longevity
durable, stable
everlasting, enduring, remaining
career, antique, love, eternity
surviving, undying, unceasing
hardy, tenacious
constancy
terrene is vacant as void is vibrant
sensations, discernments, objects, subjects
every palpable dissipate migrant
phenomenal world unceasing puppets
dualistic nature temporary
formless expanse evaporates desires
heart awakened transcends all memory
alert ecstatic outside every mire
empty-full experiences being
earth wind fire water ether appear frills
disappear cyclical time agreeing
raptured crystal core ageless fragrant fills
paradoxes cease, thoughtforms evanesce
heart attains nirvana, simple success
__________________________________
Placed 7th : Premier Contest
May 26 : Sponsor : Unseeking Seeker
The sedate, marvelous morn.
It is incised into the wondrous ,
delighted,, greenish star ,
The sun is sowed in a melodic ,
amazing orchids.
An unceasing felicity fills
with an enriched, charming
run-let.
An exceptional, great gladness
flooding, the extraordinary
rivulet.
An unceasing dream occupies my mind.
In my slumber and in my wakefulness
Facts and fancies in it are intertwined.
There's truthfulness too in their nakedness.
What else is existence except a dream?
Do I not govern my sleep-wake rhythm?
Dreams sail in me as I flow like a stream.
Isn't each movement an algorithm?
My dream might end with the end of my sleep.
Should my life end as my sleep and dreams end?
I should sow goodness. Goodness, I must reap.
Shouldn't, in love of beings, my life be spent?
There's a heavenly joy that's pure and true.
Zones of pain, for this joy, I must pass through.
I Am friends with the Wind, for I walk with The Flow
Ever-Forth, Ever-North I Go
Coming and Going from the Earth to the Stars
Running and Glistening, Quickening in Sabatons
Surging in currents from the Celestials
I Am the Zephyr, I Am the Gale, and this Soul is the Vessel
Drifting Beyond, Unto The Sun
I Am, Ever Flowing, I Am Elemental on the Run
Ever So Swift, by the Swiftness I Am Eternal
I Am Sacred, I Am Brisk, I Am Universal
In Plumages of Light, I Blitz Onward in Supersonic Flight
from Four Quarters, from the Days Unto the Nights
Ever So Smooth, I Protrude in Excellence
I Am Super Excellent,
I Am Constant, I Am Prevalent, I Am Ever Prevailing
I Am Forever Nomadic Sailing,
Running in Fervor, In Full Momentum, Unbound
Unshackled, Uncaged, by the Second Wind the Trumpets Sound
I Am Predominant, I Am Imminent in Celerity
Ever Enduring, I Am Unceasing in Velocity
to the far reaches of the Universe, To and Fro
I Walk With The Wind, and this the Wind Knows
Shadow Waters
The water-bearer leans his urn silently,
pours starlight over forsaken streets
where neon lights flash their final confessions
and shattered promises accumulate like rain.
Here in the reverse trickle of time,
where advancement is lost in its own reflection,
the era turns in, searching for explanations
in dregs of what we believed we'd gained.
Electric prophets air hollow gospels
while the crowds scroll through ghost lives,
each contact another strand that entwines us
to this tapestry of lovely despair.
The constellation turns above, unchanging
those very stars that once held out liberty
now witness us tumble into the labyrinth
we built from our own radiant ideals.
In tower suites and lower-level clubs,
the children of the future sell their souls
to algorithms who recognize their secret names
and dole them out in morsels, afterwards.
Yet, still, the water flows, unceasing,
carrying seeds of something not yet born
perhaps redemption sleeps in darkness
of this shattered, brilliant age.
The carrier's face away from us,
sloshing the future drop by drop
while we stand dry in the flood,
suffocating in our own lighted shadows.
He found me broken, restless.
He found me dirty, not worthy, fading with every given day.
He found me through the dark, cold fog in depths of despair.
Ground that was once soil, now filled with mud from years of unceasing rain.
Kneeling down on one knee, He took my face in His hands and whispered, "Daughter, let me heal your wounds past, present, and future."
This time the rain wasn’t cold, wet, or unpleasant. It was warm and smelled of roses. It was a healing rain. A rain to wash away my brokenness, restlessness, dirt of my sins, unworthiness. Dark, cold fog lifted, seeing the once flooded ground now had spring flowers, smelling of sweet nectar.
Under the Tree of Life, I slept in profound and secret shade,
when the Holy Lord took pity and opened a window within,
with a deep wound that pierced my dream and slumber,
and in that moment, I lost you, my love, my blue light akin.
With my wounded eye, I gazed at you and knew you as a stranger,
holy as the Lord, far from me, far from all known lore,
now only in dreams and sleep, you are my source of light's wager,
now only in sleep and dreams, you arise as an unborn longing's core.
Source of harsh thoughts, now only in dreams do you abide,
now only in slumber do I find you, in secret, without end,
stranger and holy, like the Lord, in celestial abysses you reside,
now only in dreams and sleep, you are my unceasing yearning's trend.
