Long Pilgrimage Poems
Long Pilgrimage Poems. Below are the most popular long Pilgrimage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pilgrimage poems by poem length and keyword.
Wabi-Sabi 12-21-23
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Wabi-Sabi
Empty the mirage of perfection
Whose shadow wears scars
Of perpetual broken rainbows –
Cracked rose petals –
Gilded edges joined by hibernation and spring.
A pilgrimage into amnesia
Timeworn victories fade into badges lost to time
Moonlight swallows the waning heart of morning
Sunlight gobbles up unfinished faces of the moon
Storms inhale fragments of sunbows.
Out of exploding ephemeral stardust broken beauty
As galaxies toss and turn creating quasars
Like waves sculpt eroding sands
In the orbit of perpetual opening ceremonies -
A journey into morphing excellence of golden seams.
And love grows to bloom then scatter rosehips
Into time’s silken wrinkles
Star born magma bows with gratitude
For unexplored shapes crafted on new shores
Where only eternity lasts forever.
Scriptures declare that believers be true
to be faithful to Christ always in His way
being not unequally yoked to unbelievers
obeying God's word stand fast they would stay
Righteousness can't compare with lawlessness
it's totally opposite having nothing in common
just like back and white so colourfully distinct
remember your place not to be forgotten
A believers fellowship needs are akin
to those of similar likened taste
so that unity blends uniquely together
making your pilgrimage have no waste
The sweet communion of believers faith
be full of Christ's abundant light
giving no room for any darkness
making fellowship such precious sight
Believers need be equally yoked
filled with Christ's love for each one
enticing others of what's true love
be separate unto Christ God's son
(Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers. For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness? What accord has Christ with Belial? Or what portion does a believer share with an unbeliever? What agreement has the temple of God with idols? For we are the temple of the living God; as God said,
“I will make my dwelling among them and walk among them,
and I will be their God,
and they shall be my people.
Therefore go out from their midst,
and be separate from them, says the Lord,
and touch no unclean thing;
then I will welcome you,
and I will be a father to you,
and you shall be sons and daughters to me,
says the Lord Almighty.”)
2 Corinthians 6: 14-18 (ESV)
Though the stream cannot go back to its original source
Can't it get in touch with its waterliness in its course?
I stand silent in a lonely street or calm in a crowd.
Yet, a voice that comes close to my essence calls me aloud.
I go within, like the sun, moon, and stars do their mission.
I sink into my Zen zone and come out with fresh vision.
My mind sets like the mercury in a thermometer.
I fix each phase of existence like a photographer.
I speak to the almighty in my soul-to-soul closeness.
As a bloom with closed petals, I feel a unique oneness.
A feeling of healing and seeing the Supreme Being
Lead me to an immense joy as though enjoying skiing.
Every being seems like an atom of the divine soul.
Nature reveals its rainbow colours with their wondrous whole.
No one looks strange. Everyone seems to be my kith and kin.
A pilgrimage towards an unknown land seems to begin.
Made for a home that's not our present home
the psalmist describes the loveliness of God's home
being made for God's glory indeed
filled with divine beauty in every ounce
The psalmist longs for the God of life
for He cares for the swallow and sparrow
all of God's creation He truly cares for
His love covers all it's never narrow
God sends His blessing on His own
even as they journey all the way home
focusing on their destination so blessed
they plod being renewed as they roam
In God's home, we find security and protection
favour and honour and abundant blessing
the Lord blesses those that trust Him
just like a bird-safe in its nesting
Jesus is the new temple the living stone
creating little stones where Christ does dwell
we come home to God in the life of Christ
so secure and safe to sweetly gel
So live humble lives of longing
living general lives of pilgrimage
to live holy lives of anticipation
showing Christian homefulness in our age
My first great faith journey
involved exiting EarthMother's nighttime womb,
without even a first language
except what RightBrain inherited
from noticing emotive taste and feel
and healthy/pathological touch
memories prehistorically Win/Win
and Win/Lose
and Lose/Lose souled
unsoiled either happy or mad,
learning both/and health-resilient midways.
