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.
I am a Sanctified beautiful ebony woman
created from God made for man
Bountiful beautiful creation
molded from clay just the right way
I'm so honored to be part of the creative gift you say
I am sanctified beautiful ebony woman
For God doesn't make anything imperfect
Men say i'm beautiful and through the message
I must confess this
i am a beautiful nest
I am a sanctified beautiful ebony woman
Bound for Glory For I am Holy and yes i passed God's test
sanctified beautiful brown eyes radiant bronze brown black and skin
with a mouth so open wide you can see the ocean
and in your faith you contemplate doing the natural thing but temptation
with sin nature
I am a sanctified beautiful ebony woman
No fornication nor adultery will complete its mission for I am a woman of God being bronze black or brown having to turn it around for I can wait
Intercourse is good sometimes maybe great
but it's much better in marriage
As God has ordained and planned it
I am a sanctified beautiful ebony woman
So man if you still think you want me
come join me first in a relationship with GOD
He' s my first groom and He only has room
To give me away to a Godly earthy man
I am a sanctified beautiful ebony woman
Whether you're sinner or saved you can come
My bodies not yours until you do what right what God says
I am in it to win it
So I am hoping you're finished
Even Beyonce says " put a ring on it"
I am a sanctified beautiful ebony woman
But I will not let my spirit fall to burn in hell
Just because my body says yes but the spirit says no
My heart says yes but the spirit says no
We may caress maybe even kiss but be careful mister the body's not yours
I am a sanctified beautiful ebony woman
Be careful might trip and if you fall or if I fall it may be a long way down to hell
Quicker path to Hell's not only going to burn the body but your spirits so too
Not I am releasing this I am a witness the body is good this is true but I rather Have to be a sanctified whole woman who spiritually aroused in truth so my play
I am a sanctified beautiful ebony woman
To any man out there today who
who thinks they want to court me come to God First
because I am married to the spiritual man
the Holy One the almighty creator I'm a bride of God
I am a sanctified beautiful ebony woman
It seems difficult to witness the last moments
Of your near and dear ones
But in reality I witnessed
The last calm heaves of my father
Without the slightest agony
My father
Lain on the hospital bed
Eyes half closed
With only the stare of death
Hazily glittering through the half ajar lids
Heaved once or twice
The monitor indifferently recording
The fast decreasing pulse rate
The incessant AC chilling the air
And then
It was all over
It was the perfect moment
I should have broken down on his still warm body
All the agony, pangs, tears abound
Following the impeccable script
But
I could not
I didn’t weep out
I just stepped out of the cabin
And felt dazed amidst the crowd
I even slept untroubled that night
The next morning
As I entered the lonely room of my father
And looked at the empty bed
With his specs waiting sullenly
His stick leaning on the wall
All his books pining silently
Perhaps they guessed their master’s absence
At that very moment
I felt something happening inside me
A benumbing cry rose from my heart
An uncontrollable one, it choked my throat
Tears, holy tears, bless me, enchant me
I really want to break myself free
From the deep, dark crevices of life
A slash of light sears my left eye -
end of the world
or just sunshine crashing into a slanted window?
It happens just that quickly
I don't think there will be a time-lapse
or anytime to count the number of
deathly moments
that rush into a cringing brain.
When the end begins.
The balloons will go up
balloons will be downed
nothing to see
until we are all resting
under a great lake of rumor and suspicion.
When the black and white cat
fell of the roof, somebody cried
but the silence downed out all voices.
A train blunders into a happenstance
chemicals are burned,
the deadly smoke gets into every eye,
will we be blinded by fireballs or only mollified
by silent headlines?
The end of the world needs a witness
otherwise it just won't ever end.
Superimposer
such an imposter
heart posture
sinless composer
keeps cutting a deal
missing his field
Prospect is killed
blazing sacrifice
trying to be nice
humble and spiced
yet he's OK why cuz the Father got him
leaving appalled
being withdrawed
suspected of twice
trying to be a witness
covered in nice
falsely accused of being duped
silently bruised
yet in truth
he's a bright moth attracted to the flame
cursed fumbles the ball relinquishes his name
yet he's OK why cuz Our Father got him
caught up in the game
Withered and torn
complacent rebirth reborn
and in saying all this
yet instilled bless
blessed is his type
crucified for being nice
following the dream
being
what it is and not What It Seems?
