Long Wilting Poems
Long Wilting Poems. Below are the most popular long Wilting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wilting poems by poem length and keyword.
Watching the stars
As they gently appear.
One by one they glow
The sun slowly slipping down
The sky now a pallet of hue
Sounds of nature
that were hidden by the bustle of day,
now free to be expressed.
Thus the mood changes.
Gazing upon the vast lake
that gently ripples in the
light of the moon.
Mist rolling through the silhouette
of the woodland.
How the change in light
paints a new picture.
As I look up now
I see a realm of history.
Undiscovered universe
that supplies me with wonder.
Beautiful, as a flower
at the end of its life.
Dried and wilting
But forever composed.
Sleepy as I take in the splendour
of the turn of a new day.
Captivating the moments as if the first,
except they are forever more.
Entered in Laura Mckenzies Contest
How your lips adored me like sweet Chablis
where paths of seasons were widely gained;
that all I feared dissolved into your arms
taking chances on vows of forever:
But your hidden lies drenched me in the rain,
playing with my vulnerability
through splintered words of a snake’s deceit,
of liaisons drilling nights upon my barbed cross.
Far the separate roads we shall travel then
wilting on grapevines where ardor once ruled,
and now, your dead leaves of betrayal crash…
while I prevail , stand tall from an intent so unreal.
For john lawless: WHAT LIES BENEATH THE LIES
2/17/2017
poetry eludes my soul
when I desperately want to embrace it
when I watch dahlias blossom and dance in the wind
poetry glowing in my mind dances too
when at tranquil dawn idly lying in bed
I listen to pitter-patter of falling raindrops
when sun-god appears on his chariot driven by seven horses
illuminate horizon turning sky into flaming vermillion crimson
with my elated heart I dream poetry
poetry abandons me
when at darkest of nights I stay awake looking at the bare ceiling
wonder why unfair and cruel words still cut me mercilessly like a knife
why do I feel like a candle inside me melting till there is nothing left
fragile petals of a wilting rose ruthlessly sprawled on the hard ground
why do teardrops fall like tiniest pearls created by hurt and suffering
in a poverty-stricken country early quiet morning crows caw harshly
the young boy I see on the streets painting the exterior of a building
a torn shirt on a skeleton body shivering from biting cold
beyond my comprehension how he survives
poetry leaves me
Slowly, sanity slips through fever-laced dreams.
Layer by layer, I fall deeper into unknown rabbit holes.
What was up is now down.
Colours melt, dripping from the night skies,
Pouring onto my fracturing cranium.
Hallucinating, I walk upon a fragile field of wilting roses.
As each petal dies, so does another memory in my delicate mind,
Leaving behind nothing but specks of dust floating within empty space.
It's getting harder to tell if I'm still alive in this nightmarish scene.
Beads of sweat mix with humid navy breezes sweeping across me.
My breath hangs precariously all around.
Voices trying to wake me grow fainter,
Disappearing amongst delusions.
Ties that bind my soul eroding,
I feel my flesh burning, puckering.
The illness wraps its tentacles tighter around me,
Refusing to let go, dragging me six feet under.
As the ground cracks open, the faint thread finally snaps.
No longer can my soul return to my mortal coil;
It will be left to rot among the foxtail and weeds,
Consumed by Death's cursed grasp.
I had this old potted flower just sitting there on the window sill
And with each passing day and hour it was none the better still
Half dead it never really seemed alive with only a few leaves left
Where what once had thrived was some how taken like a common theft
So sad did it seem to be slowly wilting away right in front of my eyes
It's beauty I could no longer even see no matter how hard one tries
And with everything that I tried nothing ever seemed to work
So I sat there and sighed thinking what happened to all that perk
As a last ditch resort I decided to replant it with some new soil
And using just a little effort with this meager job I began to toil
Putting it back up in the window just to allow it to come to rest
And now at least I would know that I had tried my very best
The next day as I entered the room something seemed different
I noticed this little baby bloom and it had such a fragrant scent
And in the following days I really couldn't believe what I saw
That plant began to amaze, one of the prettier one's that I ever saw
And so it is with our Children for they are all planted somewhere
You remember way back then as everyone has once been there
So if the blooms always spoil and they just don't seem to grow
Put them in the proper soil and their beauty will certainly show
If only you knew
Of how painful is the throb
That grips my heart
When I think of how cold you are
Towards me, Love!
If only you knew,
Of how powerful are the waves
That strike my coast
Submerging me in their surge
Drowning my tears in them
Killing me with their might!
If only you knew,
Of those dreams that I have constantly,
Those dreams related to both of us
Those dreams, given to me by the skies,
Wanting so eagerly to see us being
By each other's side
While we row our given boat
In the murkiness of this world's swamps!
If only you knew,
Of how desperate I feel
When I think that you may not see reason
In between the folds of that mystical side
Of mine which is related to you!
If only you knew,
That I have sworn to the skies
To be made to cease to exist
Should it be that you love me not!
After all, the roots that bind us together
Originate from the source of all existence
If only you knew,
That you came in this world,
For my sake,
But, blinded by Maya's veil,
You have forgotten about everything else!
If only you knew,
That you are a fallen God,
Fallen for my sake,
And that your cause on Earth
Would turn out to be void
If you choose not to cuddle my heart
In between the desirous pulls
Of your lips!
If only you knew
Of how I yearn for an opportunity
To tell you of same,
When you have pushed me into
A blank silence,
A silence which witnesses my tears,
My fears, my floods and the wilting of my flowers!
If only you knew
That you are hurting the Gods
By not abiding to their will!
Pray, if only you knew
That this world is not your home,
Never has it been so and never shall it be
Awaited you are back there,
With me by your side!
If only you knew,
But how would you?
When you refuse to let me open up
To you,
As you most probably see not my pain,
My hurt, my agony, my visions,
And my dreams!
How would you?
When I remain overpowered here,
Countered on all sides
By the frugality of maya and its illusions!
How would you?
When I remain mad
Mad, with my wild imagination
And my mystical visions!
Written: November 14, 2023 For Robert James Liguori
_____________________________________
Sitting in my comfy chair with my injured knees
Insouciant spent time alone with my disease.
In which my companion bade me farewell.
To hoard a spot for me in her paradise dwell.
Dreams I had as a child flooded my mind.
Eat, study, and play without anguish or grind.
Being older never induced a query.
Neither did I pursue my parents' theory.
My languor body is ripe and showing its age.
It subsists, yet I witness a lassitude page.
In a mirror, I view a mellifluous, sketchy shape.
Upon the eyes of a child, struggle to escape.
I used to be a ring, all brilliant and smooth.
I slid through the night's lightning and sleuth.
Casting jovial rays in a haphazard course
While vestigial bellows heralded each source.
In this woebegone life, age, and frailty show.
As lichen cypress, we sway, graying, and slow.
We admit amorphous days to be a ripe apple.
Progeria grip pushes youth to grapple.
once robust and blooming stems of youth.
We aquiver to mellow, writhe, and cough.
Our eyes bore witness to the events of life.
The exquisite scene is a symphony of strife.
A sunken summer reveals a winter of fading light.
And the gossamers will be wilting before sight.
And the blithely petals will shortly wither away.
In a broken bucket, once balmy blooms display.
from the everlasting scrap yard of common decency
and the slaughter fields of raging battles never won
the stench of broken values rises in foul smelling loss
perfumed no doubt by the false values and belief of
glory fame power and victories of raging belligerence
for one goal or other and the wasteland of abasement
the cemetery has long been closed for overpopulation
instead landfill sites have replaced ceremonial plight
because remembering might cast a shadow of doubt
lest we forget the tragic blood shed and mutilations
foot soldiers and money lusting collaborators alike
would stand a chance of wielding humanity instead
of the overwhelming desire to kill execute and maim
dumping grounds and hazardous waste dumps have
replaced ceremonial remembrance of defeated trust
in humanity butchered on the killing fields forever more
worms devour shattered bones and vacant skulls’ remains
finish off what history buries in its toxic suffocating void
with only a few widows gazing at weeds and wilting poppies
orphans of wealth scramble at the surface and gather tears
that slide like slime and splattered brains down to their hearts
draped in rags the hungry vagrants have lost their appetite
while the grim reaper belches in flatulent satisfied reward
they tie a white flag so innocent that it remains invisible
chant a cacophonous melody as they inhale a final whiff
their loved ones died in vain and are unwilling to applaud
their henchmen and woman who cast their sword for death
and vitriol of marching onwards until ultimate surrender
but in tune to their own souls and deeply rooted disgust
they dig up the remains of sacrificed friends and former foes
gather in candlelight vigils and refuse to not fight for light
08th March 2021
When the days begin to grow shorter,
and the sky becomes dreary and gray.
When the nights turn darker and colder,
you know that Jack Frost has come to play.
When birds fly south to warmer places,
we pull our heavy coats out to stay.
Snowflakes fall and the ponds ice over,
you know that Jack Frost has come to play.
When crystals form on barren branches,
the cold north wind makes them creak and sway.
If your old bones feel so much older,
you know that Jack Frost has come to play.
His breath will turn the green grass to brown,
his touch has flowers wilting away.
His dark shadow sends hoarfrost creeping,
you know that Jack Frost has come to play.
Things can change like the wind very fast
Life like the weather, stormy or not
Feeling the moment like it's the last
Going with the flow, harder than thought
Coins tossed with wishes, gambling at best
Life like the weather, stormy or not
Worry like a thief, wanting to rest
Time races forward, dreams stay in place
Coins tossed with wishes, gambling at best
The clouds still look to be lined with lace
Guiding me through bright gardens that bloom
Time races forward, dreams stay in place
I'm still the same in an empty room
With view through the window, I can see
Guiding me through bright gardens that bloom
Colors bright before wilting quickly
Things change like the wind very fast
Confusion fades, leaves fall from the tree
Feeling the moment like it's the last
Heidi Sands
9/3/19