the experiences this old soul has suffered, endured, enjoyed
and yet the dreams of this child – before and after he became –
still linger on in the fading embers of his life’s journey
even if they are but ashes blown by cold cruel winds
putting out the raging fires that once lit up the skies
and wormed the heaven and the hearts of a few mortal women.
Life on the edge – of this plane, this dimension, this universe –
can it really be as we see it ?, is it karma ?, is it fate ?, is it design ?
Does history repeat itself ?, does it come back to haunt us ?,
in another time, in another place, in a different space.
Life on the edge – next time around – will be a prayer
to never, ever have to live on the edge again,
to know no more emotional pain, no poverty of heart, soul,
the stupidity and thoughtlessness of those in control,
those in the know, of the nature of this old man
who has shown – specks, flakes of light, light that has
burned so bright, has flickered, has long since taken flight.
B. J. “A” 2
March 10th 2004
Courage
Beyond the still of the night
The unsettling air remains a breath of calm
From eyes enclose, welcoming the blinded sight
What more be life shall offer to come?
Time always travel unseen
Days simply vanishes away
Voices chanting, did I remember my illusive dream?
Or is my life a weightless feather, ready to sway?
No visions to visualize still
Dreams engifted perhaps, bears certain to be forgotten
Though much too close, much too surreal
I shall believe not to the extent to fathom
And I awaited for the night to pass
The deepest of isolation I can only surrender to
Out of love, out of loneliness I’m to outcast
This moment to miss her and to remain still a fool
Studying the figure in the mirror
I’m no doubt torn with an unfounded courage I lack
Should I be in riddance of this endeavor?
Must one recover and practice no longer the false pretentious act
Unnaturally, silence seems to whisper about
The room is more sinister and darker even
There is a soft chanting yet becomingly loud
And fear is all, accompanying this moment’s instant
{Blackness paints what once was before
I could see nothing yet blinded not to all
Those hungry eyes, bloodshot and dancing playfully
Them who chant the verses, strange but beautifully
They were the voices of children who sang among
Till almost deathening when came was then a complete calm
It was a mere moment, yet a moment was enough
Green and haunting, a pair of poison iris onto me he cast
And he spoke his voice I can only vividly remember
It was the voice from my dream that had kept me in bewilderment wonder
Just before I might strain to see the mystery beyond
The enigmatic encounter simply chooses to diminish along}
With the blacken fog cleared
I stand once more within my room
Entranced and crucified by fear
Am I ever to obtain tranquility all too soon?
It can only feel too evil
It wasn’t how tranquility can venture deep
Was it a calling perhaps from a befallen angel?
An angel to only the devil might seek
Disturbing and much too unbecoming
When struck me further was that the language I understand
Not only was it not just simply a dream
For what it said from its tongue, I knew what it meant
“Fear is a fire…
to temper courage and resolve
Be it desire
to quench the thirst for one’s unfounded lost”
………………………………………….
Metamorphosis: a word for butterflies,
Said the science textbook in school,
Positive transformations connoted her young soul.
Age brought in a new realisation,
Life, a one-way road with two destinies,
The darker one a metamorphosis too.
The endlessly bleak days,
Dwindling success,
Slipping confidence,
Broken dreams,
The road to change now a narrow old bridge,
Fragile and frail to support her lofty dreams,
Permanency etched in this new route,
Metamorphosis it was; not a passing phase.
Yet, butterflies her eyes chose to see,
Bright pupils midst tear streaked face,
Light shone on the narrow bridge,
Carefully she lugged her weight.
The caterpillar crawled, awkward and slow,
The bridge creaked, threatening to break,
Yet held on to this struggle everyday,
Patiently trudging to the light ahead.
Metamorphosis, still a double-edged sword,
All her struggles could tip her either way,
Yet, she chose the route with pain,
Trying to metaphorse yet again.
She knew it was a story of win or die,
A second dark metamorphosis she wouldn't survive,
Yet this turnaround she chose,
To gloomy life, she refused to bend.
Cocoon she became, the saddest soul alive,
Tears became her appetite,
Broken she was in a thousand pieces,
Her delicate spirit a ruined mess.
The pain made her numb and weak,
Shallow breaths and fiery cheeks,
She closed her eyes, her bright pupils gleaming,
She felt her soul float, she felt existence cease.
But, most of all she felt her eyes open,
Her lips curved a natural smile.
Wings she bore as beautiful and delicate as her spirit,
Her body she felt, weightless and symmetric,
Effortlessly, she flew upwards,
Gliding through the wind, peaceful and sound.
Embodiment she now was, of beauty and success and all things gold.
Bleak fluorescent rooms a thing of the past,
The bridge her metamorphosis, the pain her badge of honour,
She knew it was her destiny, sweet success and enchanting beauty,
She wasn't made for this toil and grub.
Yet, that was her life, the struggles and the pain.
She was now, an angelic dream,
A lover's ballad, a sailor's home.
She was a child's wish, a fairy tale,
A land of exotic fruits, a colourful maze.
She was a drug, an elixir of life,
An ecstatic dream, a virgin queen.
