Long Sepulchre Poems
Long Sepulchre Poems. Below are the most popular long Sepulchre by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sepulchre poems by poem length and keyword.
Sorrow lift the veil of love
For sadness I have plenty of
And wishest not to stain with tears
Memories replete of happy years
Those yesterdays of brilliant dream
Were love's light match'd - the golden gleam
So touch'd, glimmer the sweet dews of morn'
And bade each day be my glad life reborn
The world withal and in the light of love
Nor goddess honey dipped from above
Nor sweeter heart gave pause,
Nor trembling pulse demure
Could crumble such stoic walls-
My folly drempt 'endure
(for indeed, love laughs on stoicism)
Whither where have those fleeting hours fled
The veil lifted bares but vacancy in thy stead
Have I seen aught but what the heart would see
In raptures, vain glorious, was there ever only me
Did my loneliness weave my veil of love
Sooth, the cries of mourning-
Haunt my ear,
A lonely splendor, these halls
My voice echoes, the furthest walls
Beckons, past love’s no longer hear
Least, not with mortal ear
In lunacy, a fallen tear
Avouch a seeping fear
In love’s sepulchre, I mumble in folds-
Of darkness with grief I hold so dear
Woe, to love, immortal
For death piles upon death
The years hearing a love's final breath
Sorely enough grief to eclipse the sun
And the curse of ever-life be undone
But all I see are twinkling eyes
Soft, like deep blue serene skies
Where I fall to memories grace,
The red bloom thy cheek cages
The love from where it rages
In my heart a roaring fire-
That consumes my life entire
Made immortal in the likeness of love
Undying, and I like a meteor-
Hurtling above
Through the ageless years
Recounted in tears
My darkest fears,
Borne of innocent love:
A wounding arrow
Wisest, be wary of
Compartmentalization, as a curse is looming large,
As men in toto are fragmented into groups or sects
On grounds of caste, creed, sex or political affiliations
Branding some as powerful or weak or the corn and the chaff
Men or women, black or white, they are one,
And should be treated alike, without any scorn.
While men hold the sceptre of power, women stay marginalized.
Under their chauvinistic hold, they often get suffocated.
East or West, women are greatly stressed.
Concede it or not, they are beguiled n' oppressed.
For women of the East, it has been far tougher for centuries.
In some places, a girl child even struggles to be born.
The mother’s womb can turn her sepulchre.
Once born, no guarantee for survival
Fate like a haunting falcon with claws sharp and eyes intent,
Targets and preys on her.
Like a piece of organic garbage,
Unscrupulous hands may hurl her to the bin,
Or is bundled and cast on railway tracks,
Or discarded on crowded platforms!
If she out lives this, still vultures may circle round,
To feed on her flesh, raw and red.
No oracle or miracle, could ever change her life
None knows what awaits her or what’s her fate
Amid these daunting odds, she grabs life’s better moments
Raise happy kids, keep the family intact
Stick to the wedlock, be it a loop or a lock
Like a balanced acrobat, she does the tight rope walk
For the storms that rage without, to her, is less insidious.
Rarely is she tossed by the unseasonal blizzards.
A society progresses where walls are crushed down
Where all segregations are lifted and unity prevails
And men and women, the rich and the poor
Live and work in tandem, respecting one another!
42 Mirrors
By Lucien Quincy Senna
Mirror, mirror
tell me all,
Who I am
Who I was,
painted seagreen with vanity
or socketed modesty.
Pride and pain
my old pretenders.
I am full of dead men's bones,
their advance over me.
I trashed and trotted
other people's causes,
statecraft of the most
sinister skull-duggery.
Mirror, mirror
see me now,
my strawberry leaves
for I am no longer twenty-four.
Pinking the raw edge of silk,
trusting it all.
Then that Ramshackle Empire
came clattering for me
a penal code
institutions for troubled women
"Pull your bellies between your knees!" said the nurse.
The hours pass upon the eastern turn
my faith anew while I was interred there,
until I somersaulted
out of the deep waters.
An ocean greyhound
who was simply considered
a whited sepulchre.
A mask for women over forty.
THE LIPS
Oh! what a world of sin I created?
Looking around humanities, I saw the beautiful lust in their heart towards me.
All big teeth, considered me important.
I cover the teeth nomatter how big it may be or the decay particles that hangs on;
Women painted me to lure men into destruction and say good bye to their senses.
With me in colours, men lose their heart for women;
Yes, once contacted me; contract is signed, feelings rains.
Without me, men will not have women's heart or look at their ugly but charmingly faces.
I make faces more beautiful;mostly when in colours. No face can shine without me.
Iam the spice of beauty; catch a glimspse of me, emotion, pleasure, feelings will smile back at you.
Iam the bridge of love, you can't destroy or ignore me; and still climb into full atmosphere of lust and deceptive.
The women knows my important in schooling men around;
plug-in into each other; is likes poles, my attraction is confusion.
Throw a finger across me, disagreement will be silent; and contract will be signed.
In my world of deceptive, decent life is a mirage.
I can make good, I can kill. rushing your mouth into me; risk of deceptive, pains and weeping is high.
Iam the sepulchre of souls, no matter how you painted me with colours,
I change not but many souls lust after my colours.
I appeared good to sinful eyes that would't let me be, wisdom of knowing my nature is total abstain from using me to kiss.
what do we kiss with or eat with?
Nomatter how worse is your nature, Lips, stay on my face.
and make my monring and bed time like rose -garden where faces forget their identity in God.
Until you stop painting me to achieve your evil desires, I will remain only tools of confusion in this world.
I will allow humanities to use me to break each other's heart.
Pastor Emmanuel .A.Brown
When Joseph had taken Jesus' body,
To his own new tomb where it was laid.
He sealed the door of the sepulchre,
By a great chiseled stone it was stayed.
Then there was Mary and the other,
Sitting over against the sepulchre door.
Not knowing of the events to happen,
Or what for them, God's plan, had in store.
To Pilate came Chief Priest's and Pharisees,
Following the preparation day.
Saying sir, the deceiver, while yet alive,
"After three days I will rise again" He did say.
Command therefore the tomb be sealed,
Lest by night, Disciples steal Him away.
Then Pilate said go, set ye there a watch,
It was Sabbaths end, and the weeks first day.
Then came the two Mary's the sepulchre to see,
And behold an earthquake came, full blown.
Descending from Heaven an Angel did appear,
Rolling from the sepulchre door the stone.
His look was as lightening, and raiment as snow,
With great fear the keepers were shaken.
To the Mary's was said, "this Jesus ye seek,
Has risen, His disciples have not taken".
The Angel said come, see the place He lay,
Finding naught, but His grave clothes.
He goeth into Galilee where you shall see,
Go tell His disciples that He arose.
Taken from Matthew 27/28
Born into this world as a humble, helpless Babe
Christ increased in wisdom and stature
Grew up in favour with both God and man
Baptised publicly by John the Baptist
Tempted by the devil, but overcame him
Preached the gospel of the kingdom of God
Befriended the publicans and the sinners
Turned the water into wine, did miracles
Cast out demons, healed all kinds of diseases
Backed up twelve fishermen as His disciples
Taught them, led them, and washed their feet
Spent three and a half years moulding them
Broken, He prayed in the garden of Gethsemane
His sweat as blood, such spiritual agony
Ready to do the will of God and drink the cup
Beaten and scourged on the way to Calvary
A crown of thorns placed upon His head
Spat upon, mocked, and smote by the soldiers
Bruised, He was crucified on the cruel Cross
He hung there with no form nor comeliness
Reviled by passers-by wagging their heads
Bereft and forsaken by His own Father
Carrying the sins of the entire world
He suffered and bled, but forgave and loved
Beseeching His Heavenly Father to receive His Spirit
Lord Jesus Christ gave up his ghost on the Cross
And the veil of the temple was torn from top to bottom
Buried in a new rock sepulchre, the stone was rolled
The tomb was sealed and the watch was set
But on the third day, as prophesied, our Lord rose up
Behold, there was a great earthquake
The angel of the Lord descended from heaven
And rolled back the stone and sat upon it
Bewildered, the women heard him saying,
“Fear not, ye seek Jesus who was crucified,
He is not here, for He is risen, come see where they laid Him”
Brutal death could not chain our Lord,
He overcame it and appeared to His disciples
And was carried up into heaven
Believe on the Lord Jesus, He was crucified for our sins,
But He resurrected from the dead, never to die again
Now He sits on the right hand of God, interceding for our sins
Beloved, He will come back one day
Not as the Lamb, but as the Lion
To take His loved ones unto Himself
Before it is too late, accept Him into your heart
You will enjoy peace, love and joy, which this world can’t offer
Repent, believe and rejoice for the Lord Jesus Christ is alive.
