Long Heretics Poems
Long Heretics Poems. Below are the most popular long Heretics by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Heretics poems by poem length and keyword.
I've been taught my whole life that God is good,
and that he loves me.
If that's true, why don't I feel loved?
Which God should I pray to? There are so many to choose from.
Why is that?
Man is so desirous of obtaining unconditional love
that He's worshiped, and then abandoned, a myriad of Gods.
And constantly creates new religions,
while designating all prior beliefs as heresy;
and exiling the old Gods to the realms of myth and fantasy.
What is God, if not Man's escape from reality?
It doesn't matter what name we assign to a Deity.
Mythology and history are rife with Gods,
which time has reduced to superstition.
What of Anu, Quetzalcoatl, Hathor, Amun-Ra, Zeus, Apollo, and Ares,
a list that goes on and on; each one a God, in their time!
Their believers, as devout as any today,
died and killed in the name of those Gods, and so many more.
The Judeo-Christian faiths vested in Western culture are not alone!
They only account for 31% of Earth's 7.3 billion people.
What about the other 69%? Are they all heretics, doomed to Hell?
Gods exist in the human psyche to answer such questions as
who am I, where did I come from, where will I go, and what do I seek?
I don't doubt the innate desire for a physiological God
that can answer all of our unanswerable questions.
But an all-knowing, eternal, omnipresent, spiritual Being:
to me does not exist.
I understand that my beliefs may well differ from yours.
But I believe blind faith is blind for a reason.
Jesus Christ truly was and is God's son
as God Christ is creator of the universe
He has no need of anything at all
Christ's riches evidence in Bible's verse
being the remedy for mankind's fall
This Jesus incarnate became man
but remained God in His fullness
heretics really go wrong at this point
which shows the root of their sinfulness
Christ became poor in becoming like us
adding His humanness to being divine
but suffering severely in His crucifixion
for us poor sinners, He's our living vine
Believers this is a mystery so sublime
Christ died for all our sins future and past
bringing salvation to sinners Jesus saves
for He out of love our sins has cast
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ
though rich Jesus Himself became poor
to bring divine riches to us sinners
so receive heavenly blessings so pure
(For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake, he became poor so that you by his poverty might become rich.)
2 Corinthians 8: 9 (ESV)
What Would Santa Claus Say
by Michael R. Burch
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to Kill and Plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
NOTE: The biblical book of Revelation says that Jesus will murder children himself for their mother's sins, in the letters to the Churches. But he won't stop there, according to the writer of Revelation, because after all the earth's creatures have sung the praises of God, a third of them will be destroyed in acts of bloody carnage, along with a third of human beings. That's trillions of animals and billions of people. I can't believe the compassionate Jesus of the gospels, who had table fellowship with prostitutes and refused to stone an adulteress, is going to suddenly start murdering their children and become the greatest serial murderer of all time. And how can the man who taught us to put aside religious differences to practice compassion in the Parable of the Good Samaritan not follow his own advice? Jesus reserved all his sternest criticism for hypocrites, so wouldn't he have to live up to his own teaching?
In the Middle Ages
witchcraft was wide-spread;
young witches were buried
in shallow graves.
The angry bard was also a monk and defended the Church,
" No witches of any age will be roaming in Catholic Florence
and allowed to practise their magic by the glow of the torch! "
From the pulpit he made his voice rise and broke the silence.
He felt the presence of the other witches who gathered
outside the church; he trembled a little, but continued
his speech of condemnation that to them wasn't eloquent,
" Go to sleep and never rise again " was the loud chant.
All seemed peaceful on that Good Friday with the rain falling,
the bells of the basilica tolled to mourn the crucified Christ;
the altar was draped in purple, the glass windows were dark,
the parishioners waited, the bard never came to the mourning.
" Mourn the barn's death! Christ forgave all sinners, he did not!"
" He burned them at the stake not as criminals but as heretics!"
" We'll protest and revenge their death so inhuman and unjust!"
The witches' chant was louder than the lament of the believers.
Written on 5/31/2016
The new millenia has delivered a genesis
of global corporate government,
a religion of salvation through submission to the State,
politicians as priest, as pest,
collection plates around every corner,
confession rooms in community centers, communion with false currency,
tax code as Bible, Commander in Chief as Christ,
the man or woman arousing their neighbor's suspicion that private property
is being stealthily seized,
that sovereignty is not just for nations but for individuals,
vigilantes of enlightenment engaged in martyrdom to be their own,
not strawman accounts,
contending to keep their wages, defending "Due Process" with dignity,
these frontiersmen of freedom pouncing on the pall
of political sorcery,
being met with scorn & scoff
not by officers and officials
but from the bellows of fellows -
J.A.B.
I don't know any happy
super rich people -- a
friend of wealth once
told me: "See all this,
a huge property and
home, dripping gold
gilt, "I have nothing...."