She exists as immortal bliss,
Her scent seaming all earthly souls.
In the whispering silence of a moonlit night,
where stars wink like old friends,
I drift along the river of my thoughts,
an unbound stream of consciousness,
Flowing through the landscapes of potential and purpose,
where dreams dwell like forgotten treasures.
Most of us,
shadows of our true selves,
live in shallow waters,
afraid to dive into the depths,
Creating busywork,
weaving webs of distraction,
as if afraid to face the stillness of our own souls.
Oh, how we toil, like ants in an endless march,
building castles in the sand,
Not because the work is urgent,
but because we do not know the art of being.
We are craftsmen of the banal,
architects of the mundane,
lost in the frenzy of doing,
When all we yearn for is to float,
weightless and free,
on the river of life,
to be carried by its gentle current.
Imagine a world where laziness is a virtue,
where idlers are the sages,
Where shaking off the chains of duty is a path to enlightenment,
To bask in the golden glow of a sunset,
to savor the sweetness of a moment unclaimed by time,
To relax into the embrace of existence,
to find joy in the art of simply being.
I do not preach a life of total inactivity,
for such would be a disservice to the soul,
But rather a life where each act is a dance,
each gesture a poem,
imbued with meaning and grace.
Let us not be prisoners of our own making,
bound by the chains of needless toil,
But the artists of our destiny,
painting with the colors of purpose and passion.
For in the quiet moments,
where the heart beats in sync with the cosmos,
We discover the true rhythm of life,
a melody that calls us to slow down,
to listen, to feel.
To be busy is not to live,
but to be alive is to flow,
to ebb and surge with the tides of meaning,
To find the balance between action and inaction,
to dance on the edge of potential and peace.
So let us embrace the wisdom of the river,
to be lazy in the pursuit of joy,
To be idlers in the garden of dreams,
to cultivate a life that blooms with significance.
For in this dance,
this flow of consciousness,
we find the essence of our being,
And though the world may rush around us,
we shall move with the grace of those who understand,
That the river of life carries us not to the shores of accomplishment,
But to the ocean of our own infinite potential.
Loving life hid beneath rim of cool ceramic bowl
Tree frog claimed proud place, toilet's homely hole
Enamoured by his simple palace making stance
I bend to peer at his green grip toe stick, entranced
My ordinary admonished by gaze from onxyx eyes
Quick reflex and instinct, skills by which Frog relies
Shine of black marble smartness lures me nearer
Knowing even with my bulk, I'm somehow inferior
Rubber eyelid winks, peels open again enlarged
Eye wrinkles droop to hammock, I'm encouraged
To nestle within humid folds, shrunk human glued
Oscillated in his lid lures languishing duly procured
Spun suddenly, rubbery cocoon cosy lurches erratic
Some worry occurs I'll drown outside skin hammock
Prior to paranoia taking over, thrown from dizzying ride
Launched into stark big bowl with steep slippery sides
Swim in cistern spew strangely renders me cleansed
Lap in lurid blue sends me to inevitably to S bends
Whooshed and flushed with refreshed perspective
Dark harassed by diffused hues tug seductive
Dolphin derived, my smooth unphased by spiralling
Saturated zones, ease honed, enamour never tiring
Snorkel hole snorts water, puffs readily on its purification
Imbibing combines giddy with clarity, senses' temptation
My forehead flicked flirtatiously by wide flamingo flippers
Splayed feathers fan surface, showcase dance floor shimmer
Cabaret her costume, shakes crystal bead rainbow release
Ravishing precise pirouettes prim pink princess completes
Her curved beak caresses my porthole brain, rubs insistantly
Into warm walnut shell weapon I'm swallowed quite quickly
I spy through pomegranate seed eye, mirror lake unswayed
Stilled kindly by wind's nonexistance, decision to travel made
Climbed to bird's tiny tiara topped crest, covered in feathers
Graceful lace tu- tu floats my aquatic future endeavour
Bouyed weightless and grateful, flip draws no resistance
Swim in S bend treasure, trip of sight resumed brilliance
*** Spring has sprung!!
- in Australia
My branch beyond
The tired pond
of Earth, awakes
Imminent Heaven
(perhaps)
*** A collapse of facts
Flight of flamingo regalia
Revel in place of waste
- Mystery flush takes
on its S bend
1st September 2020
In Memoriam Quietly Always Close
Are they whispers, then, settling
So gently upon that slightest breeze wending
Over the granite crosses and statues of cradling angels,
Which stand in their long cemetary rows?
Stating each name of the one passed on with
There-on etched, too, the noting of time alive
And telling of the beloved, who hum there their slow laments;
Who send up colorful balloons to celebrate their love and
Take far their silent greetings in the sky.
Are they lullaby heartsongs, which
Rise on sprigs of heaven-bound light,
So tunefully sweet for love’s addressed, aided
By a league of angellic composers
In their lyrical rounds from above our earthly sphere?
Are these the places of our hushed sympathies?
