Long Purgatory Poems
Long Purgatory Poems. Below are the most popular long Purgatory by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Purgatory poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep within Earthen bowels
immensely distant from sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm
precipitously crooked
rocky claws pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits
comprising soul asylum
where grateful dead (albeit marked,
via weathered tomb stones)
hermetically sealed
once vibrant corporeal mortals
betook their eternal slumber.
One among their number
included a misanthrope
who sported long straggly hair
bushy eyebrows shield
ding cold eyes of steel
straggly bearded clammy chin
in tandem with a hairy body
which when alive (long time ago)
upheld upon unshod feet, a severely
hunchbacked cretin
Within dense pitch-black terrain
(Mother Nature enlisting
a menagerie of life forms
accustomed to hellish environment)
awash with unrecognizable
alien sights and sounds
mollycoddling bewitching warlocks,
mailer daemons, trolling trojan horses
imps of the pervert chieftains, fiery
long and fostered Golems
who called underworld
their private demesne
also alluded to Marcy's playground
holding hostage Alice in Chains
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
The Beastie Boys, Culture Club
The Human League, and
Village People a Crowded House
Emitting wisps of ethereal matter
appearing a small medium at large
chat snap ping, flickr ring
indeed joyus minions
exalting piety good and plenti.
Prone ounce sing proud purgatory
promoting protean phantasmagoria
hideous hulu hoop dancing holograms
highly distorted grotesque
silent 10,000 maniacs screaming
sinister semblance to banshees
slithering across escarpment.
Echoing one end of universe to the other
putting to shame initial big bang
ranking as a mere whimper
that original primordial blast
which cosmological exploits
generated heavenly sphere instantaneously
comparison viz Krakatoa times Googleplex
essentially reduced to insignificance
albeit on the analogous tinker toy
premised conjectures of brilliant minds
could gander feeble educated guesses
asper extraordinary natural phenomena
mortal mankind could never approximate
as belligerent threats punctuated,
via nuclear warfare
merely rates as a flickr
amidst uber kindle snap chat ting
tinder blinks, extinguishes,
snuffs out one lowly
Beatle browed bipedal simian.
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 the snowy mountains depth,
Dusty grounds the wind hath swept.
To the nest, the mother bird returns,
Only to discover that her eggs were burned.
No tree remains,
Because she only wanted more.
Let us sing woe, not praise,
For this has happened before.
Is a swelling crescendo in the score,
Truly what we are searching for?
A piece of information,
Used to make a whole new creation?
These Sunlit Signs,
Are leading us to the right story.
Read between the lines,
The empty void of purgatory,
The telltales of your own glory.
Just stop and listen for me,
To understand the meaning of you and I.
There may be signs reading,”The end is nigh”.
They were accounted for,
they were officially dead,
but the alarming fact was
that large numbers of the dead
had gone missing.
Occasionally, still pinging cellphones
were found in Hades, Purgatory, and
other Bardo states.
Olympus was drunkenly silent,
as were almost all of the seven heavens.
In nirvana,
the footwear of some of the deceased,
had been left in a pile awaiting a divine fire,
footprints were seen
as if waiting for a cooling wash
in the fountain of everlasting life.
The missing had presumably
transported themselves
to some less boneheaded ideas
of the life after, one not yet imagined
by any dogmatic priesthood.
God was accused of not packaging
the deceased properly.
However the missing were never found
having discovered their own way out
of all that doctrinal,
inconsequential madness.
...youth’s awakening eyes witnessed
the loss of heritage of light.
Shadows constantly calling,
bringing a nearness to the secretive night.
A surge of crimson droplets -
a soothing sense of control of fears.
Still, a darkness grows,
devouring hopes, over many years.
A purgatory of shame,
leaves a gasp for an agony of death.
Pelting rain and howling winds,
fill the chambers and captures ones breath.
The storm keeps raging -
birthing a bolstering darkness.
Pain: Persistent. Paralyzing
a mind leaking what is broken.
Quivering, in a darkening dream I lay -
alone.
Shadows, still, calling me home.
Leaving me to rot, reprieve - to atone.
Some recalled Kristallnacht,
the white mob’s facial fever,
once the same fever of a night,
now the fever of a day-mare.
Some recalled Charlottesville,
the white mob’s lust for blood,
once the same blood craved,
now the blood of a purgatory.
Some recalled Greenwood,
the white mob’s rampage,
once the Tulsa rage inflamed,
now the ire of the privileged.
