Long Penance Poems
Long Penance Poems. Below are the most popular long Penance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Penance poems by poem length and keyword.
I went there at my own risk,
Destiny played an ugly trick.
Whirling like Eddies,
Tough and the unsteadies.
An unknown fear,
Nothing is that easier.
I haven’t played yet,
Time has no reversal gate .
So terrifying and disturbing ,
No end to these struggling.
Hearing a divine voice,
Echoes you and your choice.
Entered into being tempted,
Mistakes were restored and repeated.
Own selection and recreation,
Can’t expect an exemption.
I believe in natural justice,
Lives in harmony and peace.
Then a deep silence,
And a lifelong penance.
Soul seeks redemption,
To attain immortal salvation.
When life takes a turn for the worse
And the clock you'd like to reverse
When it seems like you can't go on
And your coolest poise is long gone
When life seems like a long penance
And love gives you a wrong sentence
When the perfume of sadness sprays
And long-suffering patience frays
When you stand at the quay of love
And no miracle comes from 'bove
Then take time to breathe, be grateful
Coz God's always good and faithful
When your quiver is filled with tears
And life's happiness disappears
When in a quandary you're left
And you're alone, feeling bereft
When you enter a quaint diner
And feel out of place, not finer
When your hair turns platinum grey
And you feel older than you say
When your prayers go unanswered
And you feel your hope is shattered
Then take time to breathe, be grateful
Coz God's always good and faithful
02.17.2021
For Michelle Faulkner's "Mind your P's and Q's" contest
Alas, she learned too late, the sanctity of being chaste
A teenage soul, lost in the depths of night.
Haunted visions, a spectre's silent cry,
Unspoken secrets beneath a mask, she'll hide.
A fragile heart bearing burdens heavy,
A clandestine choice, a tale unsteady.
For a life, a whisper that was once within her core,
Now echoes silent, haunting evermore.
The unborn, a phantom's wail,
In visions, it questions as time sets sail.
Interrogations, piercing like the wind's keen gust,
Accusing eyes, a conscience crushed to dust.
"Why, oh why, deny me life's embrace?
A chance to dance in time's fleeting grace."
The spectre pleads, a voice from the abyss,
A shadowed soul trapped in the serpent's hiss.
Guilt wraps its tendrils around her heart,
A secret kept now rips her world apart.
In solitude, she bears her weight of sin,
An unspoken truth, an eternal din.
In daylight's mask, she feigns a smile,
Yet, in the dark, she walks a lonesome mile.
Tormented whispers, shadows in her mind,
A heavy secret, a cruel bind.
Insanity's spectre whispers, sly,
Should her public penance be to die?
The ghostly echoes of what's left behind,
A tortured soul, a shattered mind.
Yet, hope persists, a flicker in the gloom,
Redemption's light, dispelling the doom.
For in confession, courage may reside,
A chance for healing, a soul untied.
Let not the secret strangle her soul,
She must seek solace and healing to make her whole.
For in forgiveness, the heart finds peace,
And redemption's dawn grants sweet release.
Our God is bountiful because the dove alights,
saturates, as if oiling our joints, softening the countenance,
our hands and feet that bear our cross.
My God bestows gifts, different than silver and gold,
yet worth more than those, more than pearls;
friendships gained, souls won.
My God sees all my troubles and sorrow. Compassionate,
protector, deliverer, footprints in the sand.
Promises are made that the churl will find no bounty,
the vile no penance when the reaper comes.
But our God prepares a table in their presence.
At our feet, a bounty of golden streets,
the fruitage of the tree of life, the glory glory glory
chorus of God’s throne.
Like the milk and honey of the earth’s breast,
are God’s provisions. Like a rock, out of which
water rushes, in the nick of time.
Peace like a river, overflows in harm’s way.
He spurs his angels, heavenly
and in the form of friends, oftentimes
gifts a serendipitous glue.
Liberal in bestowing gifts
Liberal in bestowing favor
Plumage of petals, morningtide chirping,
ebb and flow of pink sand and turquoise sea.
The bishop of our souls, the Savior-son,
the sacrificial provision of torn flesh and blood,
the cruel bounty that bestows beauty for ashes,
gladness in place of mourning;
instead of despair, the apparel of praise.