The places we lay over our dear ones
All the broken pieces of the grieving heart’s still longing
To stay in some way forever near, and, so, we linger thoughtfully
Criss-crossing the undulating final verdigris
Landscape, which embraces the last remains ~
Resting on in heaven’s wait for that further journey going on.
Are these faint mists surrounding
So many hours of our own remaining days —
Which are spent summoning back the stories, the touches,
The eyes that happily cast their glance into our own —
Not truly our tears
Being turned to magnifying memories,
Prayerfully appearing with each
Dusk’s close of day and placid rise of the radiant moon?
Do see that the soundless falling is our aching?
Is a furor — burst of pure, white snow:
A flash of a blizzard, looking nearly weightless,
Landing in silence, but
Incongruously, falling heavily down, into those forming crystalline layers
To dress a seeming lace-like çover over all the stone markers
With a luminous beauty, revealing a metaphor, ineffable
~ Blessed markers of life itself set here before us
Within reach of meeting the Divine.
—————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 6/5/2023
(Written for Jennifer Wilson & Maggie Hopkins in loving
Memory of James Hopkins, spouse, father, & friend) Also written with the inspiring power of images of the 9,000 marking gravestone crosses in Normandy, France, and sights of Arlington Cemetary, Washington, D.C.
Written to unaccompanied cello Suite 1 in G major, perfomer Yo Yo Ma
Thanks be to God…
My imagination never takes me farther
Than the confines of my own space
Where colors in hues of azure and scarlet
Wrap around the promises of truth
That inspire me to listen to the hopes
Within my breath, where I can feel
Silence screaming in lasting lavender lights
Surrounding me with the galaxy of gifts
Guiding me through the universe’s realms
The ideas, dancing through my mind
In sweetest flow of enlightenment and kindness
An air of happiness sends astronomical
Visions to soothe me and protect me from
The harrowing experience of global warming
Where my thoughts fade into the ebony
Of a cosmos so prevailing I long to touch
Only one stroke of the grace I can pierce
With rays from a sunshine that lights up
The moments with hope and faith and love
Lasting through this life that colors us all
With crimson flow from the One who gave
Up the ghost so we might know truth
In the One who fills us up spiritually
Indwelling us with an intimate whisper of wispy
Mystery, ideas that thrive in the space
Of weightless, agile delight that frees us all
From the crimes of being alive, humanoid
Never knowing the path to the moon and stars
The planets that welcome our brilliance
With immediate and powerful willingness
To give back to our hearts, through this intensity
A drifting web, dancing with joy, insight
Into the truth of a space that leaves us all
Filled with the miracle of a truth, inspiring
Feathery wisps of knowing faith will remind
All of us, this space we take up in life
Will someday bring us the passionate promise
Of a rapture where God will answer questions
With a vibrant and lively affection that lives
To pierce our hearts with compassion that is
Like a brilliant light caressing the planets
With grace, praise and worship for the One
Who created us, them and everything that is
We are blessed to share this space under heaven
With hope for the welcoming presence
Of our heavenly caress, the gesture that tells us
God is the answer to all our life’s questions
He will someday fill us with truth and pleasure
That comes from knowing His touch, His presence
The light that comes from His holy blessings!
Musings on space Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
January 11, 2021
Parched and dry, this barren field stretches,
I wander, head hung low,
staring at the emptiness eclipsing my thoughts
Brittle blades of grass disappear beneath
my worn out sneakers,
black and white crushing beige
in slow fashioned footprints of blistered dust
“My sanity for some cool water”
When upon my shoulders, reddened by solar intensity,
wet from exerted energy, comes a breeze
as if Autumn has come to claim her colors,
to gather her brown and sepia landscape,
pull the lifeless trees, with little leaf
from the chalk textured ground taking it
where it would suit another, for this is my luck
"Take my shade I beg not, for it is merely a branch”
Like fingers of a silken web’s reach,
a soft caress of skin is not understood, though very pleasant
Nature finds me a shiver, a small comfort in this arid place
once crawling with snakes of assorted length, now
green as if lush has just been defined
with sweet air and pomegranate skies featuring a glow,
pristine shades of which I’ve never seen, heavenly
“To whom might I thank for such a gift?”
When before me stands, my eyes saturated and lost
slowly focus on beauty, winged loveliness now smiling within my own
personal oasis, which quickly forms in my heart
An angel, a goddess, extends a hand to me?
My cracked and weathered palm touches, smooth, gentle
her hand as she lifts me, I am weightless, floating
to her, my breath leaves me as I wonder, is this my end?
“If this beauty shall be my final curtain, let it be dropped slowly”
A voice of velvet speaks, as I fade in and out of reality,
now steadied by her touch and the sweet scent of lavender and lime
“I have come to you as a verse, for poetry is thy keeper,
thy words have been heard,” lyrical this voice sings
melodic and harmonious, a rhythm to the beat of my heart,
the race of my pulse, the love of my life, my muse, my all
“Eternal to you I shall write, for your beauty fuels my pen”
*I feel this poem speaks of poetry, the reason we are all here. To find and share our muse, to be inspired and grow together in poetry. It also was a step out of my comfort zone for me as this was an early write of mine where I tried a few new ideas.