I thought, myself spared
leaving, as I gave my vehicle
the usual primer finessing of
the gas pedal, before it would
prayerfully start --
Of course, having spent much
of my life with those suffering, I
have dried many an impoverished
tear, and know no joyful hungered
belly --
I often conclude, the best of my
blessings found somewhere between
two hells -- bellow the peak of
Supreme Religious Zealots, just above
The Valley of Heretics -- best years
recalled, are middle-age....
God's grace and love independent
of experience or knowledge --
Having abundance is opportunity
to better the lives of less fortunate
others....
Before death I stand, inside a hallway of enduring shame
not waiting on judgement, for there is none for such crimes,
just abandoned forever pondering worthlessness,
Everyone’s dead
Butchered in narrow streets, along Jerusalem way
slaughtered countless men women children,
No prisoners taken, mere heretics massacred one and all
Our crusade was sanctioned,
Everyone’s dead
Shame on me, shame on you, giving such an order
we came to the holy Sepulchre dripping in blood
weeping laughing, giving thanks for our victory,
Everyone’s dead
Let us kneel before god, we are your champions
But god was not here, nor walking amongst us
Killers, murderers, interlopers, alone we stood
Drenched in the stench of euphoric delusion,
Everyone’s dead
Raising the cross on the dome of the rock, we rejoiced
Oh god! what did we rejoice, our hatred, our love,
What is love, sadistic love, crusaders love, for the love of god
There is no love, we massacred them all, ....everyone’s dead
Take back Jerusalem Urban said
You do gods work Urban said
Guardians of the peace Urban said
My god give me this day Urban said
You avert the apocalypse of man
We all hailed and cheered
his sanitised version
Now everyone’s dead.
By
David Kavanagh
ICE NINE
The sourceling of anti-matter,
morphed in, a slithering form.
From Darkness's anteroom chamber-
The wormhole, in escape-
The place where disobedience was born.
A
S
p
i
r
a
l
staircase, passage-
from Satan's spawning floor.
The full embrace of the fall, from grace-
Leading to a pit, a chasm within,
a vacuous sore.....
(The Abyss)
An Epitaph to Hopes Epiphany,
suffocation of man's denial.
Viper's soliloquy on Life's Headstone-
singing Hade's Reprisal.
The Manacle Frost seeped in, absolute,
in a stigma of waves.
Grasping, ill repute,
adorning its crystal plague.
Sculpting a stoic coffin,
for the Deads Winter.
Thematic serum, preserving decay,
reserving sinners -to it's chaotic
pain of spread-eagle splay.
Delivering retribution of hydrous tentacles-
A black mosaic, sadistic, iced anti-miracles.
What once were flowing streams,
now, solid, cataracts, in the shade of heresy.
Clogged arteries,
unstirring unto Death's Trident.
Neptune's chill, unforgiving, arrant.
Blood rigid, arresting the heart of Heretics.
A frozen mirror casts justice's like image,
reflecting back from the Abyss.
Unrelenting, this visage, to the fiends,
strewn about the thick of it.
Icy fangs sink in their eternal repress.
Yes.
The Sickle of Death's Angel.
The Fog of Hade's Breath.
in the way that your lips shimmer and your eyes flash simile-smiles making many reflections
with the irregular undulations rhythm'ng off your tongue,
with words flying out lyrically, kissing everyone
we are touched and easily forgotten in this age of impermanent ink,
with our ears perched high on a mystery, we're overlooked
for speaking in clouds expectant of thunder,
for rustling leaves in a tree,
for threadbare jeans flaking mud from long walks by the river,
for taking solace in the Sea
among writers we are the infirm, the mad heretics of desire,
ridiculed for whiskers and soft-eyes,
for bumping into enjambments, fish-like
and working out destiny by changing it,
moving it, Moon like...
we are the occasional ones,
risking decay and our sanity
for these holy short comings
and goings,
rather than face the impossibility of facts
or that self-righteous blind-eye of economics ...
there is mercy in this daring,
there is an art to this astonishing,
beyond these reasons which trap us,
beyond our need to pay the rent,
while the world conspires to ignore us,
we swell
Once upon a time in Persia there was a monk,
in the monasteries of Euprepius eloquent.
To become Bishop of Constantinople in 428,
extirpating heretics of every sort - to abate.
Nestorius considered that Christ as a mere man,
denying his divinity as much as he can.
By St. Cyril, bishop of Alexandria interventions,
setting motions to Nestorius poor intentions.
Condemned by the church as heresy to Christ,
the full humanity of the body and his divine Geist.
Divide him into two persons, the one human,
and the other utterly in divine God’s son.
From orthodox point of view, incarnation is denied,
rather a God inspired man than a God made man beside.
Nestorianism becomes the victim of own intolerance,
teaching prosodic union like a painter with his brush reference.
So that the Son of God is human self manifestation,
by human power as a single object of presentation.
The Roman Empire crushed those beliefs and its frontiers,
even that religion was not the enemy of Roman war gears.
Theologian’s still pursue through preaching done,
still after declared heretical in 431.
Dissociate identity disorder by common sense,
multiple emotions in creative force in hence.
Consciousness in a single multidimensional self,
God’s individuality in all natures’ wisdom, and in thyself.