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Religious Childhood Poems | Religious Poems About Childhood

These Religious Childhood poems are examples of Religious poems about Childhood. These are the best examples of Religious Childhood poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 

Copyright © John Paluszek

Details | Rhyme | |

My Best Friend

My best friend
Is your best friend too!
He died for me;
He died for you!

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin

Details | Quatrain | |

Lifting Me Up

My heart is on Your shoulders,
And You are lifting me up.
With every spoken tender gesture,
I fall a little farther in love.

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin

Details | Free verse | |

My Future Generation

I can act insane
Make me feel worthless

I belong in God’s family
He will bless my future generation

Don’t punish me for
Being myself –
Don’t envy my glee 

I can act like an
Adult, but I’d 
Prefer to have joy…

Not stress…
That piles upon us in our 
Everyday lives

Being childlike is

A rare beauty – 

No one prizes it…

No one came across it…

In this lifetime…

I can laugh all day
I can make you smile
If you’d accept my 
Childlike dreams of mine
Don’t treat me like a sick swine

Renew my young heart
Give me the ability 
To kill the old man…

I have my place in God’s family
He’ll be adored and glorified 
We’ll exchange prayers and hugs  
By my future generation

I beg of you – 
Don’t kill my childlike mentality
I’ll behave myself…
I’m positively sure that I’ll make you happy

I’ll still have pieces of a child in me

And pass it on to my future generation…

Copyright © J. W. Earnings

Details | Free verse | |

Beautiful Children

Singing around in love;
Smiles built from the ground.
Holding hands in the dance;
Laughing with brothers and sisters,
All in His Glorious Name.
Throughout His perfectly sculpted land:
Look around because this is it;
Look around because this is love;
Look around and know, understand, comprehend,
Rejoice because you are perfect;
You are God's beautiful children!

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin

Details | Free verse | |

Life Can Be Cruel

I cannot get into heaven
God I have tried!
Suicide is a double edge sword
Especially when you survive!
Walking the streets at night
Dazed and confused
Longing to be loved
When is Mum, coming for me?

"Does she still love me?"
"Does she still care?"
"Does she still think of me?"
"Does she wonder, where I am?"

I want her to come find me
I want her to say she 'loves me’
I want her to comfort me
I want her to take me home
And keep me safe
And not forget hat I exist
Like the way she treats me now

I wish God 
Could make my Mum
Magically appear
Making this hellish nightmare
On the street

“Send my Mum please!”
So, all this can end!
Before this last ray of hope
Diminishes for good!

I don’t want to become
The walking dead
Forever forgotten as if 
I was never born!
For this is the cruel, harsh reality
Of living life, feeling unloved
Uncared for, abandoned,
Left to fend for my own

A dangerous killer inside me
Eating away, at my soul
Something, no one can see
As I suffer in silence
My insides crippling!

Lost, alone and frightened
Weeping on a dirty
Graffiti park bench
Dirty tears
Rolling down my cheeks
Stuffing newspapers under my jumper
To keep myself warm

“What am I going to do?”

“Will I make it through the night?”
“Will I get raped and beaten?”
"Will I be left for dead?”
“Will I survive
To see another day?

“Is my life worth living?”

Please God, I beg of you
Have mercy now
Please show me the way!

Copyright © Amy Rose

Details | Rhyme | |

I Think of a Time When I Was Young

I can think of a time, when I was young.
I was growing up and having fun! 
I remember how excited I was to have a t.v.
There were my brothers, my parents and me!
I remember at about the age of ten.
My dad thought going to the theater was a “sin.”
There were many things 
that as young man…
 I later began to see, and understand!
My parents shared God’s love the best they could!
And I read the Bible and was trying to be “good.”
I had my troubles…  And problems bear...
But I had a family, and much prayer!
The truth of God’s word helped sustain me!
I knew how much he really loved me!
My parents, may seem like they were “old fashioned.”
They loved their kids!  With a Godly compassion!
I’m thankful to be blessed with a Godly love!
My family was a treasure from heaven above!
I think about today, and how things go wrong.
Many families don’t seem to “get along!”
I pray for the blessing of God, to bind them together!
May we all serve him!  Today, and forever!
His love must be the cord that binds!
His will must be the focus of our minds!
May the presence of God bind us as one!
Every mother, father, daughter and son!

