Best Relics Poems
Time is a mirrored hallway.
As you walk down it, the past echoes at your heels,
The present flashes briefly as you pass,
And each step brings you closer to a future you can never see.
Life is what happens between the past and the future.
Every second we live is both the birth and the death
Of that particular moment in time.
We can never know if there'll be a next one;
All we can ever really know is now.
Though living only occurs in those brief glimpses of the present,
Much of life is taken up with remembering the past
And planning for the future.
But, as important as those things are,
Or seem to be,
Does either of them really matter in the here and now?
The longer I live, and the older I grow,
The more I'm content to be what I've seemingly become…
A relic.
That long, long hallway of time, at times,
Has almost proved too much for me.
All those mirrors, all those reflections.
But relics have thick hides,
We learn how to adapt and survive.
Relicdom doesn't have to be synonymous with defeat.
I would rather be an old, scarred, but undaunted relic,
Grittily holding on to what I can of the past,
But eager to see what the future has in store,
Than be an old, fearful, derelict relic,
Holed up in a dark nook or cranny somewhere along the way,
Afraid to acknowledge life as it passes by,
Just biding and waiting for time to catch up to me
And swallow me up.
Life consists of before and after;
Living is what happens in between.
The challenge is to make every second count,
And make a graceful and dignified exit
When you run out of mirrors
And reach the end of that hallway.
I don't mind if you climb inside
This stump I left behind
This lump of rot whose body parts
Broke free of dotted lines
Pluck a tooth, score a limb
Scrawl a note or two
In this lair of desert air
There's room for both of you
Odds and ends amidst the mud
Insinuate a face
A thin disguise free of love
Cheeks the wind erased
An alibi for skin and hair
Where only dust resides
Crumbled like an arid lie
Free of human fear
So grab some stringy gristle
A brittle part will do
Or a compact mass of bone and grass
With the mellow scent of dew
I don't mind if you grin or pout
If you're whole or if you're broken
Despite my rugged gutter mouth
My door is always open
Written by © Raven Drake
“Relics and Memories”
Lone relic image of the days gone by,
Of many tears, fears, trouble and toil,
Depressions, obsessions and blessings,
Perhaps simple children and castor oil!
The joys of the many jamborees,
The echoes of the times would remember,
One of the most favorite comes to mind,
All the Christmases in each December.
Barn’s beautiful face , now seems out of place,
All the whole wide world be but a stage,
As was this humble red barn in the field,
Holding but memories of someone’s page.
A personal enigma of life phase,
Even the Coca Cola commercial,
Be mere relic of many days gone by,
These but mysteries of life’s rehearsal.
Though many days gone the human essence,
Their presences be gone, but not forgotten,
Held securely in Cosmic consciousness,
Para-normal fields of Master’s white cotton.
I think I lost it...
Has anyone seen my mind?
Must of wandered off...
I'll check lost and found
The last time I lost my mind
It played hide and seek
I last found my mind
Hold up in an old Junk Trunk
Sorting memories...
A box of clutter
Relics that remain after
We've faded away...
St Therese, servant of God, gentle little flower,
Shine on us your radiant light and guide us in this hour.
All your suffering on Earth you bore unflinching, uncomplaining,
Help us who now suffer here, stop our faith and love from waning.
Teach us how to follow your humble 'Little Way',
To do our best at everything and thank God every day.
You vowed to spend your heaven on Earth, and let a shower of roses fall,
Miraculous cures now speak of your worth, oh you great helper of us all.
Now your relics leave Lisieux and journey to us for the faithful to see,
Great St Therese, I will be one down on my knees, please pray for me.
They boarded the mighty ship on a fateful trip
And waved to those ashore who craved a last goodbye,
The ship set sail without fail as champagne they did sip
The vessel's might was their delight, what could go awry?
