Long Witness Poems
Long Witness Poems. Below are the most popular long Witness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Witness poems by poem length and keyword.
Van Gogh’s chair sits patiently
with the stubborn dignity
of something that has held
more weight than wood should bear.
Its legs splay slightly,
as if tired from listening
to the long monologues
of a man who painted
as though the world
were always on fire.
A pipe rests on the seat~
a small, domestic witness
to his restless hours,
the way he paced the room
searching for a color
that could tell the truth.
The straw seat glows
with a worn, sunlit patience,
a quiet counterpoint
to the fevered strokes
he left on every wall.
And the room around it
leans in,
holding its breath,
as if the chair
might speak at last
and tell us
what he carried
when he sat down
and let the world
fall away.
Life is a living testimony; to God and His infinite Love;
I witness daily His guidance near; Heaven sent from realms above. I am truly greatful and truly blessed; for fear I know not; signs of supernatural protection; show me I am not forgot. I also know while on the path, of what God's planned for me; there's no such thing as failure in fulfilling destiny. I know that God can hear my prayers; His replies are peaceful and instant; and never let me feel as though they're coming from a distance; all around me everyday; the beauty of God's creation; and the privilege of knowing Him, through the Ultimate gift of Salvation; Jesus came and died for us; that we may know the truth; I endeavour to live my life as a spiritual being of proof. Proof that we are not alone; proof that God is the Father; proof that when life leaves this realm, eternity is ever after. I want to use my freewill to honour and praise God's glory; Greeted by the Most High when get to the end of my story.
I CALL IT SLEEPING AWAKE AT NIGHT I RELIVING TRAUMATIC EVENTS SOMETIMES FALLING TO SLEEP AT SIX IN THE MORNING TO FIND MY DAY FILLED WITH NAPS DREAMS REM SLEEP VIVID VISIONS THIS IS WHY I AM NEVER ALONE THE HORRID THOUGHT OF FALLING ASLEEP ON A BUS WAKING UP LOST MY THINGS TORN BUS DRIVER YELLS THIS THE LAST STOP DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU GOING NO SIR WHATS YOUR NAME I DON'T KNOW THE REALITY OF TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY MY DOCTORS AT NASA CALLS IT EARLY ONSET OF DEMENTIA SO I RUSH TO KEEP WRITING EVERYDAY ALL DAY KERPING MY BRAIN ALIVE STRICKENED WITH NARCOLEPSY THERE IS NO CURE AND ITS NOT SLEEP APNEA IT'S THE BRAIN EVERY FEW MINUTES I FALL INTO A DEEP SLEEP RATHER IN A DOCTORS OFFICE GOD FORBID FLYING A PLANE OR JUST A NORMAL JOB VERY DANGEROUS I NEVER DROVE WHICH IS A BLESSING I'D PROBABLY KILL MYSELF FROM FRIGHT READING LICENSE PLATES LOOKING FOR THREATS MY THERAPISTS SAYS THIS IS NORMAL CAUSE I WORE WIRES FOR THE FBI MY JOB WAS READING LICENSE PLATES THE DAY OF MY CRASH A PLATE READ WITNESS I WOKE UP FROM A COMA BLESSING IS MY PARTIAL BLINDNESS DAMAGED EYE SOCKET MY VISION IS GONE I CAN'T READ PLATES ANYMORE FUNNY RIGHT A FEW OF MY CONDITIONS MOST PEOPLE NEVER HEARD OF NARCOLEPSY CRIPPLED ME NO ONE ELSE IN MY FAMILY HAS IT I BELIEVE HARRIETT TUBMAN HAD IT AFTER HER HEAD INJURY HIT IN THE HEAD WITH A CAST IRON WEIGHT I HIT MY HEAD ON THE DASH AIRBAG EXPLODED MY FACE DOMESTIC VIOLENCE BEING STRUCK IN THE HEAD KNOCKED UNCONSCIOUS TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY EVENTUALLY WELL LETS KEEP WRITING THE DEEP SLEEP IN THE DAYTIME WHEN I OPEN MY EYES I'M STILL DREAMING SO IF DRAGONS ARE CHASING YOU IN YOUR DREAM WHEN YOU AWAKEN THEY STILL ARE AND THIS COULD BE EMBARRASSING AT CHURCH SCHOOL WORK SO MY DOCTORS STARTED ME ON NUVIGIL THIS KEEPS ME AWAKE ALL DAY SO I COULD SLEEP AT NIGHT AND HAVE LESS PASS OUTS DURING THE DAY SO I WRITE I WRITE I WRITE KEEPING ME CONCIOUSLY UNCONSCIOUS
In the depths of my being, my heart resides.
A vessel of emotions where love abides
But in moments of anguish, it often cries,
Rivers of tears for His people, it implies.
But when I witness pain and despair,
It sheds tears for His people everywhere.
The world is a tapestry of bliss and sorrow.
Where happiness and sadness intertwine,
And in the depths of my being, I feel the weight.
Of every heart that's burdened by fate.
I view the tears that flow such as rivers.
From the eyes of those who suffer and shiver,
Their pain was etched deep within my soul.
As my heart cries for them as a whole
For His people, the ones in need,
My heart weeps rivers and bleeds,
But when I witness injustice and despair,
It sheds tears for people everywhere.
I view the forgotten, the lost, and the broken.