By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton

Details | ABC | |

Sierra Leone - A long way gone book by Ishmael Baeh

South province where Mattru jong is located!
Intriguing issues as a young boy!
Escaped from drugs and the war!
Rebels – They don’t agree with the government and think    everyone is the enemy!
Ready to start over!
A lhaji close friend of Ishmael!
Lonely waking around by himself at the age of 12!
Evaluated but never understood!
One world with terrible memories!

Never being able to let go of  memories! 

Elated  at being with his uncle!

Copyright © Liza Salmon

Details | Quatrain | |

Religious Freedom

The right of every man to follow his conscience 
In choosing and practicing his religion
Acknowledgement of religions are not saying
That all religions are equal or equally true


Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza

Details | Epic | |

2nd Half of Billy's Ride

He had vowed to pay a visit
 When he said good-bye to eight
 On this date of June the second
 Perfect time to celebrate
 Picked wild flowers in the thicket
 Made a circular bouquet
 Placed them down across the headstone
 Of the boy who bore his name

 As he stood there he felt joyful
 Certain Billy was with God
 For no youngster suffered satan
 When his flesh returned to sod
 Then, he thought about his grandpa
 Who had died at sixty-eight
 He recalled him as a good man
 But he wondered, "Was Gramps saved?"

 Billy started feeling lonely
 Thought, "It makes no sense to me
 Why a young child gets free passage
 Into God's eternity

 "If I grow up feeling faithless
 Must I pay forevermore
 That's a risk that's not worth taking
 Maybe I should close the door"

 He climbed back aboard his three-speed
 Pedaled out onto Route Five
 Saw a semi coming toward him
 One quick turn could end his life

 He felt sorry for his parents
 All the grief his death would cause
 Then he thought about forever
 They were saved, he might get lost
 When the truck had almost reached him
 He veered sharply in its path
 And he closed his eyes and waited
 For the bloody aftermath

 But he never heard a crash

 He was sitting in Demato's
 With a Nehi on a tray
 But they wouldn't take his money
 For his drink, or birthday cake

 So for little Billy Edwards
 A new chapter had begun
 No more sweating out his future
 Childhood was a time for fun

 He believed all of his loved ones
 Would re-gather one fine day
 In a place none could imagine
 Well beyond the Milky Way

 Where he'd meet the other Billy
 Learn the answers one-by-one
 Why his was the only gravesite
 And why he had died so young

 And as Bill grew slowly older
 He convinced a goodly lot
 That we didn't merely happen
 But Somebody called the shot

Copyright © ben burton

Details | Lyric | |


Written September 11, 2013

Well I was just a boy
Living down in San Fransisco
In the city by the bay
And I wanted more from life
Than my childhood could give
Every time I crossed a bridge
The whole town burned to the ground

And then one day
I met you down by the blood bank
In that sketchy part of town
Where the hipsters turn around
And drugs roam free
Just like you and just like me
Just like how we used to be

You are my archangel
You sing to me, Gabriel
You tell me where to find
The gravel on the street
And you hold me to the ground
When I hear Peter call for me
And the lights rush to the scene

As I lie here in the alley
Sweet dreams of crystal valleys
Waltz deep within my mind
As the canvas fades to black
And the vultures sweep below
Much like falling dominoes
Set in motion by the glo

Copyright © Brandon Carter

Details | Epic | |

Billy Edward's Ride 1st Half


 Hopped out early from his bunk bed
 Jumped into his old blue jeans
 Slipped his hand into his pocket
 Found enough change for a drink

 Put his tennie to the kickstand
 Hopped aboard his three-speed bike
 Smiled in great anticipation
 Drew a breath of summertime

 Strapped his helmet to his noggin
 Heading on a morning ride
 He had reason to be smiling
 Now that this day had arrived