From such humble nutritional/toxic expectations,
and win/lose annunciations
of EarthTribe's integral potential,
wealthy yang opportunities and yin-unhealthy risks,
through adolescent win/lose romantic invested engagements
On through my own forty-year corporate adult commodified faith journey
ensuing
pursuing my great white-male privileged American dream;
A win/lose business-as-usual pilgrimage
toward my more recent retiring win/win destiny,
for healthy wise-elder now
unhealthy other-wise then
Not really a chosen win/win destination
freely destined to and as begun
with integrity of ego-me inside sacred eco-Other
co-passion for positive
healthy
rational/nutritional purpose
And perennial meaning
this old pre-cortical WiseElder right brain
we have anciently learned interdependence
does not believe in autonomous ego-mortality,
Right brain emotive intelligence
is not overly invested in left brain ego's embedded fragmentation
co-arising feelings of righteous predative anger
and leftist prayers conserving lose/lose fears
of YangGod's universally autonomous climate genocide.
Ego's de-individuation
away from Earth's healthy habitat
rejoining MotherEarth's timeless individulting wombs
reproducing integrity's conjoined co-passioning potential,
ReBecoming as I began
win/win re-entering memories re- and pre-historically souled
unsoiled
inside EarthMother's first pre-cortical dark night
Becoming bicameral felt
effectively co-caused/effective
neo-cortical ego's individuating day
ReComposing my first great healthy transformational
co-arising in/ex-formational
re-journey
re-membering my first great transitional
sunrise developmental
co-passioning light/energy service
courageously multicultural
vulnerably global
and transparently personal.
Word has reached
A distant planet out their
Semaj, this ancient Celt
In ancestral despair
His droid Etto
Has bulletins relayed
The last human on earth
In final death display
Civilisation as he knew it
Has gasped its last breath
For the butterfly winged angels
Has left earth in death
For once again their desire
To gain the orb of life
Has left the world as he knows it
In death dying decaying strife
For weeks he travels
To a world he once knew
In ancestral pilgrimage
Answers he pursues
He arrives through earths atmosphere
Human eyes will never see
He lands near Loch Torridon
Kingdom of the King Kane family
Whats left of his village
Bodies drained of their life
Children and the elderly
Man and his wife
For the very last time
He views his ancestral surround
For on these peat laden glens
Black Roses abound
Alba, his country
In death dying decay
As he speeds through its glens
Black Roses display
He reaches the lowlands
And its riches of soil
But nothing else grows
Black Roses spoil
Moments later
There is the sound of a sonic boom
Black clouds above separate
Lights appear through the gloom
I divorced the cirrus heat
that once laced the sky with fire,
carrying searing sins of
the scorching sun ~
burning the soft bronze of my melanin;
an unabated rage,
a labyrinth of blooming lilac,
an assortment of angst,
a library of healing lullabies
homed beneath the glass-skin silence
of my quivering chest~
like wind through cathedral clusters,
a poison to my psyche,
too bright for the darkness that dwells.
But perhaps it is in eclipsed spheres
I thrive in comfort~
attain nirvana
through sketched peace lilies
drawn in stillness.
Now I’ve found inner
nectarine ingredients~
a recipe for resilience
to pollinate my passion,
to compose myself,
to uncloud storms
by marrying the
moon in my conscience~
painting citrine and topaz
on the pillows where I weep,
in seclusion and solitude.
Here, stars of solace ~ I do breathe~
a self-consolation that needs
no granular words scratching
the inner walls of the throat chakra.
O beloved, forgive my need
to see through the haze
that has been fogging
the fluorescence of your aurora horizon.
My woe ~ a broken vow,
my ache ~ a bleeding wound,
my grief ~ your scar~
a suffocating scarf,
a burden I relieve you of with severed ties,
letting go amidst the love
that still flutters in Luna sparkles…
You were a hallucinatory
hymn of dawn ~ beautiful, yet bruised,
and I am silver thread
tied to the oblivion of diamond dusk,
basking in the raining remedies,
seeking floriated meadows,
lost in the breeze of
sea-kissed azure~
an awakening: to trade venom for vigor,
like the unfurling of sakura
in the warmth of spring’s splendor,
brushing away crystals
of mulberry-black ice
when cold are the conversations
left unread and dried
between misinterpreted metaphors...
