Best Belief Poems
Life is but a fleeting whisper echoing through time,
never dying, always being- magnificent and sublime.
The body's a receptacle, a superficial shell,
but in it dwells the gift of Soul; eternity knows it well.
The Soul contains the truths of life,
to all that's ever been;
to all things now, and yet to come,
but guards them deep within.
The mind has hidden doors to Soul; we long to find the key,
unleash the vision waiting there, that lives eternally.
And so mind seeks to open wide, grasp firm the light of Soul.
and at that moment when it does, we know we will be whole.
So when we penetrate the shield
that stands between these two,
we will perceive with inner sight-
our Soul, complete and new.
If in this life, we cannot grasp this bond of Soul and mind,
we'll be reborn to live again, till total self we find.
We've been before, so many times; we've known many a past.
We'll be again- an echo in time, till mind and Soul are fast.
And when that final day does come,
at last to lift our Soul,
for Him to gather in His arms-
our perfect self- now whole.
May 19, 2016
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Imagine A Freedom Beyond Imagination
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Judged: 02/25/2021
Some religions, like Hinduism, believe in reincarnation which refines the soul by it living many lifetimes, and after it is perfected, goes back to God. My poem is based on that belief. So many people, including myself, have inner feelings or momentary flashbacks like they have lived before in another life.
Belief
in a Heaven
after death on this earth?
Is it true or a fairy tale?
Is death just an eternal rest of wait,
for God's final trumpet call, when
all will be immortal?
Soul with spirit,
again.
__________________________________
August 25, 2018
Poetry/Rictameter/Belief
Copyright Protected, ID 1054-774-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Hope is a feeling that people spend years believing in, not because it leads them to a place full of flowers,
but because it's the only thing anyone doesn't doubt. Then there is no difference between the lust of achieving and the act of believing in it.
And when that kind of soul grips the handle of the sword—the sword that once provided power to the soul who had lost everything to stand in the world—
that sword develops a second edge because of the one holding it, and it causes damage to both the good and the bad.
Hope is like a hill. If you think—you can walk on it as long as you have strength, believing that at the end you will achieve the salvation you always wanted.
You start to believe in the shadow of hope because it seems beautiful and sweet. To ask someone for your deeds, and to think they will fulfill your wish—that is belief, not hope,
because that is what people are running behind: doing good deeds by suffering so they don’t have to suffer after death.
But at the top of the hill there is no peak, because you never wanted to find it. That hill has lost its top now—it only has an edge where a man can see a flowing river of water.
And while looking at it, a man loses something: it could be belief or salvation, but not hope—
because it was lost when you laid your foot on the hill. That is when hope becomes belief, and that day, a side of humanity was born—one no soul had ever witnessed, yet one everyone became a part of.
Fragile
humanity.
Haunted by a world of
divisive 'isms' and phobia,
Struggling
to find a voice, aching to live.
The gentle embrace of
a child. Sweet hope
takes wing.
*'isms' - things like racism, sexism, consumerism, cannibalism... the list can be extensive.
2.12.2016
what happens to those words we say
that speak in silence when we pray?
do they remain inside our head
to die with us when we are dead?
or do they echo off the walls
of bedrooms, churches, schools and halls
to fall upon the silent ground
and lie unheard and lost 'til found?
or do they find those cracks of light
that shine despite the darkest night
and reach out to that world above
to talk to those we miss and love?
Amidst the thunders and in the rain shower,
Still the feeling to go and be ahead the lightened tower,
Why Oh fisherman, do you wish to trade this water,
For you know today the weather doesn’t look any safer,
But he said, in my heart all I can remember,
Is the joy it would bring if I can fetch fish for my kid’s dinner.
This place is no new to me,
Every day my life cycles around the same, you see,
I hold the belief that no matter what, I will find
As to this place I am affined,
So I say don’t fear, O dear,
As I see there is neither harm nor any barrier,
It is just a race to prove my self,
Else my confidence would then become small like an elf,
So don’t stop me and show me fear,
For I know when I return I would hear you cheer,
It would then bring a freedom in all our minds,
For I believe in the aim and not let the obstacles make me blind!
Don't worry if you're making waves simply by being yourself. The moon does it all the time. ~ Scott Stabile
Silence sings
To the hungry soul
Baptizing night
In whispers of moonlight
Painting the morning
In a lemony sunshine
Breathing tenderness
On butterfly wings
Gentling the storm
With rain’s sudden visit
Warming the winter
By devoted fresh snowfall
Gathering the songs
Of falling leaves who call
Laughing through minds
Who hold onto their hope
Publishing poetic writes
On pages awaiting insight
Lighting the heavens
With a sense of praise
Overflowing sunset
In brilliant rays of tangerine
Loving the addition
Of grace and forgiveness
Leaving only healing
On the hearts who are willing
To listen to God’s spirit
Who will reveal His indwelling
Love like this is real
Filled with hope and giving
Second chances, new beginnings
Grace that is fulfilling
Assurance that salvation is given
To those who are willing
To follow God through time
Into eternity to find
Hope, faith and love
Are gifts from up above
And He has given us a peace
That can quiet the deepest grief
Love like this
Is the miracle of belief!
If only I could respond to this woman who shrieks
Who knows so little about whereof she speaks,
Belittles comments she so desperately seeks
Her social and political rantings go on for weeks.
I am amazed that her poetry is so ungrammatical
We would all be better off if she took a sabbatical,
Or spent her time in some more profitable pursuit
Hasn’t she learned that most of us don’t give a hoot.
Today she ignored all the facts and hit on vaccines
Spewed more venom on our president, it seems,
Took a few shots at the world situation in general
Has nothing positive to say, it borders on criminal.
