Confession Poems

Stonewall

If you have done this,  
It is wrong — a shadow cast,  
A contradiction in the heart’s pure glass.  

You must confess,  
Break the silence, stonewall no more,  
For faithful persuasion opens the door.  

Righteous rage, a fire that burns,  
Yet deflators of power twist and turn. 

DEVIL IN THE DARK

The sun shone in bewilderment,
Scornfully it scorch,
As Rose plead her fifth amendment,
Her good nature made a strife,
Lea smirk in disdain ,
Saith her world has ended.

Twice fairer than Lea,
In Lea heart lies deceit,
She whispers in Rose ear,
Come and sit, where Serpent hisses,
I will smother thee with kisses,
Honey lies secrets not known,
In Lea lives the honey.

Thrice shy,

Perennial winner

I am a perennial winner
Cause I refuse to be a loser

I am programmed for victory 
And I vehemently refuse to walk by sight

Nor by what my circumstances look like 
For what is seen is temporary 

I refuse to allow my situation 
To dictate the direction of my prayer or confession 

For  I can not

Confession

I learned what I fear today:
Intimacy. I can’t seem to face
my raw emotions bluntly; in fact
I despise them for being unpoetic 
Why be vulgar and direct
when I can hide behind my
metaphors, my harbor; my fantasies, my
buffer—between reality and
my brain cells too proud to be seen
scattered, sprinkled all over—
well, nothing

Even this moment I struggle to simply
write:

Limerence

His confession:
He used to have an obsession...
He saw her as a shining superstar,
and believed she was good, not bad;
The infatuation he had
nearly drove him mad.
When he opened his eyes and looked inside
He found it wasn't as beautiful as the outside,
Once he discovered who she truly was
she didn't seem the same to him anymore.
Admittedly, he was

Confession

As I lay in the dark with my head about to explode
All the thoughts still stir in my mind 
The ones I try to be ride of...leave mostly behind
Like the chronic pain in my skull that never ceases to exist 
You linger there like a crown of thorns digging deep into me with your pointed

Confession

As I lay in the dark with my head about to explode
All the thoughts still stir in my mind 
The ones I try to be ride of...leave mostly behind
Like the chronic pain in my skull that never ceases to exist 
You linger there like a crown of thorns digging deep into me with your pointed

Confession of a Serial Killer

they wheeled me in like a busted fridge
metal bolts, the stink of bleach
my hands were calm for once—
you'd think I'd scream,
but I'd already done all my screaming.

a priest mumbled junk at me—
I asked for a cigarette,
he gave me god instead.

the guards were kids
shaking like leaves
they strapped me tight
like I was gonna run.

I looked at the

True Confession Time

       I give up writing the ‘great American poem’…
           started after college
           in my garage
           but it was all

A Confession

To soften his adolescent growing pains
he was encouraged (can’t recall by whom)
to take up painting – to make a name 
for himself, they said. When that failed, 
and miserably, he took up drinking
which he likened not to a godsend, 
rather to a bodily need and calling. 
And so it was, for in little time 
he

Confession from the Heart

how can heartless conjure magic meant to be bled by a broken heart?




A/N: For the Monoku contest Why I Abhor AI Generated Poems.

My Confession

Two plus two is four
In the book of Leviticus
It's hard to ignore
Just in reading you begin to explore
Those little details that belong to the Lord
They say you find Jesus on every page of the bible
But little do they mention the names of His rivals
It's very important and for our survival
That we pay close attention to

In Rhyme and Faith - Verses Upon the Creed of EFCI - An Ode to the EFCI Confession

1. The Scriptures shine, God-breathed and pure,  
2. One triune God, eternal and sure.  
3. The Father reigns, Creator above,  
4. The Son, our Savior, full of grace and love.  
5. The Spirit proceeds, giving life and light,  
6. Humankind fallen, lost from God’s sight.  
7. Salvation is grace,

The Page That Listens, But Never Her

Everyone reads what I write,
Except the one it’s meant for.
She never do.
She never will.

And I ask myself,
Do these words mean anything,
Or are they just a lullaby
For a heart that forgot how to sleep?

Maybe I write to lie,
To pretend silence was a choice,
Not a sentence carved into me.

I stitched my mouth shut
With thread made of shame,
The

A Mortal Toll

My soul’s confession knows no ordinary
penance—nor knows, nor feels, another mind
the nebulating sorrows therein maligned—.
I doubt my own can judge the cemetery

of bygone thoughts, dead dreams, and funerary 
pathways—twisted in patterns twice entwined
through one and another—lurking behind
my steeple-belled conscience. On the contrary,

sermon is held just out of sight of that 
sinister scene. By holy spirits

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