These Mystery Religious poems are examples of Religious poems about Mystery. These are the best examples of Mystery Religious poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
I am Reality’s angel
resting on the broad shoulders of discovery
the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target
ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you
there is a creator of all things
He is just and patient
many still have fallen into the masses of shadow
wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy
I have seen grown men fall like rose petals
and weaklings rise into unjust leaders
forever the follower of furtive evil
dominating only to remain inferior
the most important answers lie in the unseen regions
where no sense can fully give assurance
the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn
grows weary because of the distance it must take
and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates
it is knowing we are seeking something far
that could very possibly not exist,
that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense
it is knowing all we really think we know
and yes—even a lie
all that has been written thus far rests under my wings
under the warmth in which you refuse to feel
can you believe in me—
though I am completely unseen?
how much more difficult would it be to see
The warm light calls me
And all the people who cries for thee
I raise my hand in this abyss
Only to make one wish
To float among the others
With all my sisters and brothers
I call out for forgiveness with passion
I take their pain into myself for this occasion
The moment that I see the sky
I will not look back and cry
My body is laying still
People standing by it with a chill
The air gets dense with sadness
I would not think of it less
Some people look up and down
To see the light hit the ground
Some can vision the uplifting feeling they see
One soul that has been and always be
It is special to notice such aberration
And that might be how souls are awaken
As naturally and effortlessly as birds fly
Unannounced and quietly an Idea came by
Faster than the weightless wind it flew
Where it came from no one asked, no one knew
Longing for a cloak in which to be wrapped
It knocked on many doors asking to be dressed
It wished to be given a shape and form for all to see
It wanted an existence, and in this world a chance to be
The farmer was farming, the worker busy working
The judge was judging, the thief in the shadows lurking
The preacher was of the invisible kingdom preaching
The poet alone with his heart and soul for the Idea reaching
It seized him and became the fire in his veins
The beating in his heart, the throbbing in his brain
It became the movement of his arms and legs
He asked for the right words like a beggar for food begs
The Idea through the flesh was about to be born
The invisible by the visible longed to be worn
Like newlyweds neither knew too well the other
They had to unite: each’d be both father and mother
Now the idea took control and led the poet’s pen
Then It was overpowered by the brutish man
Now he’d try to bend It, to suit his words, to shape It
Then It bent him so that into each other they’d fit
He wished to be a channel for the Idea he sensed
It had a burning desire, a purpose to be expressed
When possessing parts of both the work was done
An idea of the Idea was born - a battle both lost and won
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?
Was it enough or was it too much?
Sometimes too fast but always too slow!
God knows that I come with these seeds that grow.
Inside and out I absorb every single touch,
But why should I?
Why should I be the only one that knows?
Stepping through time and sliding back so smooth so I go!
I say I can qualify!
Where was I and why was I there?
Sometimes too obvious but always with doubt!
God knows that I come riding in on a prayer.
I absorb every single touch inside and out,
But why should I?
Why should I be the only one that cares?
Climbing the highest mountains and sliding down so steep but on a dare!
I say I can magnify!
What did I say and what did I do?
Sometimes too quite but always too loud!
God knows that I come with a gleam that shines so proud.
Inside and out I absorb every single touch by you.
But why should I?
Why should I be the only one in the crowd?
Walking on water and walking backwards but at least I know how.
I say I can intensify!
Do I want to or do you need me to?
Sometimes I wonder and sometimes I simply don’t care.
God knows that I come standing on a higher sky of blue.
I absorb every single touch by you inside and out with this glare.
But why should I?
Why should I be the only one with this view?
Up in the clouds and aimless but always led by you!
I say, “I SANCTIFY”!
®Registered: 1997 Ann Rich
The body: sacred
We’re all made in God’s image
A Lesson From the Buddha
The Buddha had been getting round
And listening to the crowd.
He’d often sat there silently
And heard them moan so loud
About their own sad burdens
And all the hurt they’d had.
So he thought up a little plan
That didn’t seem half bad.
He called the crowd together
Said “listen here you guys
I’ve been thinking for a great long while
And I have thought it wise
To grow a special tree for you
And here it lies before you
Now listen well to what I say
I’ll tell you what to do”
He said “this tree before you
It’s to hang your troubles on
Each one of you must go to it
And your troubles will be gone
As you hang them on it’s many branches
Then what you’ll need to do
Is take yourself some others burdens
And make them part of you”
The people thought that this was cool
It seemed a grand old way
To rid themselves of all their burdens
It was a happy day!
As each smiling so broadly
Placed there burdens on the tree
Then they thought for just a while
And they began to see.
As each the truth did hit them
More restless did they get
At least they knew their burdens
So each with no regrets
Did race back to that trouble tree
To grab what they had hung there
The Buddha smiled good humoredly
He had made them all aware.
29 July 2013 @ 1805hrs.
The silent bell rings in the night,
Calling the devils to kneel to the light,
What once was, becomes no more,
As the light breaks through the open door.
What you think and what you feel,
What you saw and thought was real,
Is now only dust on the road,
The desolate remains of your ancient abode.
The new light is rising on the hill,
The new song is singing down in the well,
The new souls are dreaming of your face,
The new hearts are beating at you pace.
The old ideas and reasons you gave,
Are buried in the tomb and in the grave,
The rotting bone and flesh are gone,
In the morning dew, in the morning sun.
The light shines through the open door,
Casts no shadow on the old dirty floor,
The ancient laws of reason and might,
Crumble to dust in the morning light.
What once was real and certain as rock,
Is now the dream the baby forgot,
The new light coming to wake you my love,
The silent lamb and the flying dove.
more of my poems at :
Jesus Is the Best Thing That Happened to Me!
Jesus is the best thing that happened to me!
He loves me so much! It’s plain to see!
Jesus has provided everything I need, to get tough!
If it wasn’t for him…
I don’t know what I’d do!
Jesus has come, that I might life so abundantly!
He’s given me all I need… Most assuredly!
He does for me, what nothing in this world, could ever do!
And completely understands,
everything I go through!
He brings his peace, hope and a blessed satisfaction!
I can have fellowship with him! A “heavenly interaction!”
He can restore what the enemy has stolen and taken away!
He brings a true meaning! And has changed me today!
I’m very thankful! For all that he’s provided!
I’m going to live for him!
This has already been decided!
Thank you Jesus! My lord and my best friend!
You’ve done so much for me!
Over and over again!
I praise your name! And want you to know…
I’ll tell others of your goodness…
Wherever I go!
By Jim Pemberton
CIL MAOLCHEADAIR (Kilmalkedar)
On such an Irish spring and drizzle morn,
she wandered through the graveyard, looking for
the Celtic dream from which her past was born,
and every sight brought her to wanting more;
she dreamt her roots from carvings on a stone
as if she understood each chip as real,
passed down to only her, and her alone,
from pagan worship she could almost feel;
and she could bundle them within her mind
to share with Pennsylvania kith and kin,
perhaps the magic, if still there to find,
would be an understanding where they've been;
and she will burn her candles every night,
hoping Kilmalkedar will make it right.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet