The Prolonged Noons of Loneliness
In the prolonged noons of loneliness,
And in the scorching sun,
Are the melting roads,
And two loathsome tired eyes.
Gaze into the vacancy.
A few moments ago,
There was hustle bustle,
The jostling crowed on the same spot,
Where now the amuser under the shady tree,
Is dozing, resting his head,
On the filthy bag of gadgets of his art.
Lives are deserted spots of amusement,
On the desolate roads lay,
The sold bodies that inhale the borrowed breaths,
The prayers of the heart-mender only reach,
The broken doors of the ruined city of dreams,
They knock but returned void of charity.
Some in the game of Your consent,
Have woven the mesh,
For the stunned scared characters,
In the arranged spectrum of horror,
The so-called lofty lords,
Award time to time the undemanded pause,
Unbidden breaths, and paralysed day and nights,
The entire scheme is merged,
In the deep remembrance of death:
Ceaseless death,
Awake! And you too think in the spectrum,
Of your ancient thoughts,
In the prolonged noons of loneliness.
For they may shake the veins of life.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Short of Breath
One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four,
my breathing’s weak and my chest is sore.
Five breaths, six breaths, seven breaths, eight,
I have to breathe deeply at a slower rate.
One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four,
I’m four breaths closer than I was before.
Five breaths, six breaths, seven breaths, eight,
my mouth’s wide open, but I can’t inflate.
One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four,
it’ll be the end when I breathe no more.
Five breaths, six breaths, seven breaths, eight,
I’m sure someone's rattling heaven's gate.
One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four,
well that’s it, I can't count no more.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Guilt
Sad faces, dark dresses, condolences;
Words of wisdom, grievance and conformity,
My chest filled with agony; my head filled with hope;
I wander around in loneliness, in search of ways to cope.
Walked past the yellow tree, a mind filled with memory;
The echoes of thee words that fill the shadows of the hill,
A quick look at the back of me, the cold air masks her sight;
I wander around in loneliness, to answer her last breaths' plight.
The guilt at the helm of it, the gun in my hand;
The death of my loved one, the murderer at large;
My chest filled with agony, my head filled with hope;
I wander around in loneliness, looking for ways to elope.
Suspicious at suspecting eyes, my eyes with teary lies;
I think of how it could have been had she not seen what I have been,
A quick look at the back of me, the cold air masks her sight,
I wander around in loneliness, for my need to survive.
'Go to hell, you filthy beast' her last words that spoke of me,
Our child is six, I'll try and fix, the void you've left for her;
I'll stop the kills, I swear I will, just one more and I am done.
I wander around in loneliness, the gun still in my hand.
poem by Avi Vodkaholica
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Spectrum Of Death
SPECTRUM OF DEATH
esspeecee…14.09.95.
How death looks like?
As spectrum of
Cosmetic butterfly. [1]
How death smells like?
As drizzle sodden
Droughty clay. [2]
How death talks like?
As splashing of brooks
Over scattered stones. [3]
How death comes like?
As cat walks of hyena
For the prey. [4]
How death punishes like?
As rupture of
Life’s rapture. [5]
How death rewards like?
By keeping indelible footprints
Of my worthlessness. [6]
Copyright reserved by the Author
poem by Dr. Sakti P. Chakravorty
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Loneliness
Roy orbison/joe melson
Loneliness is the worst thing in the world
To be alone all the day long
No ring on the phone, yeah this is wrong
Low down loneliness
This loneliness, I must confess
Yes its a mess of this loneliness
Low down loneliness, loneliness all around
Loneliness, you have found me loneliness
Oh loneliness, all of the time
Such loneliness, youre so unkind
Low down loneliness
Loneliness everywhere
Loneliness, Ive got more that my share
Oh loneliness, my destiny
Yeah loneliness, was I born to be
In low down loneliness? loneliness
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Art of Death
Death by murder- death by chance
Death by secret night romance
Death by number- paint the lines
Death in color, or black and lie
Accidental- planned, prolonged
Death by always doing wrong
Death by self- a timeless art
Death by one last broken heart
Lonely, ,
Lonely and alone I am
my soul's always lonesome
in a crowd of loneliness
it sounds sad and lonely
hiding loneliness alone
the lonely lone alone
Lonely is a single traveller
on a dark and winding road.
Lonely is the burden
of carrying a heavy load.
Lonely is a beautiful song
that no one's ever heard,
and lonely is the wait for death
by a broken winged bird.
Lonely is the emptiness
inside my hollow soul,
and lonely is the sound of the wind
blowing through its gaping hole.
Loneliness is second only
to the darkened void of death
and loneliness is taking
that 'Right' to Hell
when I should have made a 'Left'.
Lonely is the sound
of an infant
who sadly cries in vain,
and lonely is his addict mother
shooting poison in her veins.
Lonely is the boy
who will never become a man
and lonely is the brink of disaster
upon which I know I stand.
Lonely is the poem
which has gone on long enough
and lonely is the sympathizers
who say I've, 'had it rough'.
Lonely is my life
lived without family or friend
and lonely is the last word of this poem
because it's always at the...
End.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Death Can Come In Many Ways
Death by murder
Death by chance
Death by secert night romance
Death by number
paint the liner
Death in color or in black and white
accidental
planned
prolonged
De ath by always doin wrong
Death by slef
and timeless art
Death by one last broken heart
poem by Miranda Shaffer
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So Lonely Alone
So lonely alone am I
My soul's lonesome in the crowd of loneliness
It sounds sad and lonely
Hiding loneliness alone
The lonely lone alone
Lonely is a single traveller
On a dark and winding road.
Lonely is the burden
Of carrying a heavy load.
Lonely is a beautiful song
That no one's ever heard,
And lonely is the wait for death
For a broken winged bird.
Lonely is the emptiness
Inside my hollow soul,
And lonely is the sound of the wind
Blowing through its gaping hole.
Loneliness is second only
To the darkened void of death
And loneliness is taking
That 'Right' to Hell
When I should have made a 'Left'.
Lonely is the sound
Of a lonesome infant
Who sadly cries in vain,
And lonely is his addict mother
Shooting poison in her veins.
Lonely is the boy
Who will never become a man
And lonely is the brink of disaster
Upon which I know I stand.
Lonely is the poem
Which has gone on long enough
And lonely is the sympathisers
Who say I've, 'had it rough'.
Lonely is my life
Lived without family or friend
And lonely is the last word of this poem
Because it's always at the...
…End.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Jostling Crowed
Upon the edge of a deserted wide road,
Placed I was to see the dismal vision,
From the distant corner of the upper side,
Turned a procession, following rushingingly,
A coffin of the dead faith, wrapped in shroud,
Advanced it ahead as opaque floody water,
Passes through the banks, on the dry bottom.
In the jostling crowed I did find to see,
The men neither young nor too old,
Of all races, forms, colours and sizes,
With harrowed grisly faces jostling ahead,
Their rebellious legs hastened against their wills.
The crowed passed and passed by unendingly,
To fill the spacious belly of the infernal land,
Stood I stunned, horrified, engrossed in thoughts,
Indecisive, thinking upon my own plight,
“I am an observer or a member of the crowed? ”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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No Fixed Address
what did I get by touching the womb of life
what comes and what goes
the tears I cried
came back as a mystic smile of life
the love sick tune of the nightingale
the burning midnight
just like a violin in tune
no nothing is left inside
I wear a song in my torn heart
loneliness o loneliness
i wear the ornament of desire
in the wide awake nights
what did I get?
what sheds and what blooms
whatever I have lost
become a malicious smell of past
I'm defeated and I lose
i build and i lose
I break and i lose
then what did I get? ?
the roots of the cut
putting it where it pains most
the mourn song of the sunbeams
and these sweet sour and bitter moments
life is not an epic
neither I'm a epic character
i just play in one scene and die in the other
yet still I put the touch of Midas
in womb of life
and I enjoy the days of self proclaimed exile
time snatched away spring from me
and never returned it back
may be some day death will take
me away to return back to life
I'm waiting! ! !
poem by Jyotishman Debnath
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Timely Matters
I count my days
By the breaths I take
For in those breaths
Come a hope of better tomorrow
For secounds turn to minutes
Minutes into hours
Hours into to days
They will go on after
I am gone
So with each breath I am blessed
To see all the Lords provided
This miracle called life
Which time is only a play thing
poem by David Kush
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His Last Breath! ! !
Have mercy Lord!
help me in unlearning thoughts,
weary, injured, bleeding thoughts!
I can't forget that painful time,
that horrid sight,
that silent, solemn, moonless night,
when mind was full of unknown fears,
shaky hopes, and wishful prayers...
Have mercy God!
can I forget
those passing moments
when he was counting his noble,
worthy, lively breaths-
those lively breaths
which were losing by and by
the warmth of life.
Then passed the time
and passed the night
there came at last his last breath…
with the birth of the day
a Sun was dying
to rise again
in a blind vale,
the valley of the pious souls…
since then O Lord,
my eyes are probing in the dark
to see him again
but all in vain…
Much time has passed
But still my mind
Is conscious
Of the ups and downs
Of treasured but his last breath
poem by Shahzia Batool
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Her Breath in Her Apartment
The first time in her apartment
After her death,
I could still smell her perfume
And feel her breath.
I had returned for a photograph
Of the two of us
Taken at the amusement park
After a day of lingering in her arms.
For me, love and joy
Have always been comparatively brief
Beside the loneliness and grief
That have navigated most of my existence.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Not Meant To Be
Thoughts are born,
yet die thereafter,
nothing more satisfying,
than that of solemn touches of death...
a child,
a cursed blessing,
A mother,
A whored Vessel,
no child into bringing,
destroyed and defiled.