Sometimes, farewells are healing,
moving on ~ a contemplative prayer,
the spiritual pilgrimage
toward embracing clarity and zen.
For there, in the vintage
forest of forsaken violets,
wilted petals are watered
with tears and roseate radiance,
and, in the ruins of
pixelated promises,
we will learn to linger in
the luminous reveries of love ~ evermore...
In the melancholic hour of introspection, where twilight paints the sky with sadness,
Religious souls often walk, hand in hand with righteousness,
Forsaking the tender embrace of compassion for the cold certainty of being right,
Clinging to a fragile mantle woven from threads of egotism,
As if their faith could ennoble their identity with divine approval.
In the sacred sanctuary of belief, they build altars to their own image,
Domesticated echoes of God's infinite transcendence,
Reduced to comforting whispers that mirror their desires,
Learning of the Divine as children learn of Santa Claus,
Yet allowing those notions to ossify, remaining infantile and unchallenged.
Oh, irony, as we cast aside Santa’s joyful illusions,
Maturing our visions of myth and childhood fantasy,
While our understanding of the Eternal remains in the naivety of youth,
Unprepared to confront the vast, untamed wilderness of divine transcendence.
Here, in the labyrinth of our minds, echoes of childlike perceptions resonate,
Yet the true divine is an unfathomable abyss, a dance of shadows and light,
Beyond the gilded cages of our self-fashioned sanctity,
A whisper in the wind, a flame in the depths of night.
We baptize our egos in holy waters, seeking absolution for our vanities,
Enshrining our beliefs in stone, unwilling to weather the storms
That might erode our crafted idols, revealing the raw, untempered truth,
Which asks not for our righteousness, but for the tenderness of a compassionate heart.
In this silent pilgrimage through the chambers of our soul,
We must unshackle the Divine from our limited grasp,
Allowing the boundless to flow, to mingle with the currents of our existence,
To guide us through the dark waters of humility and grace.
Let us not forget, in our zeal to be right, the gentle call of compassion,
The holy whisper that beckons us beyond ourselves,
To embrace the transient and the eternal, the darkness and the dawn,
For in that sacred embrace, we find the wondrous, ineffable face of true divinity.
Thus, in the quiet of twilight, among the shadows of our beliefs,
We are called to transcend our domesticated notions,
To embark on a journey of deeper understanding,
Where compassion and humility lead us to the heart of the Infinite,
And righteousness melts away in the light of true and boundless love.
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Written on 18th April 2004, a Maundy Thursday, one of the three
sacred holy days forming the Christian spiritual calendar: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Mark. A contemplative piece set in Shakespearean sonnet style depicts profound human transition from spiritual exhaustion to divine surrender. It talks of stripping away the external ego to find internal sacred peace.
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When hope feels thin, and your horizon far,
When righteousness your own for little counts,
Broken and bruised and battered when you are,
When your wasted shadow forever haunts;
When rites and rituals robbed are of magic,
And piety nor pilgrimage might please,
Belaboured worship loses all its logic,
Divine grace seems to gasp for fresher lease;
When you are keen to off-load your old self,
To fill life’s vacuum with His holy presence,
Too keen to leave behind all power and pelf,
The heart whilst craves a deep unending silence;
Ready thence you’re to embrace divine bliss,
To fill your life with fullness that is His.
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Sonnet | 13.04.2004 |
A hand of sand in spectrum of flow of time,
ministering thoughts by simple pantomime.
So many sand-curies it has been,
and dessert hills moved gently keen.
Caravans slow vicissitude by blow of wind,
seasick on a camel ride pinned.
Motion rise and sink in endless obscure,
sensuous dunes proportioned contour.
Wandering aimless not by imagination,
creating landscapes of ancient preparation.
Illumed wilderness same same horizon,
only more sand for pilgrimage compromising.
The oasis coming in confident of fate,
to resolute the heart before it is to late.
Have we passed that shimmering crystal tower?
coming closer to the counting passing hour.
Gazing up and escaping these narrow walls,
the shifting sand and its sustaining falls.
This little golden thread dilate into column plain,
pursuing my thoughts regardless the time in vain.
A world too small for times in loving ponder,
timeless appreciation and all its precious wonder.