Long Wove Poems
Long Wove Poems. Below are the most popular long Wove by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wove poems by poem length and keyword.
The Enchanted Garden
What use would an enchanted garden be, if I searched for the flower and couldn't find it,
maybe it melted into the alchemy of the seasons, turned to pollen of the moon,
or maybe I myself hid it under a spell, in some corner without a map,
buried beneath the snow of a dream I no longer know how to conjure.
Maybe I picked it only once, wove it into my heart like an incantation,
then fled before the petals could fall into the ash of dusk,
believing that leaving was the hardest spell in all our alchemy,
not knowing that its staying inside me would be eternal, like a fixed star.
But you keep coming back, like a ghost who never heard the farewell chant,
like the moon that follows me down any road I take, away from you,
your fragrance still casts spells long after you've faded from the room,
I close the doors at night, but your shadow keeps the lanterns lit inside me.
I tried to conjure other flowers, gave them false suns from my own ashes,
but none of them held the magic of the love we once began, you and I,
you were the first enchanted flower I ever called my own,
the first love, the first moment eternity felt like a true spell.
Maybe I could forget you if you stayed beyond time, in some other incantation,
if you stopped returning every time I learn a new charm of forgetting,
but you come back, and I become sixteen again, enchanted and without a map,
who knew only how to love you as if no spell could ever break it.
So tell me, how am I supposed to undo the spell of a flower that keeps blooming
in the enchanted garden I keep trying, in vain, every night, to forget?
After two weeks of riding the winds across the world,
I return to the nest where my heart had perched all along.
Meeting old souls and young flames was a melody of warmth,
Their greetings, like golden threads, wove memories into my soul.
Living alone in my quiet cocoon, I had forgotten the dance of life,
But among many hearts under one roof, I felt the fire rekindle.
The walls may have worn the years like ancient scrolls,
Yet the laughter within them lit the halls like chandeliers of joy.
Some lands felt like overflowing treasure chests,
Where a simple coin made me a king, if only for a day.
Others stood like castles on high cliffs, unreachable,
Yet the kindness of strangers built bridges across our differences.
I longed to stand before the great wonders,
But the stormy whims of weather and health held me back.
Perhaps, through the looking glass of a screen,
I shall still taste the marvels of my fleeting odyssey.
A catch in my throat,
a spitting image of bated breath
in patchworks of subtle notes;
Noticing a quality of a wilting death
beginning to grow.
Focusing on a world relaxing as it smokes
Mismatches a bait, silver linings that shake a spread
to the hope you always said to have known,
Reminders of what could’ve been
or of the moments when you should’ve spoke.
“What is it that I can’t let go?”
Attached to the feet carrying me past where I left,
when something near within felt as if it froze,
seemed like fitting stitches to the world I mend
to this circle of surrounding sandy stones.
Maybe fate found a way to spread
with the flames that ascend from these cultured oaks;
A warmth of history, giving today the chance
in hopes for a theft without that humming groan.
All sparked from the misses matches
a world placed in my reach
but I confess to what I chose.
If this tree could remember,
do I feel what it was shown?
How much is consumed?
How much is transformed?
I may not find the ash of use
But if it and dust mix with an origin adage;
In illuminating what I can not yet know in truths,
Light from all that its made acts as a bandage
for getting us through;
All that glitters can still grow into gold
as the favorable remains subject to ones view.
You can let go.
I have been most inaccessible to myself,
While offering everything to the world,
without the thought of it to be negotiating
in a ways to serve my own.
Maybe still its my attempt for my mind
to finally have this concept wove.
I can’t know what I am
I know I can’t know.
When this fire burns out
and only the ashen dirt and embers are left to tend
as mimics of this dark and starry night,
When the morning comes
Here I recognize,
If I had saved my breath
I would have let go.
Do you see the serenity of my
misshaped machete?
A moment mistaken for a musical mystery,
Hold no hopes for this ballad my blade sings to you;
She only reflects the dreams on a dimmed dawn you once drew,
Foolishly flourishing for the finely crafted chaos,
When the writings on her walls bleed for the bruises you prey on,
Rest on the reflection she wove for you,
A closet you’ve locked, she wiggled her way into,
Do the realistic corners of what you seek have no light?
Did my mahogany mirror make you feel a little fright?
Was holding the hands of an echo a suggestive thrill?
Or would you rather have a minute and relearn the drill?
Dare not blame my beastly blade, wear no shade, since you stayed,
So lay your cards and pay the price you played.
I have walked miles and spent days
trying to find that one special lady
who looks at me and has chemistry;
secretive affairs are quite worthless!
Oh, a special lady can make me
feel Heaven with her sensational love
that only needs trust, nothing more;
she can wrap her charm around me!
I'm not looking for beauty to impress me,
reveal each feeling, even if it means to surrender;
show each emotion that'll make us bond together...
look straight into these eyes and wove me!
Oh, a special lady will be perfect for me
in a time when I'd to give up on love not chasing
rainbows hoping to find someone to love me:
ah, I realize how much time I've wasted searching!
A special lady is waiting for me,
so is happiness never felt by me;
show me faithfulness and arms of endless joy:
end this foolishness, I'm no longer a silly boy!
You have haunted the garden of my thoughts, unaware of the endless conversations,
About sea butterflies and flights mingled with white, forgetful snows.
I wove you into the celestial tapestries, you were my astral laboratory of dreams,
A solar vagabond returning from a dark night to caress the dawn once more.
In profound silence, I have tried to paint you on the stretched canvas of serenity,
With tones of fantasy, in my heart, the sanctuary of your barely visible halo.
And how often, wrapped in murmurs, you fell like a star into my open palms,
Bestowing upon me, from your astral trials, a warm and ephemeral embrace.
I called out to you, ah, secretly, in dreams whisper by whisper, to return from where you departed,
To rebirth hope in my far-off seasons, to rewrite the stories of the fallen leaves.
Among remnants of long-set autumns, you were the invitation to my new springs,
To give life to my wanderings among ruins, to drape your promising tomorrows over an ashen yesterday.
Yet you never knew, I never let the words swim freely towards your shore,
How sharp was the needle of longing that stitched my days with its invisible and heavy thread.
The sea tear filled the inner seas, reaching dry shores, salted by sighs,
Loaded with that innocent suffering that dissipated within, unseen by your eyes.
A Slow Death or the Silence of the Old World
In the twilight of a bygone era,
Where echoes of past times still whisper,
Ancient trees murmur the secrets of celestial winds,
And silence, a heavy shroud, envelops the remnants of a forgotten realm.
Time here flows like a languid river,
Each tick of the grandfather clock
A solemn reminder of a world slowly fading away,
Its heartbeat weak but insistent,
In the quiet air of nostalgia’s embrace.
Cobblestone streets, etched with the footprints of countless souls,
Now stand deserted, like the pages of an unwritten book,
Buildings, once alive with laughter and stories,
Stand as silent sentinels, their windows like eyes, watching, remembering.
The air is thick with the scent of history,
Each breath a journey into the sepia-toned past,
Where voices once wove a tapestry of tales,
Now replaced by the soft murmur of the timeless wind.
In this sacred space, the old world dies a slow and sacred death,
Its essence dissolving into the ethereal mist,
Yet within this profound silence lies a hidden beauty,
A melancholic grace that sings to the soul.
Here, the past and present entwine in a delicate waltz,
A dance of shadows and light, of memory and desire,
Where the silence of the old world
Transforms into a symphony of forgotten dreams.
As the sun sets, casting its golden, ethereal light,
The world is bathed in a gentle, nostalgic glow,
A reminder that, even in the deepest silence,
There are stories waiting to be unearthed, to be cherished.
In the silence of this ancient world,
Where the ephemeral and the eternal embrace,
We find a poignant truth:
That, even in the quietest corners,
The heart of history beats on, whispering its timeless song.
She turned her face from me, so pale,
Like waning moons that softly fail,
And drift beyond the tides of sight,
Lost within the arms of night.
Her eyes, once stars that lit my way,
Grew cold as dawn that will not stay,
And silence wove its silver thread
Through all the words we left unsaid.
I called her name—the wind replied,
A hollow echo, deep and wide.
I reached, but found an empty space,
A ghostly hush, a vanished grace.
The roses bloomed, then fell apart,
Their petals red within my heart,
And time, that thief of love and May,
Bore all I cherished far away.
Still, in the dusk, her shade I see—
She turned her face, but not from me,
For in the quiet, dark and deep,
She haShe turned her face from me one night,
Beneath the stars' cold silver light,
And in her eyes, I could not see
The love that once burned bright for me.
The wind was soft, the air was still,
The garden lay beyond the hill,
But all the world had lost its tune—
The roses closed beneath the moon.
Her lips were pale, her voice was low,
A whisper lost where wild winds blow,
And though I reached, she slipped away—
A ghost upon the edge of day.
The summer died, the leaves grew thin,
The frost crept silent, white as sin,
And though the earth turned ever on,
The warmth I knew was gone—was gone.
Now only shadows walk with me,
Where once she shone so tenderly,
And though the stars still gleam above,
They do not sing, they do not love.
I,
a daughter of oceans
held in the palm of mother earth
a being ignited with a fire
that wove a heart of the wind
lifting,
torn from pages
floated in the firmament
I was
—-
I,
a whisper of echo
that was the call of sorrow
in a moments Ecstasy,
being all and nothing
floating
I,
a speck of dust
finding niche within earth
a sarcophagus made of crust
healed with time,
and budded
to life
—–
I am a daughter of the sea
held within the spirit of mother earth
a being ignited with a fire
that weaves a heart of wind
lifting,
to be rebound in all chapters
floating in the firmament ,
I am,
again
In the silent halls where silence reigned supreme,
An unseen storm shattered the stillness, like a foreign voice,
A harsh, uninvited voice that wove a tale of judgments,
Speaking of unseen mistakes, lost in shadow.
Its echo spread, bitter as a dark wave,
Without evidence, without support, yet seeking to tarnish names,
The mirror cracked, its truth betrayed by words,
But in its shards, a silent lesson gleams.
Not every spoken truth can soothe the wounded soul,
For dignity, though bruised, is clothed in silence and strength,
And the storm may boom, roar, and threaten,
But the soul, like an oak, rises again, unyielding.
In the depths of solitude, where shadows weave their dance,
I seek meaning in the chaos of words, in their endless echo,
And I wonder if silence can be a sacred altar,
Where souls meet, beyond noise and storm.
Through the labyrinths of the mind, in search of eternal truth,
I find that sometimes, silence is the most sincere answer,
For in its deep quiet, a cosmic power hides,
Which can heal the wounds left by relentless storms.
Thus, I return to myself, with each verse like an incantation,
And in the silence of the universe, I find my lost balance,
Understanding that truth and dignity have their own voice,
Whispering among the stars, in an eternal dance of light.