Praise God hallelujah he's okay because our Daddy's got it
What it is Is Not What It Seems
10/17/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2023
Blandishments eroded invaluable necessary treasured alms
Existential nihilism rent psyche asunder
courtesy unforeseen deadly bombs
lobbed by computer hacker and scammer
rolled into one nasty,
short and brutish lout,
whereby his aggrieved targeted victim
experiences absolutely zero qualms.
Though common horse sense
I generally applaud
within these lovely bones
an undersize fellow whose forehead broad
methinks perchance twenty first century
can witness remake of Exosquad
linkedin with mental, physical,
and spiritual fiasco fraud
no doubt grist for the cinematic mill
made for movie of the week,
where prominent product placement
of once iconic iPod,
but illustrious position
in Apple's product lineup
came to an end.
Apple finally killed the “iPod” brand,
just over twenty years
since original introduction in 2001
creating perfectly fitting
pièce de résistance jigsawed
replaced by smartphones,
such as the iPhone,
which can both store music
and access music streaming services
such as Spotify and Apple Music.
Nevertheless, and despite efforts
to exorcise mailer daemons
rage against the machine
that doth mauraud,
while a tempest blows
furious in my mind as well outside,
thus I gladly nod
acknowledgement toward Mother Nature
for natural timely spatial effects
bending boughs analogous to quad
of cheerleaders executing tricks
while accompanying color guards
exhibit purposeful antics done roughshod
for the benefit of mister Kite.
Distraction writing reasonable rhyme
temporarily offsets carbon footprint
to stomp furiously on account of cyber crime
wracking noggin how I could be lame
easily being conned, dogged,
goaded, hectored, kick/jump started, ...
now yours truly haint gotta dime
to his name, attributed to fool hardiness
poached, fried, embezzled...
oh that human slime
letting him manipulate me
as if he pointed gun -
which spelled "BANG"
when fired, now triggers
profound unnecessary anguish.
#Want_everything_first_hand
Wanna be the first to know and hear her say" i think I'm pregnant " , wanna be the one to buy the pregnancy test , wait with her for the 15 minutes and watch as the one line give birth to the 2nd line, wanna hold her hand and say " we are in this together"
Wanna be the first to notice the bump, starting to show, wanna be there when the moods and cravings kicks in, wanna love her even more when she'd be angry at me for no reason, when her body adjusts and rub her swelling legs, wanna be waken in the middle of the night to go and buy her juristic cravings
Wanna see and feel my child moving and kicking, the tiny legs prints on her mothers belly, wanna listen and touch my child while still wrapped inside her mothers gold womb, wanna be there in labour, holding my wife's hand and when she can't bear the pain anymore, wanna kiss her of her forehead and say" you can do it for us"
Wanna take turns to change diapers, warm the bottle, bath my child, wanna raise my child for me not how the media and the society dictates it should be, wanna make mistakes and learn from them, wanna be a father, not what and how religion and nature says it should be, wanna trim fatherhood to my own desire and make, wanna be the first, for it will be my first
Wanna be the first to hear my child say their first word, wanna be there to witness their first step, their first tooth, first chuckle, wanna be what my child's eyes sees when they start to see, want them to know the taste of my fingers, know the sound of my voice and know that I chose to be there and will always be there, that I chose to be a father, their father
Wanna drop my child at chrech in the mornings and fetch them in the afternoons, wanna see their first scribling, wanna be the fisrt to buy and fit them their first school uniform
Wanna take them to meet my mom and siblings and both brothers and sisters rascals, wanna take them to grannies and grandfather's graves to introduce them, wanna take them to meet my father and his brothers,
Want everything first hand, be a father, a friend, a confidante to my child, I want everything first hand
#Poetic_ink
I'm a witness,...you're an audience,
Yes,...Christ and the church,
Abide to list of ineptness,
Meet a criteria of creche,
A lioness gifted with new furs from gold,
Love in their abode,
Attractive and benevolent flower in the botany of a gardener,
It is purchased for a purpose;
providing rich scents,prestige and endeavors,
Beak of falcons wish to feed upon,
Doves and sparrows like it's leaves,
But they work in vain,
News about you and I is heard in the East,
Those from west come to view the feast,
From North comes Kings and Queens,
"Very adulterated with endearment",
That's the voice of the southern prominent, .