Oh persecuted one,
aspiring despot, so maligned and martyred,
your words hang in the air like the endless
echo of wailing toddlers.
Captain of the siege,
What incendiary drivel have you sown?
What lie ignited white wrath again?
Broken glass, shards of democracy.
To steal elections, accuse your enemies of it.
To win by fraud, manufacture it.
To decertify black votes, rile white mobs.
Broken glass, shards of democracy
swept from the floors of the capitol,
the bloodied casualties,
the pipe bombs awaiting discharge,
while white thugs are protected by white justice.
Broken glass, shards of democracy.
White supremacy
beds well with fascism and capitalism.
Broken glass, shards of democracy.
When will the next carnage surface?
Where will democracy die?
society has fallen prey to the status quo
unwilling to stand up for the God we all love and know
more concerned with being acceptable in the eyes of man
afraid to step out, to blaze a trail or even to take a stand
looking for approval from any and everyone
searching for commendations until the day is done
but a true Christian, a child of God can always discern
to stand up for God no matter how hot the fires will burn
and hope that those who worship false idols will one day see
that to fall under the devil's influence will lead to purgatory
don't ever let go of what you truly believe in life
take your stand and hold firm to the principles of the Lord Christ
be willing to stand boldly and tell society to it's face
that you wholly trust in the one true God who is full of mercy and grace
for greater is the God that is in me
greater than anything that man could ever be
take your stand in life and be true to your beliefs
don't fall for society's ways of ease and relief
don't hang with crowds for they'll slow you up or hurry you along
stand alone in the righteousness of God knowing right from wrong
tell that group of so-called friends you don't have time for pettiness
as you're too busy listening to God and keeping His holiness
fear not said the Lord, it's time to stand and fight
don't worry about the enemy for his dark can't diminish God's light
the enemy may huff and he may puff but he can't blow your foundation down
for you are standing on the word of God and are now on higher ground
for the devil is a liar and like a hooker always on the stroll
so be anxious over nothing as Father God is in control
to be like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego
to refuse to bow down to a graven image with a golden glow
take your stand, hold to God's hands and let the whole world see
that you won't accept any and all types of immorality
take your stand, stick up for Christ and tell the so-called powers that be
that you will only kneel down in the face of the Lord God's authority
take your stand, keep the faith, trust in God and have no fear
for He's in complete control and will always be there
the land is filled with an abscess of abhorrent disembodied souls
and their bleats are heard through parallel dimensions in which they troll
some stagnant in purgatory some waundering endlessly in search of a vessel to hold
travelling the bottled neck passages of hades paying the fairyman's toll
no bouqet of roses no arrangments of flowers
just remnants of cinder and ashes brought by the hours
realities manifested by the thoughts in our minds
alternate dimensions are possible with the construct of time
comprehension is beyond the grasp of average intelligence
disbelief has become dogmatic relevence
humans have adopted a bravado of ego and pride
along with the blistering ignorance that coincides
deceptive and manipulative voices like liquid water that drowns out reason
a year without light and death has a season
the balance is infiltrated and ying is greater than yang
no resonance from speech just slurs from slang
a twist of the words a serpents tongue
a hiss is whats heard air from lungs
the breath of life forced out in a whisper
and truth is manipulated by the tongue of the twisted
before you open your eyes open your mind
if you truly seek the truth than it is the truth you shall find
Joshua Nkomo fought the white man
Who had come to Africa, taken the land
The whites ruled Rhodesia, though we should note
Toward the end they had one man one vote
Which meant that blacks and whites
in that respect had equal rights.
Nkomo saw his fight as one of racial liberation
Mugabe, his rival, also fought for a black nation.
Mugabe was a Shona, Nkomo a Ndebele
Neither of them were what you'd call a nice fella,
Russia supported the Ndebele, the Shona had China there
North Korea trained Shona too, a reason to beware
Mugabe became leader but not by winning the fight
He got elected, Shona voters had more might
White rule ended, and all lived happily ever after
Actually, not true, what happened next was a disaster
Mugabe unleashed the Five Brigade
They had trained in North Korea, time for Ndebele to be afraid
So what can we learn, I don't have a dog in this fight
I don't think colonial rule was right
The Ndebele tribe were now killed en masse
Vast numbers of corpses under the African grass.
The lesson as I see it is that the violent liberator
May resonate with you, but he can be a hater
When he gets into power, to keep power he kills
While the sympathizers close their eyes to the blood that spills.