Our God is bountiful because…
Our Bountiful God Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
10/26/2020
Eerie presence, oft spotted near midnight
Whistling a death tune, inducing deep fright
Gliding over the lake with nonchalance
On full-moon nights, performing a break dance
Well before dawn, disappearing from sight
The ghost, it is said, nocturnal birds bites
Their remains strewn in blood at treetop heights
Candles lit, in both prayer and penance
Eerie presence
It’s silhouette darkens, shadows of night
For our neighbourhood here, it is a blight
Ghost from the house of the dead, in seance
Only once had revealed, its countenance
Medusa too would pale, before its might
Eerie presence
11-February-2021
Pele's home rumbles within the dome -- I came to atone.
What was I then; what am I now? Dominance lost, so ashamed,
a man I'd been, a King on a throne -- now powerless a woman, a crone.
To the womb I return, to grow and reform, second chance my aim.
Tired and drawn, plucked to the bone -- so far from the comfort of home
a group of seekers gathered to entreat the mother, to the cauldron we came.
Islands of sea, islands of self immersed in loam -- groomed for sacrifice not alone
cleansed -- held upright by sisters we sought the wisdom of the flame.
In a future time, a far off place, deep within the gloam, my spirit roams;
I'll be returned; a man again lessons learned, my titles to reclaim
for through the passage of time and form -- I'd be reborn, soul grown,
cherishing the lessons, cauldron learned, my second chance attained.
* This is a true past life memory.
You are the traitor, cloaked in grace,
The shadow with a smiling face.
You wore our trust like stolen skin—
Then let the blinding rot begin.
The blood that stains these shattered lands
Was summoned by your greedy hands.
Not wrath, nor fate, nor time's decay—
It was your will that led the way.
Your perversions, dressed in silk and gold,
Consumed the weak, betrayed the bold.
You dangled hope on poisoned thread,
And laughed as every dream lay dead.
We called you kin—you answered, "Mine,"
Then drank our faith like bitter wine.
You carved your name into our bones
And built a throne from hollow moans.
Destruction followed where you tread,
A song of ash, a march of dread.
And still your hunger would not cease,
You shattered oaths in search of peace.
But peace was never what you sought—
Just power, twisted into thought.
You lit the match, you fed the flame,
And wrapped it in a righteous name.
No penance paid, no cleansing fire
Could purge your soul of dark desire.
Forgiveness flees your very breath—
You walk with ghosts and sleep with death.
So know this truth, and know it well:
You did not fall—you chose to dwell.
In depths where even monsters drown—
You built your throne, now wear your crown.
As the dew of dawn you would appear.
Radiance and warmth is in thy aura.
The sun vowed never to disappear.
Moments away from thy, meant an era.
To gather flowers and freebies brought,
Alas, a mere day of year devoted to thy.
Racks fill with old lines said in thy thought.
But thy timeless devotion bears the mockery.
For soothing pain is where you’re concerned.
God made you such to see here no penance.
In thy move is selflessness discerned;
Unconditional love is thy tendance.
Forgive me, to be bound in the trend of life
Knowing well that at the end there’s my turn.
To fix horizon in hope for afterlife
To embrace, with heart that in longings burn.
I want to confess
(I need penance and absolution) before I go on
with writing
my muse is my prisoner and I keep her in bondage
I make her think deeply
she is a slave to my rhythmic flow
she is my poetic pulse
my artistic source
mused words
musing verses
And I must confess
(I often keep muse in a box) restrained and confined
captive
it is a beautiful box and she is quite safe in there
but I need rest from her thoughts
so I want to confess
in this short shrift
I am quite guilty of stretching M U S E
(when I need to execute a poem)
and then putting her back in the box until needed again
_____________________________
June 28, 2015
Free Verse
For the contest, Short Shrift, sponsor, John Lawless
Seventh Place
I toss fire down your throat
pour you your bullet, goblet to gullet
glass-jacketed explosions
line my wall like church organ flues
ablution for absolution from desperation
libation-liberations for exaggerated exhilarations
bottled fevers for believers
kneel your mind
choose your raptures
you’ve come to my altar
now your blood I’ll alter
shaken, stirred, swirled, singed with little bonfires
as potent a potion as you like
each percent speeds your ascent or descent
your thirst it’ll wet and abet
I have spirits to lift yours
a cure in every liqueur
bubbly for the lively
painkillers for loners
oh, I’ll hear your confessions too
earshot with your liquor shot, on the house
no judgement nor penance
just a warped sense of time to let you unparch your soul
salvage the day
and get ready to face the next one
I’m your friendly mercenary-priest
enforcing a restraining order against reality
one more?