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Metaphor Easter Poems | Metaphor Poems About Easter

These Metaphor Easter poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Easter. These are the best examples of Metaphor Easter poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Conspiracy: Who Killed The Easter Bunny

A crowded table, all suspended in shock 
The sound of the shot dimming to a ‘knock’
Only silence, except for the marching clock
The weapon still smoking; an anonymous glock
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?

Loud cries arise from the elongated table,
Jack Frost is shocked, the Tooth Fairy unable
To speak whilst Santa is checking the stable
For clues on the erstwhile maidservant Mable
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?

They searched for hours, called in C.S.I,
Panic set in, would the children all cry?
Sandman confirmed the bunny had died
Batman suspected somebody had lied
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?

Guests were quizzed, interrogations began
The mystery unfolded when Santa Claus ran,
Grabbing the pies, he tried escaping in a van
But was stopped in his tracks by superman
SANTA KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY!

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Family gathering

Flitting furtively from 
family member to 
family member
like a truly bumbling bee
frantically, frenetically flying 
from flower to flower
frustrated at his failure
to discern the nectar of love
amongst the resentments,
the caretaker drone
strays unwittingly
into the mouth
of the family dog,
saving the others
from themselves

Copyright © David Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

Betwixt food and human relationship

It’s good to get together as friends and confreres
like in table fellowship or religious convocation
and then, enjoy the company of each other’s culture
as Italians, Colombians, Filipinos or Brazilians.

The day after Easter Sunday adds another occasion
for us Scalabrinians to be reunited at this point in time
sharing the gifts of food, life, humor and relationship 
with a space for fraternity, some updates and good wishes.

Truly, it shows the spirit of oneness and fraternal fellowship
sharing the commonality of our commitmment to faith
as brothers in Christ and members of our Founder’s order,
the religious congregation that cares for migrant people. 

There’s much to do and plan for what we aim to materialize
in today’s world where migration poses a huge issue
like a salad bowl with mozzarella, tomato and olive oil
a metaphor for migration that deals with human cultures.

Described in the Bible as a growing missionary virtue
hospitality as a key to open one’s heart in this journey
With fearlessness and confidence, it’s a major issue
depicting the picture of global movements raised in action.

Our days of darkness, our bickering confreres in places –
where community life matters and features one’s emptiness
in dealing with one another in our quest for human and divine.
it’s indeed a challenge and will always be a test of faith, thus far.

This helps us understand through our setbacks, pains and joys,
with friends around and those who share with us many times
those sacred stories of being called to worship God and be present
especially in the Eucharist that nourishes our souls to be whole.

Copyright © mark escobar | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? | |

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries.

Epochs apart, yet,
bound by conscience,

Buddha, 
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

Enduring the whispers of time,
through creeds professed,
sermons preached,
and a million sins confessed.

Though,

the essence,
of these banished revolutionaries,
is ceremonially muted by ritual,
and gleefully crushed under,
grandiose edifices,
that serve Religion Inc.

"And the meek shall inherit the earth",
an incendiary thought,
conveniently discarded,
for the pie in the sky that must be sought.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
stings.
stabs,
whispers still,
for us to hear,
through the din of the cacophony of prayer.

Buddha,
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
persists,
each day that we choose,
to shun the meek,
and mouth conscience-salving prayers,

for yet more silver,
and yet more silk.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

A Lily Standing on the Pathway Between March and April

The sun peeks his face out from the passing wind 
still chilly and cold, and in this air the tree branches 
stretch their arms to hold the sun as if sails on the deep and gray sky

The sun that is out of reach of a hand 
may be a hope; no, it ought to be a hope

One night I saw a wayfarer, becoming a moonbeam,
going toward April stepping on the footmarks March 
has left behind 

Although he has gone through so many hills and high waters 
with a knapsack on his back that was full with the countless 
sentiments he put in it for pity’s sake, the sack was emptied;
  
for the lapse of time makes things wear and tear
his garment was worn to rags, and when the wind 
passes through it penetrates the garment to chill the bone 

The deep anxiety he is unable to shake off, and therefore, 
reflected on the running water murmuring through the field 
as ripples of moonbeam, which is not from the fleeting of time 
or his sufferings while he was walking among the foes, but because 
he is sorry for and worries about friends he has to leave behind 

The friends, not many in number shared his happiness 
at the time of banqueting, surrounding the table though 
plain and simple, abundance in God; 

at the time counting the falling stars lying on a stone pillow 
by the gap between rocks. The friends, not in damnation but 
in endurance and warmhearted understanding, talked about better day to come while burning the passions in the bone fire on a day when they were wet and shivering in early spring drizzle

For the days he was with his friends were too short,
it caused him an embarrassment in counting the days,
yet they were unforgettable moments of joyous and happy experiences

As he walked through the field with friends he talked about tomorrow
standing on the hill top side by side, he asked them to pray for him, 
sitting on the sands by the water he sighed for he has to leave 
the friends, the sweet and bitter memories behind

Nonetheless, he cannot just stand by a roadside as an emotionless stone, 
he crosses the hill under the shade of a waning moon, and when 
the humble hearted teary-eyed wanderer blooms as a lily on the other side of 
the hill in dawning, the sunray fall on the lily on the dew
as hope to those who remember him, as happiness to the friends 
he left behind, as the covenant of the Lord to all who trust in him

Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2016