Three things attributed by love;hardworking,dedication and focus,
The head of one man carries the goals of perversion,
Joy and peace;they are the son and daughter of couples,
"Open your heart,...I.want to hide myself in there",
The man said,
Incredibly the voice of the woman toned,
"come in to your breeding home",
Oceans we take sight,...greener pastures we stroll along,
How can I taste your sweetness?
When will I have you as a fuel in my lamp?
I guess writing your feelings in my heart,
Matrimonial seal our consolidation with angelic visitation,
Heaven then hails our glory with hope and laughter,
Day and night concludes our sojourn on the surface of greatness,
That's when death workouts its part with loneliness and weariness,
Feeding the belly of graves with our rotten vessel,
We bought a pumpkin at the store…the prettiest one we’ve seen
while we’re in the mountains…it’s our nod to Halloween.
“Where should I put the pumpkin?" I asked, for even at pumpkin decorating I’m unfit.
“Why not ask the pumpkin.” Deborah said. “Where she would like to sit”.
“I’d like to sit on the stairway outside the front door.” She said with a big old pumpkin grin…”Where you can see me when you go out and I can greet you coming in”.
“A place I can feel the crisp, cool morning air…would be enjoyable…would be fun….
In the same spot I can watch the shadows and feel the warmth of the mid-day sun.”
“Where I can listen to the birds, see the animals, watch the trees in a light wind sway.
Where I can witness the color of the leaves change a little every day.”
“Where I can watch those same leaves fall…turning over and over again…
Where, if I am lucky, I’ll catch one every now and then.”
So that is where we placed our pumpkin…
in her personally requested space
and that is why
without a bit of carving…
our pumpkin
has a smile on her face.
The genuine of simplicity is the wishing will,
arouses the splendor in content of still.
The scattering stories are matter of a baggage,
becomes the chant proclaiming the stage in savage.
Those torn loose ends to know by the breathe,
finding pleasure in the cruelest advice beneath.
The act of harsh or sweet in shallow warm,
tormented insecurities latching to reform.
That trying again, and once again, to rise,
smoking, drinking, manipulation in disguise.
When moody blinded self-absorption is out on bail,
becoming the shadows trapped in a flapping sail.
By the antiquity to proof with intellectual sight,
every heartbeat trebled to change heavens might.
That most rare conception of all nothing,
and its consequences with its swinging sting.
The cry for righteous freedom in darkening eclipse,
the haunted space by nemesis in grips.
Bearing witness to the poor admitted heart,
in social convention is the holy phony art.
The delicate web of human trust,
emphatic rapture in airy fabrication and its dust.
The lying gambles played every day,
holding and keeping what is not have anyway.
The embodiment of all that despise,
the puppeteer and its disguise.
Pegasus flight thru the storm looses some feather,
mythology is the living breath altogether.
—The Fortune Teller Who Miscalculated Eternity—
Beneath the carnival’s last amber light,
A wooden prophet sat in velvet still;
His painted eyes possessed no mortal sight,
Yet promised futures by a stranger’s will.
His copper heart concealed no hidden art—
Only the coded chambers of a heart.
I placed a coin once warmed by vanished hands,
A relic from a voice time stole from me;
Not seeking gold, nor kingdoms, nor commands—
I asked what years remained for him to be.
“Two years,” he said, “then newer fires shall burn;
My future waits, prepared for my return.”
I heard within his mechanical reply
The ancient wish that grief might be undone;
The human hunger written in the sky—
To seize tomorrow before it had begun.
For in his certainty, beneath the flame,
I heard my own unspoken plea for name.
I took the claw and hammer from the stall,
The tools of flesh against the forged divine;
One blow reduced his prophecy to fall,
And scattered years like dust before my eyes.
The oracle that claimed tomorrow’s throne
Could not survive the future it had known.
No witness came to measure what was lost;
No scholar weighed the fragments on the ground.
The proof of his great error paid the cost
Of vanishing before it could be found.
I held the coin and knew, beneath the night,
I had not broken him—I broke my sight.
For from his hollow chest, where circuits slept,
A strange and wordless garden seemed to rise;
The gears became the seeds no hand had kept,
The silence opened into unborn skies.
And I understood what no machine can see:
The unknown is not darkness—it is free.
Let engines count the hours they may endure,
Let kingdoms carve their triumphs into stone;
No calculation shall make tomorrow sure,
No system shall possess what is unknown.
For all that breathes beneath eternity’s art
Must leave the future free—and keep the heart.