Judgment Poems - Poems about Judgment

The world demands identity— a name, a face, a history. But in its grip, you lose your way, and shame is what they make you pay. They drag your truth into the light, then twist it wrong and call it right. They dress you up in guilt and fear, then whisper lies for all to hear. A coin of shadow tempts the soul, Whispers...

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The life you walk now sighs beneath your feet— a path once clear now tastes bittersweet. Even as you carry grace like gold, judgment greets you, distant and cold. Kindness speaks, but you hush her voice, as if warmth is now the weaker choice. Respect once danced at your command, but now she trembles, bare and banned. You wear pride like a tailored...

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Evil… …does not …will not …cannot Control… Evil… ...

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And the Lord will say to them on Judgment Day, “I was hungry, and you defunded my food aid programs. I was thirsty, and you rolled back drinking water protections. I was a stranger, and you snatched me and deported me. I was naked, and you gave tax breaks to billionaires. I was sick, and you cut Medicaid and Medicare. I...

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Damaged Goods Damaged goods describe both the external and internal features. After all, external damaged goods refer to those features because the internal features are still whole, functional, useful… Hey, many people delight in getting such a great deal. It works on the inside and that's what counts and is relevant. Who cares about a ding,...

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They say that God is clothed in white, A throne of clouds, a robe of light. The angels, too, in linen gleam, Like snowflakes stepping through a dream. The lamb is white, the dove is pale— All heaven's cast in frost and veil. And yet, beneath that sacred lore, A darker thread runs through the floor. They say the devil wears the night, That...

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The Prismatic Self Premiere Contest Winner I meet myself at the edge of mirror glass— its surface holds me like a verdict; renders me in symmetry I do not trust. Do I offer brilliance, or only repetition? Each submission a blade, each stanza a wound— I split myself into offerings, waiting for the weight of judgment. The axe does not ask, only...

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Hello, my most esteemed poets, I am trying an experiment that I believe has not been done here on the PS site. I have posted a new poetry contest called "The Prismatic Self: A Gauntlet of Mirrors within the Arena.". The JUDGES have now been selected: 1. Lin Lane 2. Ink Empress 3. Duke Beaufort 4. Vanya Evangeline 5. Anne Winter 6. Hiya...

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Jesus in toga or tunic Wrote notes that use symbols runic But Trump Musk and Vance Don loose yoga pants To hide now each is a eunuch...

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'Least likely' times three, Putting me through difficulty To persuade me to go away, Axing with, "Have a nice day..." So much for a 'Protection Plan'! That maze through which no one can, Defeat the 'Crooked Counterplan'! The 'gods of profit' win again! (sigh) 'Most likely' times three, These "gods of profit' turn beastly, And poison justice everywhere, Until their profit becomes a snare! Israel's leaders blind and...

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Appearance reality their differences hide Within the perception that judgment abides If once crossing over there’s no going back The tradeoff complete their identity — hacked (Dreamsleep: March, 2025) ...

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The scene stopped me in my tracks, Crimson bursting through darkly gray. "Another cold, dark morning," I mused. As I turned to walk away... "Beware the Ires of March, Watchman! Scoffers attack like mad hornets! I AM stirring their secret hives, Exposing their darkly terror. They will reap what they have sown, When I unleash My holy terror!" "How do I confirm this,...

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What I don’t display, Is good that you don’t see. The music moves as you play, Spirals and fades away from thee. The weeping willow tree, Smiling before me. Que sera, sera. You can only see my every flaw. Like those from our previous lives, We march unto an ungodly death. Not knowing for what we thrive, With our cold and shallow breath. Up...

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Oh judge, dear friend, delay is but a muse, No weight to bear, no reason to accuse. For patience blooms where moments linger, Each tick of the clock paints truth with its finger. A poem, though brief, holds depth untold, Not rushed by time, but a treasure to unfold. To weigh its worth, your care was true, For art demands the heart’s...

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The bed will testify of what you did on it. The wall’s silent ears. Foreclosed window eyes. Onomatopoeia from door’s Half opening mouth, The night you switched off the light Drew all blinds but darkness stood there as a witness, watching you and your sins. Alade Blessing ...

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