Best Unconfessed Poems
I picked up my tube of super glue
In hopes of piecing together
Sad lonely broken you
As I sifted through the bits
I wasn't sure what to do
Although there were many pieces
I was missing quite a few
Looking back to yesterday
tomorrow now and then
I Kept searching and searching
over and over again
To find the missing pieces
I looked to your pen
More than twenty-two missing
or perhaps less than ten
Imbedded in the paper
those pieces I sought
The lessons you had learned
and the pain they had brought
All your moments revealed
They came together in thought
I heard paper like screaming
cutting through me like a shot
The glue I was holding
Dissolved slowly like sand
so I gathered up your heart
and held it in my hand
My tears fell amongst the pieces
in a way I didn't understand
Your heart became too hot to handle
So I placed it on the land
Lifting heart up from the ground
You placed it slowly in your chest
All those bits that truly formed you
came together and we were blessed
Hidden answers you chose to scribe
where always meant to be a test
Revealing what we all are missing
those parts of us that go unconfessed
“Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here”
Floating freely amidst the thoughts in my dreaming heart.
Burning futilely, its fiery passion into my soul.
Days spent dreaming go forth unfulfilled.
A soul unbound, without love’s embrace, witherth.
Merciful God in heaven, why curseth thou me so?
Dost thou not see the lusting worming within me?
My living in worth naught lest true love be fulfilled.
And passions contrived are as a squeezing corset.
Doth she not steal from me every tranquil breath?
Hoping surroundeth each waking moment.
Heaven lies here in imaginings that bindeth forever.
Alas, such sweetness as true love dieth in the mind…
Unconfessed –
© July 25, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Romeo and Juliet; How tragic is love… Sponsored by:
~*Wandering* Butterfly*~
it took me six months to understand that the songs you sing me late at night
are not unsent love notes.
not unconfessed lust.
just cliche and plagiarized
just songs that you like
that you want me to like too
because that's a friendly thing to do.
it took me three years to convince myself
not to carve your name across my chest
give myself as an offer
sacrificial sweetheart
spread on the table
warm and melting
crisp and cut open
it took me three years to discover you,
smirking like the devil,
the boy behind the camera,
the boy behind the arsony.
it took me three years to discover that you,
pinning me up like a world map on your eggshell walls,
did not mean that you loved me.
it just meant humiliation, rebirth of mortification,
it just spoke of your need to dangle me kindly,
and you know i will always hold on too tightly when i'm scared.
it took me three years to understand that you might never kiss me again,
that when you touch me it's not catnip, just collateral damage,
and i know how much you love to watch the girl burn.
you may just be a nomad pacing,
and i,
just something to keep your feet arched,
just someone to touch when you've forgotten how quickly skin can char,
just someone who will always chew the scraps she is given.
it took me three years to understand that you are the wreckage,
seeing mirrors in the faces of everyone you didn't try hard enough to love.
you are the wreckage,
you are coming undone
i am the love letters,
you are just the paper cuts.
i am three years worth of scar tissue and trust issues and all the birthday cards you waited too long to send.
it took me 13 days to discover that maybe you are just as empty.
maybe we are both too empty,
to fill each other up.
I am but an ordinary woman resting in my easy chair after a long day of work.
However I am about to transform myself into a great explorer.
I travel through the many realms of space and time all from the safety of home.
My journeys cost me nothing but time spent in their enjoyment.
I close my eyes tightly to contemplate whom I shall visit this night.
Shall I sup with King Arthur and the knights of the table round as bards entertain,
Or feast on nectar and ambrosia with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus?
I could feel the angst of Cyrano’s unconfessed love for Lady Roxanne,
Or that of souls from Poe’s pen with his mocking raven quote it “nevermore.”
Choose to learn the life cycle of the bee, lion, or bear through a scientific work,
Or fly through space on a star ship with the creator of a masterpiece of science fiction.
I can recapture the whimsy of childhood while chasing cars with Clifford the big red dog,
Or take a brisk run with Pooh and Tigger through the hundred-acre wood.
I may celebrate glorious new beginnings with Mother Mary and Baby Jesus,
This holy birth portrayed forever within our sacred Bible.
I might also choose to contemplate death along with Caesar during his last moments.
Only the playwright Shakespeare could portray these with such tragic effect.
I may discover the secrets of gourmet recipes from master chefs,
Or learn how to sew a patchwork quilt of old fashion.
Vicariously visit the culture and religion of various peoples,
Or study the history of my fellow Americans.
Maybe I should check the financial reports to see how the stock market is doing,
Or it might be pertinent to examine the latest advances in law.
Let me discover the origins of favorite words in a volume of etymology,
Or distinguish quartz from quartzite whilst leafing through a book of gemology.
Books, yes volumes hold the secret keys to my voyage,
It is they that conduct me each night worldwide exploring.