 Billy rode along the asphalt
 Like a bird he felt so free
 No more classrooms, no more homework
 School was out for twelve whole weeks

 He cruised past Demato's grocery
 An old stucco painted white
 Where good gossip was the staple
 Soft-boiled peanuts on the side

 Heard some geese honk from the mill pond
 Saw a yearling near the pass
 Billy eased off on the pedals
 Trying to make the moment last

 Sunlight gently swept across him
 O'er the treeline at the rise
 Fragrant honeysuckle blossomed
 In the holler near Route Five
 And he wondered about Heaven
 Could it be as nice as this
 He was sure of one thing nicer
 His dear grandpa whom he missed

 As miles disappeared behind him
 And his thirst began to build
 He had one more place to visit
 For his trip to be fulfilled
 Soon he reached the Tower Toll Bridge
 Though no toll was ever paid
 Inside joke by the designers
 Built for one car, either way

 In the distance he could see it
 A lone tombstone on a grave
 The old church that stood beside it
 Had a century's decay

 He dismounted at the entrance
 And approached the ancient sign
 All it said was Billy Edwards
 Born in eighteen-fifty-nine

 Date of death gone to erosion
 But his age was given - eight
 And the last time Billy came here
 Both their ages were the same

 For a full year he had worried
 If he'd die within that time
 Just the same as Billy Edwards
 Now he had some peace-of-mind

Copyright © ben burton

Details | I do not know? | |

The Perfect Gift

The perfect gift for me 
Would be seeing gifts under our tree.
Another would be that Santa ate my tart.
That just touches my heart.
Another would be seeing my family's eyes.
The reflection of snow falling from the skies.
They would be perfect presents.
The best part is, I can feel Jesus's presence.

Copyright © alexis swearingen

Details | Narrative | |

She Cried Holy

She Cried, “Holy!”
By Curtis Johnson

It amazes me that she came to mind after some 50 years.
She lived far back across the fields, alone with not a care.
She was laughed at and talked about; some were afraid of her.

No one was ever harmed by her, and everyone stayed out of her way.
Even when they avoided her, it was difficult to escape the sound of her voice.
Up close or across the fields, we heard her so clearly and sincerely crying, “H o l y!”

She was not sociable, and perhaps even a bit eccentric.  Though religious, she was not  a Mother Teresa type of lady.  I do not remember a smile from her toward anybody for any reason.  Was she out of her mind as some suggested?  Was she a voice crying in the wilderness?  Was she on a divine assignment from God?  Was she a saint or holy person?  I most assuredly did not know then, and I am presently content to let God be the judge of that.  But she had no doubt about her God being Holy, because with unrelenting commitment, she cried, “H o l y!”

It’s clear to me that at some point, God became the center of her every affection.  Indeed, she deemed it her mission to proclaim the Holiness of God  to a needy people. So without refrain, fear, or hesitation, she simply continued to shout,       “H o l y!”

She was unconventional, unsophisticated, unconcerned, and unlike anyone I have ever known.  She cared not about what people said, thought, of felt about her.  She was fearless, and nothing mattered except her mission.  She was called the ‘sanctified lady’; but time after time, come rain or come shine, she paid them no mind, and she never ceased or declined.  She just cried, “H o l y!”

I never knew her name  or whatever became of her, but she was a small framed lady with a strong and deep sounding voice.  It’s the cry of her voice that brings my eyes to tears.  Without apology or regard for public opinion, from her home deep across the corn and cotton fields, we often heard her crying, “H o l y!”

I don’t recall anything else she ever said, nor anything else she ever did.  But I must say that if she was on a divine assignment,  God must have been pleased with her.  I suspect that it was a lonely and often cruel assignment causing pain and ridicule.  But she bore the pain; she had nothing to gain; her message was clear and plain; she refused to refrain. She certainly was not popular, and I don’t remember a friend she ever had.  But ever true to her task, from the depths of her soul, she cried, “H o l y!” cj09122015

Copyright © curtis johnson

Details | Quatrain | |

How long did Father Christ lived on earth

Father Christ lived on earth for about 33 years
Most holy life 


Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza