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.
-Awakening In The Lions Den-
Sinking fangs into the flesh of mortality and being reborn without limitation.
Limitless precedence. Cultivated in the shadows like a noose in a wardrobe.
The lions out at play, whilst the queen tries to demoralize liberty.
The altar of loops in the midst of reincarnation. Reach for the stars, find only melancholy.
Gaze upon the winds of time and listen to the siren’s lustrous radiance.
Men can be driven mad and fall ill to the depths after going overboard. Never to return to their purity, soon to be forgotten.
Take heed, for the days grow longer and the nights never end.
Purgatory, the treasure trove of any broken man’s inheritance.
The decadent crown remains so, drifting through the river of Styx.
Living in Purgatory
What do you do when you've had enough
You Can't end it all
But you no longer want to continue
Because you cant move forward
The pasts grip
is holding you back
But it wants to drag you back
to the pain and misery
But you stand strong
Eager to get going
Eager to move on
But You're stuck
Being held in purgatory
See you're Alive
but you're not Living
Stuck in stagnation
Becoming Stagnant stood still
Feet are firmly rooted to the ground
But while life still runs through you
Blood pumping through your veins
Air inflates and deflates your lungs,
Heart heartedly thumping
Strong thump, thump, thump,
Eyes blinking blink blink
In sync with one another
A statue stuck in the present
Trying to run from the past
To map out a future
But here I remain stuck
Between times tenses
Whose pull will win
The past the present
or the future
Or will I remain here
In the present
Stagnant Stuck
Living my life in purgatory.
Forty days and forty nights
Christ spent wandering in the desert
but it’s now over ten times that,
four hundred twenty days and
counting in this isolation desert
cut off to varying degrees from
contact with other humans with
remote meetings getting more
remote and a takeout dinner
from a fancy restaurant is just
a takeout dinner, although live
streaming music and plays
help a little but ain’t really
all that live and I have a
desperate nostalgia to return
to what was my mundane
existence before, while the
days of our lifes trickle like
water from a leaking faucet
as I as I sit on my back porch
bench denied your touch
as we are apart, suspended,
between heaven and hell.
Patience of accusations begin to thin
As they toss complaints at me from now til then
If i could summarize my existence that easily i would
But another question is that if i even should
Raised in a household of hulks
Like angry dragons they bulk
Time after time my mind begins to twist
Turning and winding,
Trying to keep my soul from dying
Trapped in purgatory
I question if im still in hell
Was the 3 days just a metaphor for my time?
Or did it just ring with the bell!
I dont know how i came to be...
Seems i was adopted by spirits,
Ones that preserved me for eternities
Oh God! im not ashamed of your help!
Just let me see clearly!
What am i even looking for?
Something or someone i fear
Thats out of my current reach
Waiting, fighting and dying
So something good can be
Maybe il it can?
But i fear i must first put an end to all my enemies
Such is the prophecy of world war 3
No more in the end...will i here blasphemy
Anger departs for now, until it spews upon there ignorant seas.
More than meets the eye
Trapped in my mortal shel
Until the end of mortal time
Form:
They were accounted for,
officially dead at least,
but the sickening 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 still 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.
The missing had presumably
transported themselves
to some less boneheaded ideas
of the afterlife.
Eventually, God pronounced.
“Right” he said, “right, okay,
this is a sales glitch really. We’re just not
packaging death attractively enough”.
However the missing dead never returned,
having found their own way
out of all that craziness.
You better jump in a save me or toss me a life boat
For I’m at an unfortunate depth and I cannot swim
And unexpectedly you have me confused with the other him
Don’t play me, don’t play me, don’t play me
Why don’t you let me in
Or I’ll sleep beneath the trees
In the lovely pines of sin
I’d tell you not to worry but
For fear that you probably won't
I've got my suitcase
From the Phoenix Underground to the Bemidji streets
From the Blue Moon Saloon to the empty seats of Coda
I’m back and forth against this wind
Walking shaded in the face of the sun
Ten minutes and I’m all done
Your Purgatory lies beneath me
And I’m not catholic
So until warm weather beseech me
So I’m tiptoeing on icees
JP sings and he techno’s
I fail to empty bottles or simply let go
Media masses murder for the public’s interest
She insist that I wear a girdle
When I’m jig-sawing or playing Tetris
Rain falls
Shame calls
Looks like we’ll drag Marla
Up and down the malls
Your purgatory lies beneath me
And I’m not catholic
So I’m tiptoeing on icees
Until warm weather beseech me
Lately the future’s freaked me out
I’m indoors, she’s beneath the clouds
I figure there’s no escaping this
Awkward ending that we so often miss
Days seem to swim through time
Better than I tread the rivers
A nickel, a silver, a pint, a pitcher
And there goes my liver
You better jump in a save me or toss me a life boat
For I’m at an unfortunate depth and I cannot swim
And unexpectedly you have me confused with the other him
Don’t play me, don’t play me, don’t play me
When I Was Small, I Grew
by Michael R. Burch
When I was small,
God held me in thrall:
Yes, He was my All
but my spirit was crushed.
As I grew older
my passions grew bolder
even as Christ grew colder.
My distraught mother blushed:
what was I thinking,
with feral lust stinking?
If I saw a girl winking
my face, heated, flushed.
"Go see the pastor! "
Mom screamed. A disaster.
I whacked away faster,
hellbound, yet nonplused.
Whips! Chains! Domination!
Sweet, sweet, my Elation!
With each new sensation,
blue blood groinward rushed.
Did God disapprove?
Was Christ not behooved?
At least I was moved
by my hellish lust.
Keywords/Tags: God, religion, Christ, Christian, Christianity, lust, sex, sexy, passion, desire, purgatory, hell, damnation, puberty
(A lone figure, kneels and prays. Watched by his faithful cat, Rudolph)
I was born a sinner
Lord
For all us triers are
Blindly sent to live by You
An unknown higher power
To try to defeat the Devil's temptations and sin
But now at 75 and slowly dying
It's no use crying
Wishing I had done better
I've sinned all my life to live
Sinned
Staying out late looking for another with whom to live
Drank anything to get my soul wetter with all I could give
Gambled
Loved and lied
Been cheated on and cried
As inside I died
Cleaning up everything that was on my plate
So Lord it's now too late, and I know Saint Peter won't open your gates
But you know what
I still feel pride
About how I lived
So going to your purgatory with these feelings and sins
I'm sure I'll find other lost souls like me to continue the party
Because they'll be able to relate
For now, to change
As my end approaches
I still haven't got what it takes to be loyal
Since my Martha left me
After
For the millionth time,
I stayed out
Drinking and playing cards with the Gecko brothers
Watching strippers at the Titty Twister
Too late
Please forgive me Lord
Amen
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Foundation.
At the end, what would your last prayer be?
Did you live a good life or like the man above, give in to the Devils seductive powers?
Get out of the rat race maze
By Michelle Morris
28/10/2022
There are so many jobs
Where you can lose your soul
They can make your burn too hot
Or make you turn icy cold
Like hell or purgatory
Stuck in grinding thoughts
You're a hamster on a wheel
A rat in a race that's bought
It can be challenging to deal
With the lack of integrity
Humanity at its worst
Psychopaths and evil deeds
Narcissists and egos
Power and greed and games
Sociopaths and divas
All lead to walks of shame
Stop.
Breathe.
Get off the hamster wheel.
Get out of the rat race maze.
Stop.
Listen.
Your inner voice and
Your guides
Your angels and
Guardians
Are there
For you
Now.
The Universe has your back
Your angels and guides are here
They protect and help you walk
Along the best path that's clear
The Universe has a plan
And you are instrumental
You have a special purpose
You have gifts for your ascension
Let your soul shine
Let your music play
Let your voice sing
Let your artist create
You are a miracle
You are a blessing
Do not let yourself get stuck
In a hamster wheel or rat maze obsession
You can thrive
You don't have to lose your soul
You can live your best life
You don't have to give them control
There are so many jobs
Where you can lose your soul
They can make your burn too hot
Or make you turn icy cold
But that doesn't have to happen
To you or anyone else
If each of us took a stand
And made the world a brighter place
Let your soul shine
Let your music play
Let your voice sing
Let your artist create
Live your best life
Embrace magic and miracles
Set the world alight
And inspire love and light and joy
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Summer rain, melting Arctics
and the lipids lining the nerves
in your brain. These are the metrics
of our times. Mere resolve
is not enough to take care
along the highway—you need wheels and prayer.
When you realize there’s no there there
that’s a scary day. End there.
August, the extinction is terrifying.
Quiet, too quiet. 100% humidity, not a single insect flying.
Summer morning, summer evening, sighing
the sighs of purgatory—grief without pain, death without dying.
I’ve chosen the safety of these mountains
and the beauty of their mists—such perfection
which anyone can have for the asking.
All you need to know is the names of things.
Conflict, coercion, war, strife.
Flying high in April, shot down over Germany.
Have a good day. That’s life. Fix yr brakes.
When I hit a pothole my fillings sing.
Anything’s possible, it’s impossible
to know what will happen until it’s happened.
You can’t know what you’re doing until it’s done
and even then you stare in wonder
unmoved yet moved by the stillness
a pure goodness, bone stillness, potential energy. You can practice it
in the city or the desert.
The wilderness or the mirror over your dresser.