I’ve noticed the recent absence of others of her ilk
They seem to have wilted like early fall cornsilk,
Apparently, folks like her do not fade with neglect
Poetry Soup is best when everyone shows respect.
Those poets who choose to share their beliefs
Are welcome, great; hatred, however, offers no relief
Putting down my country, my president, my politics
With disrespect, I will respond to these lunatics.
Written October 1, 2021
44th on Best 100 Poems of the Month
Poetry Soup, October 3, 2021
POEM OF THE DAY
October 2, 2021
You better believe it
When I say this because,
Here before you I sit ...
The one and only, Santa Claus
When I say this because
... I want you to believe,
The one and only, Santa Claus
Your eyes do not deceive
I want you to believe
Look at me, if you can,
Your eyes do not deceive
For I am no ordinary man
Look at me, if you can
Be you naughty or nice,
For I am no ordinary man
Speak, but think twice
Be you naughty or nice
The cat's got your tongue,
Speak, but think twice ...
You're quiet for one so young
The cat's got your tongue
With your eyes growing wide,
You're quiet for one so young
There is no need to hide
With your eyes growing wide
Lean close, whisper in my ear,
There is no need to hide ...
What do you want for Christmas, my dear
Lean close, whisper in my ear
Tell me ... a doll or a drum,
What do you want for Christmas, my dear
Roller skates or bubble gum ...
Tell me, a doll or a drum
I'll write it on my list ...
Roller skates or bubble gum
No child will be missed
I'll write it on my list ...
And get to work right away,
No child will be missed ...
On the night before Christmas Day
And get to work right away
For the time is ticking by ...
On the night before Christmas Day
When only the reindeer fly
For the time is ticking by
Counting on your childhood,
When only the reindeer fly
And, I existed, as best I could
Counting on your childhood
... Here before you I sit ...
And, I existed, as best I could
You better believe it ...
Am I less a Christian
Because I do not shout it from the mountain top?
Am I less a Christian
Because I do not think about religion nonstop?
Am I less a Christian
Because I do not wear my faith on my sleeve?
Am I less a Christian
Because I think it is entirely private what I believe?
Am I less a Christian
Because I am not a Bible-thumping demagogue?
Am I less a Christian
Because I don’t need a preacher to be my watchdog?
Am I less a Christian
Because the church as I know it has been torn apart?
Well, I know I am a Christian
Because I know God lives in my heart!
Written June 12, 2022
The Powerhouse Within Us.
.
The powerhouse in each one of us
When activated by self belief faith and prayer
Often lays dormant in slumber
Even though it’ always there
.
There is nothing that can’t be done
We all have the potential to achieve
All our earnest desires and heartfelt dreams
If only we focus and truly believe
.
The winding path to riches
Is not just a matter of wealth
But love deliverance and of health
.
Gratitude mindfulness and thankfulness
Are the keys to the lock
It’s not always about what you want
But the little things that make you happy with your lot
.
The sleeping giant wakens
Through affirmations visualizations and meditations
You have to feel the outcome is now!
With strong emotion with your whole being
That you being will allow
.
Our conscious minds are just the tip of the iceberg
As I’m sure many of you will know
But the is so much more of massive proportions
Just like an iceberg hidden in our unconscious minds below
.
Seeing beauty in the smallest thing
Staying positive with a positive vibe
Enjoying life while we can
Reaching out to fellow man
Spreading your love and trying to understand
.
Set you mind up for success and go for gold
Don’t settle for second best
Be strong and bold
Don’t put off until tomorrow
What you can do today
Every day is a precious gift to embrace
You may never have another come your way
No time for excuses and procrastination
The powerhouse awaits so start now today.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
Because I write
they look down on me
or am I mistaken?
In times of struggle and strife my heart has lost its weight
It lifts to pull me from my body’s inquisition
Burn, burn sweet fire of faith, light my way to heaven’s gate!
Streams of hope and mountains of grace directing my fate
To where the souls jubilation hungers for vision
In times of struggle and strife my heart has lost its weight
I close my timeworn eyes to see reverie create
The joy to relent this heart’s doubt with great revision
Burn, burn sweet fire of faith, light my way to heaven’s gate!
Transpose flames to melt sad snow from winter’s long debate
Merging devoutly to oceans timeless submission
In times of struggle and strife my heart has lost its weight
I cannot rest from these strong winds, whose storm overtake
My spirits valor, to faltering faith's volition
Burn, burn sweet fire of faith, light my way to heaven’s gate!
Raise me dear heart, to my true highest and noblest state
Trust prevails in fire burning deep within conviction
In times of struggle and strife my heart has lost its weight
Burn, burn sweet fire of faith, light my way to heaven’s gate!
In fact, at first,
By fiction’s thirst,
To thrust my sight in curse,
‘Tween nurse and verse,
For better, for worse,
At least I can rehearse.
Before the former:
A stench in fallacy’s flame,
Neurosis is but a game.
After all the latter’s the same:
Whether I meld or maim.
When the flames engulf my hands,
Lit parchment sparks my pineal gland.
Answers to question beg ampersands,
To slither out tricks per mind’s demand.
Whether or not, why I live,
I used to care to give,
Thoughts to sands and shaken sieve:
I think them too determinative.
Beyond a child’s belief,
Who knew them for their fief,
And in relief I saw the grief,
Of a diocesan thief.
So then what is it, we should think?
Too many wrote it in faded ink,
Idolatry failed in me to sync,
Whose world their tales just shrink.
So I turned them into story,
They whose nouns feign glory,
With capitals wrote by signatories,
Gave pardon for the gory.
And then I turned it into poem,
To the Devil: I’d have to show him,
To a God: who lives in hymn,
Alone, and written in a whim.
Lift graced prayers to stay faith's strength on tomorrows.
Belief can vanquish dark depths threatening sorrows.