Long Witnesses Poems
Long Witnesses Poems. Below are the most popular long Witnesses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Witnesses poems by poem length and keyword.
Children of faith,
That look up to the heavens,
For help, for comfort,
For a change, for a beginning;
They are like nails hammered into rocks,
They have broken hearts,
They've got nothing,
Completely no one else to turn to,
They walk in the shadow of death.
Children of faith,
They know that they have numbered days,
And are aware of their crashing clay;
They see their fading light rays,
But they have their hopes high,
Like a camel in the Sahara,
That waits for years ,
For a shower of rain from above-
Their tongues prophecy new beginnings,
Their lips sing in thanksgiving,
But their hearts weep in sorrow,
For the afflictions and torments.
Children of faith,
Live each day like their last,
And give each shining sun their best.
Their thoughts are totally lost,
And upon this,they don't boast.
In fact, they're so detached-
From their poor lives.
They thank the setting sun,
For bringing a thin film of darkness,
And for silencing the day's noises;
So that they will shut their doors and windows,
To cry in silence,
And lick their tears;
And face their fierce fears-
While no one else witnesses their agony.
Children of faith,
That look up to the skies,
For midday dusk-
When the days seem longer,
Or appear like they're failing.
That call on,
For midnight dawn,
When nights appear faulty;
With the greatest of scary dreams,
And the highest ranking of their pain,
Or with life-threatening haemorrhages,
With wounds cut and drilled deeper.
Their lives have taken firm grip,
On to the strongest ropes,
Whose ends are knotted to weak poles.
Most of them lose it with time,
Like you and I at some point;
Only few keep the fire burning,
As they wait for their deliverance.
Children of faith,
I don't understand what it is that they are made of,
But only they know what their origins are.
We want to walk like them,
And borrow lessons from their trials,
As we try to put on their coats,
Just to feel the coldness or warmth or both;
That they get from their shield of faith.
She wants to follow their example,
And keep hearing their tales.
He wants to live a life like theirs;
And keep reciting their prayers.
We plead with them,
To Teach us ;
How to build faith like theirs.
When the storms are rough,
When the floods are yet to wash away our feet-
When misfortune befalls us,
Or when we feel we've lost it all.
She didn’t know pt.2
The Getaway
Making my get away I was walking fast.
Hiding the two bags of money in an old target shopping bag.
Walking with no witnesses as to which way I went.
It was all I could do not to break out and sprint.
As we now know it’s not safe to wear a hoodie
when you walk through a gated community.
I saw the volunteer guard before he saw me.
Briskly I ducked behind a large Oak tree,
I didn’t wanna windup D-O-A
in the middle of my get away.
This time of morning
there were no other prying eyes,
so, I quickly changed out of my bold disguise.
Slowing my pace, taking time to rub a little
dirt on my face.
Karma and luck were with me,
still no one gave chase.
Made it six blocks and on a corner.
Found a man looking out of place.
We made a traded and I give him a good deal.
For his card board sign that said
(Help I’m Homeless)
He got a white sweat suit and enough cash
to eat a good meal.
I give him another twenty
and said to have a good time.
Because for the rest of the day
this is corner is all mine.
So, I stand on this corner
with my help the homeless sign.
Hiding in plain sight, in the next poem.
I’ll tell you what happened to me that night.
Mr. Leeds was an Englishman from across the sea.
In the New Jersey Pine Barrens he would soon be.
Here he settled down with a local wife.
He wanted many children for a fruitful life.
Mrs. Leeds gratefully accepted the man’s wedding ring.
This couple was blessed with many offspring.
The children they had amounted to a dozen.
However, with a thirteenth, their troubles would begin.
“My baby-making days are going on the shelf.
If I have another child, may it be the devil himself.”
These words Mrs. Leeds said she would later regret.
What happened next was not easy to forget.
A boy baby was born as child number thirteen.
However, its presence became a horrible scene.
This boy had goat’s feet, bat wings, and horns like a devil.
The baby’s grotesque appearance looked inherently evil.
At the moment of birth, it gave a shrilling cry.
The creature left its bedding and began to fly.
It flapped its wings and flew out the chimney.
The horrified couple never again saw this baby.
Periodically, this “Jersey Devil” appears in the night.
Its mere presence to witnesses causes great fright.
Some believe in the creature, and others say it is folklore.
After three hundred years, it comes around some more.
She was just a girl yet hurting so;
In a school where he worked;
She was full of fear and doubt;
So scared to try to figure it out;
~
She was just a young girl;
Fragile and frail just 12 years old;
Ever so beautiful yet her life was in turmoil;
She being ever so fearful abnormal;
~
So he went to the store you see he cared about her little soul;
He bought her a book that you see, not just any book
The Man purchased her "a Bible"
Yes a...
B
I
B
L
E
~
Hopeless and scared no witnesses here;
Alone afraid in our heart;
She was a little beaten child a little malnutrition girl;
Mistreated child in tattered clothes she wore;
~
Hair messy and often undone eyes bright glittering for hope;
Often the bun accrual humor and bad jokes;
You see this kind man couldn't stand it, so I brought her a book;
A book of forgiveness, history, love and hope;
The name of this book, a King James Bible;
A book about" God's words" peace, joy and love offerings;
A book about God's words, history of humanity purposes,
rules and laws we should follow:
This book giveth hope!
This book finds the peace and love!
This book explains humanity sinful actions;
~
He was a Godly man (a clergyman)
A Godly friend; (humanitarian)
Wanted nothing from her the girl,
Nothing more than for her;
Just to be happy, whole and pure,
With a saved soul
Than to be unhurt, unharmed, have a saved soul;
But to help "God's daughter "and her wounded body and soul;
He gave her a book ;
He gave her a book ;
He gave her the Book!
5/21/21--©2021
For Contest He Gave Her A Book
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
My speech coils, a labyrinth biting into the air,
The last nail of the lie I remove from my mouth, delayed,
I gather accessible letters, string them on a thread of silence,
To enclose within them an oval time, like a sightless clock.
I encompass totality, a hundred lives in a moment,
Their infinity, too short, like a cracking ice bridge,
Brave as saints hidden in chests of slag,
Heroes who carry fear in their blood, like an old armor.
Through pits dug with hate, in their opaque hearts,
The alphabet flows, we like its alpha tears,
Stone atheists write psalms with nails on ribs,
And I steal a second from them, to grow it in nights unguarded.
I declare a galactic war on time, with stars as witnesses,
Ignite blazing manifestos on orbits, fiery signatures,
I ask the final clock for the spark, the reversed second,
To give me in return a breath of day, drawn from night.
At a contested exchange, with an eclipse's scale,
I barter my poet's shoulders for the gentle back of a horseshoe,
Ritually I become beastly, to carry light through grass,
To stretch your infinity with equal steps over necklaces.
From your crafted energies, I pour honey into bitterness,
I love without blinking, like a lighthouse in the marine wind,
I sew a map on your eyelids, with counterfeit tears,
To teach you that day and night can be the same crease.
Measure me with silence, the pendulum of the heart beats,
Count the long shadows stretching from the palaces,
In me, moments grow like stones in still water,
And each is a name you don't know from light.
When the alphabet tires, I crown it with clay,
I give it to drink from the celestial bitterness with a taste of foam,
And in the flow of consciousness, a boat passes without shores:
I call you — and time, ashamed, returns the moment on the wave.
I read these letters I've written,
One was to be continued,
I must have been dreaming,
It made no sense.
Dreaming.
No one has three dresses,
the couple are strangers.
I'll never find them anyway,
the list.
Dreaming no more.
You do,
I do.
Why didn't he say some words like we do?
All was there,
no dress,
no shiny shoes,
no list,
no dreaming.
All was good.
Me,
You,
This Preacher,
His witnesses.
Witness His counsel he said,
What counsel?
Dreaming.
I'm young again.
We're Counsel.
You,
Me,
A Preacher,
His Words.
His Counsel,
Our love on paper to witness.
Dreaming no more.
I'm dreaming no more.
Our nation is on a precipice
A deadly virus has gone amiss
Now is the time for us to get right with God
So that this unsettling spirit can be dismissed
Chaos, confusion and uncertainty
Are choking the nation
Now is the time for us to come together
In righteous indignation
God wants us to mitigate in order
To alleviate the disquiet at hand
And he will call on anyone
To further His divine plans
No you don't have to be a saint
To do whatever God does ask
Truth be told God will use the worst sinner
To accomplish His tasks
Now is the time to simply accept
That which God inspires
As we can't live by man's standard
But by only what God desires
Now is the time to stand in the gap
And act on our faith
To show the world what disciples do
Now isn't the time to wait
For now is the time to get rid of pharaohs
Those who oppress and control
For as true disciples and witnesses of Christ
We must be brave and hold
Now is the time to call out to Jesus
Who is the Great I Am
That name above all other names
The Redeemer of man
And unlike Moses we don't have to wander
To wonder nor ask to who
As we now know Jesus is our Savior
And what He can do
Now is the time to say I am here
God use me as you please
For I am your willing servant
And unto to You I will appease
Happy to see, hear, and read you, all of you
You, the souls of pure life. Oh, follow God!
Great happiness, all the information about you
Yeah, the Genesis is not alone. Witnesses. You
You. The heir of life. God believer. Heir of Life
From radio, television, and newspapers. You
Good to know you. We are not alone with you
You are trusted. You. All believers. Of our God
Yeah, yeah. We need to share and build with you
The pillars of life. Principles of God. Laws to you
Share, share
The laws of life
Comes from God
For life
We need
All of us
No darkness
No nihilism
Only God
Here we are in the village of Morristown, New Jersey.
It is September the sixth in the year of our Lord, 1833.
French immigrant Antoine LeBlanc went on a killing spree.
He took the lives of two rather prominent citizenry.
Antoine murdered Mr. and Mrs. Sayre, and their servant Phoebe.
The citizens of the town considered the deed so dastardly.
It only took twenty minutes for the decision of the jury.
With overwhelming evidence, the defendant was found guilty.
LeBlanc was afforded all the formalities of a fair hearing.
Judge Gabriel Ford handed down the sentence of death by hanging.
A crowd of about ten thousand are gathered in the public square.
Witnesses have come to see the execution from everywhere.
A rope around LeBlanc’s neck will propel him into the air.
Until he is dead, Antoine will be hanging in despair.
“That’s not enough”, cried some of the witnesses in their fears.
They wanted LeBlanc’s skin tanned and made into souvenirs.
Wallets, purses, lampshades, and book jackets were fashioned from his hide.
That is a gruesome fate that certainly cannot be denied.
Here is something else that I have to say:
Some of those relics of the infamous criminal still survive today.
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and the website of Weird N.J. for information I obtained to write this poem.
A lit candle stands alone,
The soft flame is swaying with a simple sigh.
Scarcely holding on, the light weakens.
In and out, not knowing that she's fading.
She's waning as Time doesn't know what's wrong.
Try as she might, the flame clearly dwindles.
The sigh has caused such trouble,
The flame was sure not long ago.
Time sees past the flame's flickering,
Knowing the future and past isn't enough,
For the flame is flickering in front of Time.
But Time is not the only one,
Who witnesses the dwindling of the flame.
Behind a smile, some riddles, and rhymes,
The flame implies tenacity.
She's waning in the present,
In and out, she flickers
In false tenacity.
It'll take more than Time.
She's flickering.