Let’s apply this lesson to leftists in the Hamas tent
A few brave Gazans point out Hamas doesn't like dissent
One dissident's first day in jail haunts his dreams
He can't forget listening to his colleagues’ screams.
Hamas members won an election, made logical moves
They consolidated power, threw rivals off roofs.
Again, both rivals weren’t all that nice
Even if you like their cause, there is a moral price.
You can find justice in many a cause, but that doesn't mean
Those who take up arms are worthy of your esteem.
In the 90’s radicals might wear a Che Guevara t-shirt
But beware, when with communists you flirt.
Che liked witnessing executions by firing squad
He’d shoot the bullet too, so admiring him is odd.
Some Cubans learned the hard way, Joshua Nkomo did as well
You can leave Purgatory and still end up in hell.
Know this, my friend, and don’t look back,
Be you white or brown or black.
Freedom’s more than a rebel’s name,
It’s how you treat folks once you’ve won the game.
Who am I, anyway?
I wear the mask of many faces.
I speak, read, and understand—
sometimes with words,
sometimes telepathy.
My voice changes with my face.
I just need a witness.
Attuned to me, I become every language you know,
but I do not know the geography of my own soul.
I dare not look at my face.
It is a drama mask—
sometimes surgical, sometimes not.
Nurse. Poet. Mother.
Sinner. Saint.
Underneath: no face.
I mirror what I see.
I am fluid.
Mist.
The breath you forgot to exhale.
I am the diagnosis you didn’t want.
The cure you don’t need.
Everything and nothing—
and still,
I bleed love.
I have walked through Egypt, China,
Italy, Russia—
snow made of glass.
I’ve been to hell and back.
Purgatory is where I live.
A mystery to myself.
So multilayered I must have alters.
I am not a delineating man.
Not a good person.
Just human.
I am lost in Saturn’s rings,
Jupiter’s vastness—
but Earth diminishes me.
I look to the moon for inspiration.
Spiralling players, man after man,
opening up my heart
like I’m on a butcher’s block.
Venom falls like rain—
but dries before it can stain.
Archangels turn away.
Demons cry.
I walk in places others won’t look.
My heart breaks daily
for the pain we scatter like a farmer’s oats—
and we don’t even water our crops.
Five sacred wounds:
wrists, feet, side.
Invisible nails. A spiritual lance.
Bloody scars bloom
where thorns or teeth
cut into my sanity.
I am Boudicca’s daughter—
Iceni rebel.
I am Eve,
before and after the apple.
I am Adam.
I am the snake.
I am Lilias Adie,
Agnes Finnie,
Bridget Cleary.
Witch. Wife. Changeling.
Burned not for crimes,
but for fear.
And yet,
I rise.
I join the uprising of women in philanthropy.
I stand on their shoulders and rise above:
Malala Yousafzai.
Greta Thunberg.
Judith Heumann.
Janet Mock.
Amanda Gorman.
Hannah Cockroft, OBE.
Dolly Parton.
We are many.
We rise in waves,
and they drown in the tide they made.
And still they wonder
why we howl at the moon.
My silhouettes of loneliness.
They tremble, they shake, they flicker.
The air becomes denser, thicker
With the heavy emptiness that you left behind.
Now my most cherished solace is found
In the memories of days past.
As my eyes wander towards the vast horizon.
And slowly, oh so slowly sail my angered yearning for you on a cloudy balloon,
That soon floats peacefully towards the starry sky.
And,
The shadows wane a little in the darkness.
Then remembering your smile, makes
My yearning grow like a forest densley carpeted with autumn leaves.
My first breath of happiness!
The joy of remembering you,
Made me find my crumpled, wounded self,
Hidden within this ruined castle of despair
That myself had layered brick by brick around me.
My ego helpless, tries escaping.
Into light and out from the claws of the shadows.
Bravely clutching into every thinnest strand
Of hopes and dreams we wove together.
Desperately wanting to see you one last time.
You joyful, anguished pain of mine!
Fog, please be lifted,
and let me see what lays ahead.
Will these burdensome wrongdoings forgive myself?
Or no exception of redemption given,
Just like everyone else.
Not divine enough to be able to touch the ethereal bliss,
And yet, not sinful enough to be encased within the horrors of the underworld.
Thus, forgotten, once again,
rewinding, whining, crying,
Into this endless purgatory
Of the eternal circle of life and death.
Completely unreasonably complaining,
Because, you left...
©?Besa Dede