I need not to plan ahead pack luggage or gather tickets,
Fore when I wish to escape this world a book is always close at hand.
I may travel safe and undisturbed through numerous times and places,
And leap out of one adventure headlong into the next without moving a limb.
When I am weary from the road or have chased enough beasts as warier fine,
I simply mark my place, fold the pages together gently, and retire to sweet sleep.
Tormented by unconfessed sins’ grief gloom
My soul is vexed from its self-righteous poise
Defying it draws me nigh toward angst doom
Denying thereby haunts me with guilt’s noise.
Justifying as human nature feat
My heart blames pride of its dominion height
Midst the championing insult of deceit
Leaving me forlorn, bereft of bliss’ light.
Seeking forgiveness against distress-woes
My spirit clamors for serene haven
Trusting the Lord God to vanquish sorrows
Claiming His love’s clemency from heaven.
Grateful to Christ for His pardon-filled grace
I bow down to Him, exultant with praise.*
*Psalm 28:7 The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him.
January 10, 2020
Honorable Mention, "STRAND SELECT G..."
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 2/8/2020.
A shadow visits me at night
He has long curly hair and wears a robe of black
When I lay down to rest
I immediately turn my head.
And he disappears.
This shadow has been chasing me a long long time
I wonder who it could ever be, spooking me out everynight
One day I watched my mother and I thought well
She has long black wavy hair and wears a gown.
Yes I thought it must have been her prayers.
Then a voice said, no it is your unconfessed sins and darkeness in your soul.
I don’t remember how many confessions I have had since then
But the shadow is there no more.
Friendship changes
the tone of our
sad words
and put a fresh
smile on our
dark face ...
Friendship understands
our weakness and not
rebukes and extends
a helping hand ...
Friendship shares
unconfessed secrets,
and confesses its
own secrets ...
Sincere friendship
worths further than one
gold mine or an
oil well...
and provides us extra love
than a casual
lover...!
Friendship is a medicine
for all ills,
it's an antidote
against evil
of our souls...!
Behold the coming of the infidel
with his tanks and brigades in battledress,
where once barbarians on horseback fell
new destroyers hide new sin unconfessed.
Now Serb boots march where invaders have trod
on Muslim Srebrenica in blood thirst,
but where, O tell, is their merciful God
when the lords of genocide do their worst?
Will mortar shells discern installation
from infant flesh in the stone cobbled street?
Might enemy siege end in salvation
where ancient homeland and battlefield meet?
Or will more die in the cold snow and mud
when raised are partisan flags stained in blood?
Written: April 1993
In this life’s journey, crying is inevitable. Expressed when trek becomes miserable, crying turns to wailing. When sailing is torturous with shipwreck at the helm, crying is accompanied with grievous shrieks. Sometimes, glorious tears of joy are shed when flying toward triumph-heights. In my Christian pilgrimage, my prayer times are crying moments which my God responds to with His grace, mercy, and love. It is then my plea that He will find me seeking Him with faith-wet tears in my desire, determination and delight to obtain His favour for the fulfillment of His will in my life. May He forgive me for my earnest regrets when “too late to cry” incidents occur in my spiritual walk, as I admit, can happen when human frailty overtakes me. Thus, when erring after being warned, when insistence of selfish arrogance prevails, when guilt dominates over unconfessed greed, when envy persists because of carnal cravings, I beseech God to lift my soul, hedge my heart, and guard my spirit from distress… before it will be too late to cry.
With faith, I’m yielded
Asking God’s forgiveness now…
…not too late to cry*.
*Psalm 18:6 In my distress I called upon the LORD, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears.
May 10, 2019
2nd place, "Pick A Title, Vol 4 - Haibun" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh; judged on 5/24/2019.
Souls they gather one and all,
at the time the darkness fades.
Hands to heads between the walls,
sin does move away.
Never to be lackened less,
the saints are without prayers.
Raining souls of the unconfessed,
who's screams still fill the air.
The dead they are awakend,
by their spirits they do call.
And wale to the forsakened,
before the heavens fall.
Deeds are counted for their cheap,
harsh punishment to bare.
And with a payment left to reap,
such shamefulness to share.
Separate from the ways of one,
who paid the price for sin.
Separation not for fun,
has judgment does begin.
All are lost without a face,
within this space they call.