Whose voices are silenced, their stories unspoken?
And my heart aches for their pain.
I long to bestow them comfort again.
In the depths of my being, my heart resides.
A beacon of hope, where love abides,
My heart cries out for justice and peace.
For a world where love and compassion increase.
Oh, how the world weeps, but let us not despair.
Together, we can loom large; we can repair.
I've never looked forward to a miracle alike I now do
Which could be given to and suddenly land in my son's life
I hope that I can be a witness to express my gratitude to
Wake up! My child! and Welcome to the miracle!
Which makes reasons for the sunshine to be bright and warm,
And for the starlight to be peaceful and the world to be cute!
Since fortuitous misfortune could come so suddenly to you
Therefore by the same, I firmly believe that also comes for the miracles
The Merciful Creator will do logical things as being said
To maintain eternity, so you must show fairness and justice
By letting the miracle out! and being seen by common people!
As we head out of the mountains….far ahead of the winter snow…
I’m revisiting of a poem I wrote at a similar time and place…exactly 10 years ago:
When we first arrived in October…immediately we slowed
our attention focused on the fallen leaves that were carpeting the road.
Stepping outside we noticed the trees seemed much brighter than before
as if hinting at the coming miracles and wonders they had in store.
Each morning we were greeted by the sun and a cool October breeze.
Our eyes darted from one color to the next ‘neath the changing kaleidoscope of trees
We found it nearly impossible to focus on one particular hue
from the oranges, yellows and reds of the trees to the heavens dressed in blue.
We were honored to be a witness at the season of Autumn’s birth.
then quickly we felt the evanescence as more and more leaves rained down upon the Earth.
It was wonderful to travel to the mountains and among the leaves to roam
but time, as she moves ever onward is calling us back home.
So we leave our mountains with smiles on our faces
with new memories fresh inside our heads
ready for our next adventure…like two 70 year old newlyweds.
It’s true we live our life in moments…in a life that constantly rearranges
which means it’s up to us to find our happiness as the world around us changes.
Yes, life is one transformation after another…that’s what I perceive
seems to me (just as we did 10 years ago)
we have a lot in common with the changing of the leaves.
I am an elder and I am a dragon.
Therefore I am an elder dragon.
You may bow, kneel or plead before me.
And I will respect you if you will respect me.
I fell to this planet from the far further space.
And have been witness to all-time in this space.
Unfortunately I have not written any books.
But my words carry more weight than books.
Ask me a SIMPLE question.
And I will get you many answers to your question.
Humans will still reason and request a simple answer.
Answers from bottom left, to top, to bottom right.to left, to right are all answers.
You will then ask what is wisdom.
Combining lessons of past, experiences of current and imaginations of future is wisdom.
You feel off kilter when visiting me.
But I am in my element when shrouded by my winged me.
You should not let your child play with fire.
Yet your child asks me where is my fire.
Come inside my cave to view the stag leg might.
But you might end up feeling my might.
If you are content, step back into the light.
But I will not join you as I am afraid of the light.
as God is our witness…
you told me you loved her
adored her
could see no beauty like her
worshiped her
would never hurt her
she was your queen
the greatest creation seen
then you changed
became deranged
cursed her
debased her
embarrassed her
raped her
said you made love to her
deranged
like a mad dog
with the mange
you went and hit her
forgot to remember
what I said
‘bout gon’n up side yo head
that’s why you’re nearly dead
and I’ll gladly stand accused
of defending the abused
touch my baby a’gin
and ’om gonna commit a cardinal sin
take my case to the bench
plead the 5th and old testament
so you better look out boy
wallowing in your feigning joy
you better open your eyes and see
there’re a lot out here just like me
abuse our baby one more time
and it’ll surely be your last crime:
as God is our witness
you need to start praying for forgiveness.
Step into my hidden show,
where shadows dance,
secrets linger,
colours spill
like confessions.
Each stroke
a heartbeat,
each shade a shadow
of my mind,
inviting you to witness
the rawness
beneath the surface.
My mask is stripped away, the downfall began
before the spotlight ever shone.
I've laid it all bare - no shame in this truth.
I seek no applause;
I am not a taboo.
A painted smile is a façade,
not the reality of my struggle.
Here lies the chaos,
tangled threads
of thought,
beauty woven
through brokenness -
an open window
to my soul.
Feel the weight of my silence,
the vibrancy of my despair,
as you navigate this performance,
unfolding the layers
that shape who I am.
So come,
if you dare,
witness my world
unmasked,
where vulnerability
dances with strength,
each moment a story
unwritten,
a testament of resilience,
of hope,
in this intimate theatre
of a heart
laid bare.
“All war is a deception”
The day was chilly and dark
Low clouds hung over the sun
A low church stood a silent witness
To the raging sea and surf
Past its bent arch, darkness reigned
A candle lit slowly by the priest.
One by one the faces come to light.
Amused bronze. Smiling stone. Unsurprised.
For a time the length of that candle
gesture after gesture revives and dies.
Stance after lost stance is found
and lost again.
Who was that, you ask.
The saviour, the son, the priest replies.
A sceptic candle coughs.
I count the angels on the wall
And mother Mary’s soft tears
As all around the war rages
You come out in the dark sun
And find the children playing the game of death
24/09/2011
By Tahera Mannan
For constance’s “The Church by the ocean” contest