9th April, 2022
For Regina McIntosh's "Easter" contest
When the
seaside sepulchre
of a kingdom,
without its queen,
is smeared with
screams of lighting,
I wish to crackle
these slivers
of silver shakle,
and devour
that consoling
taste of balsamic
twilight, which
drapes every
ritual of woe with
maleficent vows.
I wonder, if
the thievery of
of my soul, will
enhance the
crawling of
raven sun
or, bestow power
upon the baptised
mannequin,
by slaying those
jealous lilies,
floating in
summery
estuaries of
my stolen destiny.
As these sage flames
fly across the
chambers of
my castle,
petrifying those
puerile promises
of life, I seak to
be an amaranth,
rising beyond
oak skies as
I engulf those
taunting meteors that
enshroud my
solitude and
dethrone every
essence of
false light, that
consumed those
waltzing scents
of my sangria spring.
Has my heart
become a
fickle thorn,
who will keep
bleeding guidance
in moonlight or
shall this
fortnight be
traced by the last
streak of treacherous
bloodline?
Perhaps,
'The Goddess
of Thunder'
is unfurling
those flaming
rose' maidens,
who wish
to splash ebons
of roaring wreath,
across the
woeful vaults of
my ribcage,
which concealed
their silence
in sentinels of
sacrifice.
I don't assert
the want of
swathing myself
in the perfumed
petrichor of
heinous healing,
as I don't want to
quench this
rage that
is carving a
strife to
refuse my
surrender towards
this succumbing
darkness.
" I wish to be
the soul of a marionette's
pearly pupa,
satiated by fiery halo
of chrysalis,
and slowly weaving
silken hymns of
desperate hope,
desiring to emerge
from the emeralds,
that betray every eye... "
Again afresh, with renewed charm
Here comes the periodic festival of glory
To fill all hearts ---anxious and warm ,
With divine pleasure and recast story
Paraded in colours and band motion,
Charged with psychic gusto of emotion
Myth and splendid feelings in blend
Go into the cocoon of human feat ;
The Evil vanquished , squeezed to mend
By the victor Good marking the defeat-
All clangour ,play ,and dreamy show
Do, dance and perform in a frenzied row
The stately royal bounds of rich culture
Now come up agile with vigour anew;
Buried moments come out of sepulchre ;
Things small blow up into a varied stew,
Melodrama shapes itself out of a notion ,
Feelings form a varied spectacle of animation
Drum beats compete with voices motley
Pipes ,timbrels, are encompassed overall
Stilt-walkers ,mask-bearers and tuners medley
And the tableaux in a row , striding huge doll,
Mock duels ,buffoonery and fancy modes
Oh! the collage of oddly strung episodes...!
The elephants in majesty play their role ,
Fall in line and in trained dignity bear the load
The fit chosen one ,carries the howdah ,sole
As disciplined and trained with food and goad
Thus from the natal to the mortal span
In rituals is manifest the splendour of man.
Note:Is the brief description of periodic
(10 day )Dasara celebration in Mysore , Karnataka India
We Are All the Same
Listen to the reeds as they sway apart;
Hear them speak of lost friends.
At birth, you were cut from your bed,
Crying and grasping in separation.
Everyone listens, knowing your song.
You yearn for others who know your name,
And the words to your lament.
We are all the same, all the same,
Longing to find our way back;
Back to the one, back to the only one.
Rumi
When songs are sung in tandem
Ambience of speech is smooth
Devoted eyes dote your voice
Obsessed puppy love
When words echo tender tones
Glowing like sapphire gemstones
Not veiled behind metaphors
Tranquil tongue sounds calm
As triggers summon demons
Vivid verses turn vicious
Rage screams like a million crows
Heart shudders with fear
Soul struggles to beat and breathe
Pain feels like paper in rain
Silence is your only guide
Lonely sepulchre
Eruptions begin to ease
An anthem of angels chant
Rainbows colour fading greys
Lovebirds serenade
A journey rendered, framed, and set
as plaster comic book panels.
Flip through the Way of Sorrows.
Peruse condemnation to sepulchre.
No matter the church, I found and compared
each episode through ten-year-old eyes
that scrutinized every detail.
Digested the mechanics of suffering.
These fourteen were my first gallery.
A restated traffic jam of nudity and frozen
sadism that floated above me as priests spoke
of love, faith and doing unto others.
I recognized violence when I saw it, the cruel
slapstick in the mortification of the flesh.
Thorn in brow, nail in palm, scourge on back.
Gladiatorial voyeurism. Masked in reflection.