Wishing for another place,
before the heavens fall...
saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )
What do you do
When you can feel the walls
Closing in on you
Walls
That are there to protect you
From the harshness of the world outside
Harshness of the world outside
Can they build those for your mind
Walls
That are there to protect you
From the harshness of the world Inside
Harshness of the world Inside
They look so pretty
These walls
Painted in happy colours
Happy colours
Plucked from the rainbow
By a glittering fairy
Collected in a huge bucket of gold
Happy colours
Plucked from the rainbow
And mixed with sunshine
Then why
Why is it so dark
Inside these walls
Walls painted with
Colours plucked from the rainbow
And mixed with sunshine
Why do these walls
Painted in happy colours
Not lend their happy to me
For just one night perhaps
Maybe if they do
Then I
Will not feel like the walls are closing in
Maybe if they do
Then i
Will not fear the dark
For one night
Maybe if they do
Then I
Will drop my regrets
Like a cloud sheds rain
And becomes lighter
I will shed the sorrow
The regrets
The guilt
The anger
All those tears unshed
All those feelings unconfessed
And become lighter
Maybe then
I'll rest
Now that I've shed
The despair
That used to creep into my sleep
And colour my dreams
That peculiar colour
Of gloom and doom and all things bad
Maybe now I'll sleep peacefully
Finally rest
And hope to wake up
A new person
Not flawless
No
That's not what I ask to be
Just undamaged
Just whole.
The snow laden sky hangs heavy,
as if bowing under a burden
of unconfessed sins
it cannot discharge.
Pregnant clouds
drag their swollen bellies
over fallow fields
that lie waiting for absolution.
With selfishness that had rotted my soul
Along foul stench of decay-causing pride
Succumbing to shame midst grievous defeat
For Christ’s blessed pardon, I humbly cried.
Midst unconfessed iniquities, heart fails
As vows toward holy striving lose might
Cognizant of transgressions’ stinking molds
I seek the Saviour’s light to do what’s right.
Admitting my own human nature flaws
Exposing debilities and defects
I beseech God for sanctifying grace
To be cleansed from every sin that infects.
Grateful to the Lord’s preserving* mercy
My spirit persists to fight decay signs
Anchored by His ever-enduring strength
In exuding sweet smell by truth guidelines.
*2Timothy 4:18 And the Lord shall deliver me from every evil work, and will preserve me unto his heavenly kingdom: to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
September 26, 2020
4th place, "Writing Challenge - Decay-Quatrain Form" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 9/29/2020.
Is God a church of forgotten people?
Is God a loveless creed?
Does God reach down to the masses
and love them in their need?
People forget how to be people,
singing familiar, unfamiliar songs;
hiding their fears and guilt
behind their unconfessed wrongs.
They have worked so hard surviving at their
boring, dead-end jobs
they can't focus anymore
on the strength and power of God.
But they're on the way to somewhere.
A minister can tell.
He looks up, smiling at them.
His life is going well.
He's saved for his vacations
and he's saved for a new car.
He has money in the bank.
His stocks are going far.
And the poor stay in their corner
and the rich stay at the front;
and the poor don't know their Bible;
so they're standing in a rut;
and Fate is a busy person
who wanders through the halls;
laughing at the deceased ministers
who never thought at all.
Life gets busy in the city.
Everyone forgets your name.
No one understands forgiveness.
But they're dying just the same.
And Time destroys tradition;
leaving nothing there at all;
And Death seals every coffin
'til they're all lost in a wall.
But God's deeper than tradition;
He moves swift like flames of wind.
Only those who choose to love God
recognize Him as their friend.
Will we be reborn tomorrow
and forget what we have been;
even though our pain and sorrow
tells us life should have an end?
There's a beauty in creation,
in the pounding of the sea.
Does the suffering really matter
when the sufferer is set free?
Janet Marie Bingham
Halloween is very near,
Stealing is what brought me here,
Where I'm going I can't say,
I just had to get away.
Driving in the pouring rain,
Those that do, must be insane,
Looking for a hideaway,
To spend my holiday.
I've been good, but not that great,
Candy makes me put on weight,
Pumpkin pie and room for dates,
But Norman, don’t be Bates.
Shower time defeats the gloom,
Norman gets to pick the room,
Dreamers dream, of what is not,
But water, please be hot.
Suddenly, as in a flash,
I resemble corn beef hash,
As I fall, the music dies,
Just before, my spirit flies.
Now my shower scene is through,
For my head and shoulders too,
Halloween is for my mates,
But Norman, don’t be Bates.
Though my crime was unconfessed,
Norman likes me for a guest,
Double wrongs, don't make a right,
Don't forget the light.
Though my life is not to be,
Murder loves a mystery,
Who was killed, and who was cuffed,
When Norman's mom was stuffed.
If you like to trick or treat,
Bate's Motel is on your street,
Monsters loom where Heaven waits,
But Norman, don't be Bates.
Norman Bates, it seems to me,
You made shower history,
Mother made you do the crime,
Nice of you, to do the time.
You exist, in memory,
Mother keeps you company,
Don't forget, the love she gave,
Each time, you rob, her grave.
Meditate, for inner peace,
When you kill, upon release,
We exist, in altered states,
But Norman, don't be Bates.