Never meant to be,
Left to finish what was started,
Braving the cold,
a womb-less warmth,
lost to life’s virginity,
seconds of breaths,
left it dying,
moments so short,
yet extended toward eternity,
An infant child,
besmirched and left thoughtless,
A child only born to be named death,
Reaping the benifites of final breaths.
poem by Crimson Love
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Loneliness Game
She could have anything
But still shes down
The happiness that means everything
Is not around
On the outside
It looks like a perfect world
Inside I know what youre thinking
Shes too pretty to be sad
Shes too rich to cry
Shes no different
Shes just the same
No ones left out of this loneliness game
She cant find her way out of the loneliness game
No she cant find love
Pearls dont mean a thing
When loves not there
No gold or diamond rings
Can stop the tears
From the outside
You couldnt feel her pain
Inside I know what youre thinking
Shes too pretty to be sad
Shes too rich to cry
Shes no different
Shes just the same
No ones left out of this loneliness game
She cant find her way out of the loneliness game
No she cant find love
In the loneliness game, the loneliness game
She lies awake at night
Alone in silence
She reaches for the light
And waits for guidance
Shes too pretty to be sad
Shes too rich to cry
Shes no different, shes just the same
No ones left out of this loneliness game
She cant find her way out of this loneliness game
No she cant buy love
In the loneliness game, the loneliness game ...
song performed by by Belinda Carlisle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Borrowed
borrowed shirts, borrowed shoes,
borrowed books, borrowed thoughts,
borrowed bed, borrowed lover,
borrowed dreams, borrowed salt.
borrowed children, borrowed mothers,
borrowed study, borrowed lives.
borrowed God, borrowed heaven,
borrowed killers with borrowed knives.
borrowed flags, borrowed lies,
borrowed virtue, borrowed freedom.
borrowed bombs, borrowed bullets,
borrowed puppets, borrowed kingdoms.
borrowed soup bowls, borrowed numbers,
borrowed tents, borrowed bridge.
borrowed hope, borrowed survival,
borrowed till it's sacrilige!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Loneliness
Heart breaks in loneliness.
A frosty morning; daylight repeals it, and I feel loneliness
on the eve of the day.
When it rains,
a swallow wants to denote a song.
But, after that world calls loneliness.
I see the river flowing, and I come closer to the bank.
I heard the river roaring more in loneliness.
When I stay in my study room
thinking past events, my conscience becomes more powerful in loneliness.
It’s better to stay sometimes in loneliness.
We need sometimes to alleviate pains in loneliness.
You see, love often adorns more homage in loneliness.
Loneliness…………………..
When a war ends,
It becomes time to return for soldiers in loneliness;
and we all mourn in loneliness.
Then we realize what peace is!
One day we all have to say the world ‘good bye’ in loneliness.
Yes, loneliness ……….
poem by Bibhakar Dutta
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Homecoming Of A Wanderer (To Bhupen Hazarika)
He returned home through the same village roads,
Some morning declaring his fight against time and its tides,
through which he had gone.
Declaring miles and miles of road shorter than his dreams through which he had gone..
Declaring himself anonymous and wanderer and leaving promises of returning winner.
through which he had gone,,,
He returned.
On his return, the village road saw the same villager and he returned on the same wheels of his dreams
And those dreams were still full of life.
On his return but he was no longer an anonymous, he earned a name which could travel boundaries of land, river, ocean and time as well..
And when he returned he was no longer a wanderer for everywhere he went he left a mark of the river of his village where he belonged and now he owned a home in thousands heart
On his return he was no longer a wanderer
He returned through the same village roads
but not without gifts of eternity..
gifts from the zenith of human limits,,
gifts of pride and honour,,
gifts of travelling the roads of life,,
larger than travelled by any one ever,,,
he returned for he had left with promises of returning to his mother.
For sunset is nowhere more peaceful than the laps of her..
Dedicated to the wanderer,
Song: On Borrowed Time
We're all living on borrowed time,
Near the brooding sea and brine.
And we grow our primate's spine,
In every clime.
Since we crawled out from 'neath the grime,
And evolved to a species – prime.
We've been living on borrowed time,
On borrowed time.
On borrowed time. We feed and dine.
On borrowed time. In swill like swine.
On borrowed time. We sup our wine.
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
On borrowed time. In slow decline.
On borrowed time. No season shines.
On borrowed time. No reason rhymes.
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
We're all living on borrowed time,
Acting out our roles in mime,
As if you cannot tell that I'm confused.
We're all living on borrowed time,
And we're captured hook and line.
Enraptured lives entwine as minds unloose.
On borrowed time, by frantic chime,
Of doomsday clocks and scam sub-prime.
On borrowed time, we count the dime.
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
From that day of Eve's droll crime,
When dull Adam su*ked the lime,
We've been living on borrowed time,
On borrowed time.
On borrowed time. By dread defined.
On borrowed time. Knee-deep in slime.
On borrowed time. We moan and whine.
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
On borrowed time. To heights sublime.
On borrowed time. Statistics climb.
On borrowed time. Who reads the signs?
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
poem by David SmithWhite
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
Death death death death death death death
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Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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