They had it all, the sea was theirs they had no fears
They ate caviar from the bar and dined in grand style
Clinked their glasses with the lasses as they shouted 'cheers'
But soon they'd find that fate's unkind, and full of guile
They didn't think the ship could sink
With pomp and pride they took the ride
But mightier than it was the iceberg they hit
'Twas then they knew that out of the blue they'd be captives of the tide
With lifeboats few they got a clue
That Davy Jones would keep their bones,
In the sea, they would forever be, relics of the blue
And people wailed for the ship that failed, how mighty were its groans
10-26-2020
UNSUPPORTED CODE RELICS OF GRACE
to have been on this
planet prolonged time
and still discern naught,
distinguish… all the pain,
the ebb of dirt, and the
coffers stronghold pull;
observe no grace relics
of buoyant youth;
where perchance all that
now is fungal was filled with
hopeful hues of honey
© Kim van Breda—25 June 2014
Read,
escape;
Then share it;
That adventure
will last for all time;
Before bed give daydreams,
feast on relics from the past;
Passed to the next generation
a gifted storyteller wields the
mystery and magic of evening tales.
Ancient relics of the past shouldnt matter in this modern day of age...
but it still does,so I must..something of such sort and caliber should be spoken with caution,
but i cant..my blood rushes...uneasy abdomen..
a burst of wind swirls in me...this feeling..again.....im alive...
The dust is blown of that book once owned my an angel,left on my shelf but never forgoten,I hold it again..it resurfaces as so do I.
my dead body hints some signs of life and releases a power that layed dormant inside,I break out of my grave and into the light,now i see her even though not in sight,I feel my search is finally over....Ive found her-
Dare to ask as in why i fell in love with ur beautifull indian eyes....?
Your religion
is not so different
Than mine.
While ghosts
Reveal themselves
to you, so do your
posters. I will not
Hang them on my wall.
Am I ashamed
to believe in other
things than you?
Certainty is not
nearly close to the
Complicated equation
of our respected faiths.
Let us march to
the Church now,
and parade around
like it was easy.
The 1st Commandment does not forbid us to honor the saints in Heaven
As long as we do not give them the honor that belongs to Eternal God alone
When we pray to the saints we ask them to offer their prayers to Eternal God for us
We do not pray to the crucifix
Or the images of Father Christ
And of the Saints but to the person whom they remind us
I bought the shroud of Turin
the vatican had a sale
they have legal expenses
and priests that needed bail.
It was just an old dusty cloth
so I put it in the wash
that Tide detergent, never fails
all the smudges and stuff washed off.
don’t get excited, i was raised a catholic
R ead into what you will
E ntrusted into a religion
L acking proper understanding
I mplicating sinners into false saints
C onflicting souls one at a time, what do you really believe if not in me
I struck the flint against the steel
sending sparks showering over
the tinder I’d arranged in the pit
topped with the single bit of char cloth
from the tin of my fire starting kit
Not many know how to do that these days
The weight of what I was about to do
demanded the old ways
Breathing life into the flames I fed them
until they crackled into a conflagration
Beside me sat the box I’d hidden away
in the corner of the shelf in my closet
under piles of sheets and pillow cases
Within it stored what he’d worn
that arid August day we’d met
like trinkets from a time machine
The black T-shirt with the guitars
The red plaid flannel over it
After almost a quarter of a century
they hadn’t faded or degraded
His scent soaked into them discernable
The smell of his cologne still clinging
Transporting me back to the moment
I’d first seen his face, heard his voice
felt his touch
I held them in my hands feeling the fibers
replaying memories like a movie
of that single year
They were all that was left
of the me that had been
happy, hopeful and free
Like the last remaining relic
of a civilization that has ceased to be
Silently I placed them back in the box
Someday they’ll mean nothing to me
Each relic here
Looks back at me
And shares
A sacred memory
Of every joy
And all the tears
Acquired living
Through those years
They show the smiles
Each taste and smell
New joys that thrilled
Sad tears that fell
Your look of love
The gates of hell
Pained memories of
Our last farewell
Francis J Grasso written … Jun 26, 2024