You are the echo of a time that knows no boundary between dream and real,
a shadow dancing on the edge of a lost thought's seam,
and in deep slumber, I find you, an astral symbol surreal,
now, only in dream and sleep, my love, a silent yearning's theme.
Dripping dripping, the sound resounding
Like echoes abounding
Stronger stronger, louder sounding
My head is pounding
Throbbing throbbing the pain is increasing
Like a jack hammer never unceasing
Longing longing for the pains decreasing
Too much pain, I need the releasing
Like soft white clouds, floating in the wind
I feel the medication like a comforting friend
Thanks for the help, no hope I could mend
Show thy mercy let my life now transcend
I’ll patiently wait in a place without time
We’ll love for eternity in this place so sublime
My hatred weaves into verses like a serpent of smoke,
I am a sad poet who bathes his pen in blood and shadows,
I seek my reason in the past, in those days that seem never to die,
And memories are my muses, ghosts nesting in my soul.
My hatred grows when I uncover my scars,
Turning them into fresh wounds that refuse to heal,
A poet of pain, playing roles that trap me in snares,
I try to navigate from darkness towards a flickering light.
My hatred swallows me when my words are misunderstood,
I am seen as a captive soul, yet I seek my way out,
Fragments of poetry writing about pain and wounded love,
The pain that remains, deeply rooted like a bitter seed.
My hatred stretches over pages, a veil of trauma and fear,
I relive the moments that haunt me, weary of their burden,
But the words flow, unceasing, like a river of blood and pain,
For this is all I know, an endless source of emotions.
In the silence of the night, I tell myself that perhaps one day I'll find peace,
But until then, I remain a sad poet, prisoner of my own verses,
In a universe where pain becomes art, and art becomes liberation,
Always seeking the path to light, beyond the shadows within me.
Line of Inquiry
- track where lies the fulcrum of the fragrance of a rose, then likewise find within, your soul.
People murmured, she’s the rose among the thorns
When they saw me playing with my brothers, not alone
Same line was heard more often around
When I raced with little boys, just to get a crown.
Then, I always sang the prayer song of my mother
Asking God to make me grow and bloom like flower
I felt God’s abundant care as my bud bloomed
Into a rose in my community started from home.
As first child and single rose who’d dawned so early
Petals’ exquisite hue displayed more prominently
As floral leaf burgeoned, sprawled... satiated their eyes
My doubt on fragrance, can they smell or feel me inside?
Then, I sang my own prayer song with fervor in my room
Asking God to help me track, diffuse my fragrance’s fulcrum
After a while, I felt God’s unceasing light and reply:
My child, my love's generosity with joy's in your soul, shine, emit, fly.
oh ...
let me ...
I thirst for you
like the desert for rain
the thoughts of your warm places
dance on my tongue like tangy candy
saturating my palate and
my imagination …
I have no reward without your plea
I am pliable clay in silence
but when your need moans my name
I am made steel, unceasing …
tell me what you want -
your crave and your cry are my only cares
desire has but to trickle off your
lips to make it so,
but please, make it so ...
for I am moonstruck and madness
until I partake of the sweet, tart ambrosia
that steams and stirs
deep inside ...
you.
Morning glory,
The mountains stand in brown nudity,
There's no shame in being mighty echoes the wind,
The air is taut with the brooding silence of a storm,
It will rain tears sooner or later,
And the roar of affliction will cut through the silence,
The rage of war will be a din,
Churning cataracts of unceasing wants,
Our hunger refuses to be quenched,
We are obsessed with ambition,
Drunk with desire,
To taste the elusive glory,
Of phantoms dancing on the apex,
Like shifting hues playing charades with overdosed pride,
We chase the wind and fight for the mountains,
Who will speak sense to our senselessness?
Who will stop us from storming the gates into the city of madness?
Who will stop us from claiming the lofty place of dark desire,
As we sit on the throne of insanity?
As she waits, dressed in his favorite red,
she waits alone in an old-fashioned world,
not a breath of wind dares tossel her head
nor a drop of rain though the sea is twirled
by unceasing tide in passage of time,
stilled for a moment, captured forever
with color magic while still in her prime,
who remembers her mortal endeavor?
No one remembers the age in her eyes,
the lines of laughter or gray in her hair;
did she hold grudges or pardon the lies,
did she hoard the gold or happily share?
All that remains is a weathered gravestone,
and this old photograph where youth hasn't flown.
Each day is a Jesus Christ
crucified,
every day through unceasing
conflicts of human kind,
whips and lashes, suffering,
in the hands of tyrants,
the robes are ripped
and bleeding
legs are worn out by
the weight of injustice,
still a while to go
through the streets of life,
under scorching sun,
drying out lips,
to the final abode
on the cross.
do you not see the many Jesus
who suffer under your whips?
how many have you crucified,
before you went to Church
to pray?
From that day in Rome,
when an innocent good life was lost,
many have been lost through
those who raise their voices to god!
whips still crack,
nails are hammered in,
mothers still weep,
with their children on their laps,
which jesus would you mourn?
when each day is a Jesus
crucified?
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.