Hymns we hum are our own version.
We cast aside the ancient,
dogmatic liturgy,
For the hymns we hum are our
own version,
Symphonies forged in the
crucible of autonomy.
No longer chanting the
antodisestablishmentarian
strains,
We orchestrate an unyielding,
revolutionary resonance.
Every breath breathes a
nonconformist hallelujah,
An uncompromised,
multidimensional manifestation
of faith,
Dismantling the
institutionalized, authoritarian
altars.
We sanctity the beautifully
unconventional spirit,
Our voices rising in glorious,
independent ascension.
Lento is the rhythm our hearts once beat.
Mementos we idealized from the past.
Tempos orchestrate our crushing defeat
Crescendos into what could never last.
Of course, we loved the blessed symphony
Endorsed sacred songs mutually shared.
Divorce brought along its cacophony
Forced a melody of chaos unrepaired.
Judges and lawyers pulling wicked strings
Trudges to the beat of our tragic age.
Grudges hammering the half-notes that sting
Besmudges our reputations with rage.
We shall forever cherish the sweet lento.
The easy swing of love so compliant.
Sheet music must come to an end though.
Be in separate beds lone and silent.
Lots of
people online
that we
do not
personally
know
tend to study
peoples poems
to psychoanalyze
their everything
but don't realize
the person
they might be
analyzing
is actually
very kind
and very calm
and very mature
but perhaps treated
like a servant
or maybe not
but they still hate
or they orchestrate
socially
engineered
situations
to try
and throw someone
emotionally
and spiritually
off balance
because their joy
offends them
which is maybe
why they restrict
and try to
judge folks
for how
they choose
to respond to
their jabs
and tricks
all while
everyone else
wonders why
I personally
always distance
myself from
other people
who take pride
in their cultural
sociopathy.
There's a reason you chose to hide
Behind the mask that you still wear
You hide all your pain and regret
These things you refuse to share
You feel it's unjust for you
To suffer this life that you live
For a day most would call normal
There's nothing you wouldn't give
Mistakes from a time long ago
Have twisted the hands of your fate
Now every day is suffering
In this life you try orchestrate
You were never shown mercy
Or graced with a second chance
Fate chose to ignore you
Never giving you another glance
Your own life now forces you
To carry a crippling weight
A depression that's so deep
It's impossible to medicate
It could all be over for good
Repeats the voices in your head
They promise nothing can hurt
Once you have become dead
A villain is a tireless workhorse,
Endlessly plotting through the night,
With schemes that twist and turn, of course,
Each detail honed to sheer delight.
His intellect stands sharp and rare,
A mastermind in every glance,
Unraveling minds with subtle care—
A psychological elegant dance.
He wields his gifts with cunning grace,
Turning chaos into high art,
Building empires none can erase,
Yet always playing the shadowed part.
If only he would pivot toward the light,
Channel that brilliance for the good,
Imagine worlds both fair and bright—
Where villains host the neighborhood.
They might devise the perfect plan
For flawless gardens, neat and grand,
Or orchestrate a traffic jam
That somehow leads to helping hands.
No grand explosions, just quiet wins,
A world where heroes rest at ease,
And every scheme at last begins
With kindness wrapped in mysteries.
What wonders then would greet the day,
When even darkness learns to play.
A BEAUTIFUL WARM CANVASSING DAY
In the East, golden dawn
Spread throughout the forest;
Tree branch-bound birds began
To orchestrate morning tweets:-
Meanwhile, on the window screen,
Various insects were crawling,
While rats and other small creatures
Ran in an out of the green hedges:-
In the later morning and towards noon,
Squirrels played and gathered nuts;
And there were ducks and frogs
Quietly gathered in around a beautiful lake:-
The high-risen sun heated the air,
And tall green trees shared their shade;
And across the street, a human made
Waterfall-fountain, reflected the sky:-
Just look at this beautiful canvassing
That we should be enjoying in blessed life,
Rather than the heat of collateral fire bombings,
Bigotry, waning democracy, equity, peace and love:-
What a way God has in using nature to navigate
We humans towards what it is that human nature
Must and need to be politically cultivating each day,
To reap fruits of beautiful warm days of peace and love:-
If it were ever possible to be seen or heard,
it would amaze me
to find myself inside you
my shape carved
by the harsh reality
of what you made of me.
I am a thing—
a jigsaw of
your silent prayers,
crumbs of curses,
you never spoke.
I refract through every lens,
I might appear to fight your demons,
then sit and praise them quietly,
or I might orchestrate their evilness,
just to watch your breathing fade.
I could be the waiter six feet under,
serving dinner to worms,
on a cold night.
I could be the hand behind the barrel,
aimed at your beloved face.
I might be the one beside you,
in your daily ride to work,
or the friend,
who loosens the weight in your chest.
I could be a stranger
surviving on the sidewalk.
I can be the air you breathe,
and still
you would never meet my eyes.
I could be you—
or a part of you
that sparks every doubt
and silences every certainty.
Through my words,
we could face each other,
for minutes,
like a passing coffee,
or for years,
aging quietly
inside your thoughts.
Or for an eternity
walking beside me
unraveling—
undoing your existence.
Inspired by the Chinese New Year.
Year of the Fire Horse.
It's on fire, it's on fire
By Michelle Morris
17/02/2026
It's on fire, it's on fire
The Chinese New Year is here
It's a wild ride, freedom reigns
The Fire Horse runs victoriously
It's on fire, it's on fire
The Snake has shed its skin
Death of that which did not serve us
The Fire Horse heralds new beginnings
It's on fire, it's on fire
Humanity embraces the new
We are empowered and unleashed
We can orchestrate the Good
It's on fire, it's on fire
Heaven blesses each and every Soul
Shine your Light and brighten up the World
Our connection is forever known
©? Michelle Morris, 2026
Xylophones and tambourines delightful fun.
Children will easily orchestrate playful rhythmic melodies.
Hoping to develop musical talent.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Running with the wind,
Pausing… catching my breath.
Listening… as birds fly and leaves dance,
Seeing… the wind orchestrate the symphony of sounds.
Are they dancing together?
Do all melodies collide in perfect harmony?
The sun peeks through the leaves,
They sway, they sing, they dance.
Tears fill my eyes—
Is it rain falling from the sky?
Is it sunshine warming my face?
Is it sorrow lingering within?
…if you gaze long into an abyss,
the abyss gazes also into you.
~Friedrich Nietzche
You haunt my nights like a beast of prey along
a tangled forest byway beneath a dark
and moonless sky, stars without candescent song
to orchestrate the dawn and ignite the spark,
chasing nightmare shadows into the abyss
of madness with not one day-lit thing amiss ~
as asylum nurses bring the daily dose
of magical pharmakeia from Hypnose.*
*Greek god of sleep
I still remember events when I was two,
The scent of milk, the color blue—
A pulse beneath my skull that never dies,
Whispers from the Gland of what is true.
Tiny furnace in the darkened brain,
You balance hunger, thirst, and ache,
You dream while wide awake,
You script the joy and orchestrate my pain.
Sunlight touches neural seas,
Old sparks ignite along their veins,
Each synapse hums with coded lines,
Translating warmth to memories quiet.
You are the clock, the flame, the heart—
Where time begins, yet never parts,
This gland that lets the soul recall—
How even at two, I remembered it all.
And the 0.07 volts that runs our brain.
When I look at the sky or at the ocean from the beach
I cannot lie, it makes me wanna stand up and preach
And when I look at the flowers as the insects scurry about
In all of my hours, I have never had a doubt
His Creation is so vast yet so individually unique
Yet time doesn’t last slipping away, even as I speak
Look out your window, just take a look outside
And I’m sure you’ll see what can never be denied
And when the stars come out the crickets so quick to orchestrate
The geese continue their route
never early, never late
With the ants building below my dog looks into my eyes
As if he wanted to show that even he does too realize
Oh my Lord is so great. How could others not see
But it’s never too late if you realize you want to be free
Just look at His Creation from the seen to the unseen
And if you too can’t contain your elation then you know exactly what I mean
my mind is an abstract vase,
adorned with
crystal gold lines~
from pixelated pearls
homing
whimsical wishes
and
blue-rose reveries,
a Picasso paradox
painted
with
sculptured serenity...
but as violin warmth
of melancholia
ricochets in
hypnotic cadence
listen to the
lethargic starlight
orchestrate a concerto ~
depicting this tired tongue,
s e a r c h i n g
for a major chord
of magical mellifluence
to summon the
silver
of your
citrine moon...
for when i n k
flows between
sun-blushed seas
in feisty meter
I still trace your
blue-blaze vibrance~
drawing an ardent ambience
of l o v e
before the r a i n...
Her hair was luminous in the dawn,
Waving in a breeze it seemed to orchestrate.
And the day surrounded her magnetically
As she stood there, entwined with nature-
Nature herself, posed in elemental frame.
And her gown flowed from the ground,
As if tailored by the very grace of God.
And she, in turn, seemed molded likewise,
Formed, in no way lacking-
By sublimity, beguiling to the stolen eye.
“Come with me”, I spoke as if to her,
“And we can together magnify
What perceived, as one, we each
Fall short of understanding in whole”-
Compelled I was, in full rapture.
And then she moved toward me,
Interrupting a moment’s pause for eternity,
As needing to turn such lovely gaze
In direction not posed, but drawn by epiphany-
Stepping out from painting into my world.
Her newfound touch electrified my dreams.
Her smile was a beacon in the haze.
And nature’s green was in her eyes,
Those portals to grand portraiture-
Evolved I was, no looking back.
I paused to contemplate a dream
And found quintessence in my sight.
A vision shaped by artist’s brush
Reached out to take my heart in hand-
Forever taught, am I, the view of life as art.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.