Long Subsists Poems
Long Subsists Poems. Below are the most popular long Subsists by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Subsists poems by poem length and keyword.
As thorns exist with the rose, or redness subsists with blood
The evil that dwells in hearts has its traits in the physique.
Though humans try to nip all negativism in the bud,
Expressions of the powers of pessimism are unique.
They lived with humans who couldn't live with other humans.
Some took shelter in hills and mountains, and some lived in tombs.
To them, day-to-day life and duties seemed like illusions.
As though in unison with nature, they tore their costumes.
Jesus contained them all, as a sea could hold any drop.
His words and touch, as medicinal herbs, healed their ailments.
Peace, joy, and freedom in physique and psyche flowed nonstop.
All who witnessed his acts praised his divine accomplishments.
Demons, yet, in the form of Sadducees and Pharisees
Finding fault with him, they could find their souls, never at ease.
The attributes of the Church is three: authority, infallibility and indefectibility
By the authority of Church I mean the right and power which the Pope and the Bishops, as the successor of the Apostles have to reach and govern the faithful
By the infallibility of the Church I mean the Church cannot err when it teaches a doctrine of faith and morals
By the indefectibility of the Church I mean that the Church as Christ founded it, will last till the end of time
These attributes are found in their fullness in the Pope, visible head of the Church, whose infallible authority to teach bishops, priests, and people in matters of faith and morals will last till the end of the world
The Church has 4 marks by which it may be known, it is One, it is Holy, it is Catholic, it is Apostolic
The Church is One because all its members agree in one faith, are all in one communion, and are all under one Head
The Church is Holy because it’s under Jesus Christ, is holy; because of the eminent holiness of so many thousands of its children
The Church is Catholic or Universal because it subsists in all ages, teaches all nations, and maintains all truth
The Church is Apostolic because it was founded by Christ on His Apostles and is govern by their lawful successors, and because it has never ceased, and never will cease, to teach their doctrine
These attributes and marks are found in the Holy Roman Catholic Church alone
The Church derives to its undying and infallible authority from the Holy Spirit, the spirit of truth, who abides with it forever
The Church is kept One, Holy Catholic by the Holy Spirit, the spirit of love and holiness, who unites and sanctifies its members throughout the world.
The whirlwind of time drifts my soul
from life rooted transient in the present
to the distant desolate nowhere
where I was once, but left forever.
That’s the fading past receding fast,
yet to be abandoned and obliterated.
Out of the shadow of perennial future,
creating the convivial flood of copious love,
time cascades to inundate
the lavish landscape of life sculpted
in my mind where dwells the desire of perpetuity,
the deathless dream, eternity.
The entrancing memory undying,
subsists in the restive recess of the past,
as my enticed bird soars
in the fleeting firmament of the present,
spreading the dreaming wings to embrace
the halcyon horizon of the future.
With the imperishable soul,
afloat in the sublime sea of timelessness,
wafted by the congenial longing wind,
I’m on the sanguine sail,
yearning to get from time's magnanimity,
the surreal gift, eternity.
On a chain - I wear a cross.
Around my neck I do.
I don’t wear it to say, “I Am”.
I don’t wear it for you.
For me - it’s now a symbol of compassion and humility
and the world’s need for love.
It's a cry for a peaceful existence
just like the symbol of the dove.
When I was young - I often went to church.
It was a place my parents brought me to.
For I was baptized Greek Orthodox
therefore - an expectation of what I must do.
There - many things made sense to me.
Now some did not, and don’t.
But I learned to not be bothered
by inaccuracies and the unexplained – I said I won’t.
In my later years - I searched, felt, and realized the mystical
in the one God I believe exists.
And in the plants, the animals, and of course humans too
I discovered a spirituality that subsists.
My beliefs - might now be complex.
Some might say they do not fit a norm.
As I read about other religions and the spiritual world
I ultimately went through a reform.
Today - I occasionally go to my Orthodox Church
to pray in a place of sanctuary, where they say God does reside.
To fulfill a never ending need to learn and understand
and to still a rather busy mind.
At the collapsing edge of the shrinking time
in the fading gleam of the terminal twilight hour,
down the misty memory lane masked by shadows,
I see me walk my adoring children
on their changing contours of childhood landscape,
hands held with patient paternal care,
with the nestling warmth of everlasting love,
as they grow wings in their time and fly away.
An ancient mariner, self-disposed,
I navigate across many rough seas in tempest,
looking for propitious winds of love and empathy,
on the frayed out sail, I strive to raise in hope
to cruise at nightfall to the shore called home.
In the obscure depth of the introvert psyche,
the shrouded sense of gratitude subsists,
instinctively silent, and undemonstrated.
Engulfed by the seamless emptiness of solitude
I open my window on the flushing meadow,
the sunburst dawn sparkles on pearls of dew.
My blank mind morphs into a Monet canvas,
on the strokes of beguiled brush paints of joy flow,
loneliness gets configured in spectrum of expression,
as the sensuous stimulus of the pristine nature
suffuses the dormant art of life in me, unexplored.
January 24, 2021
Contest : Your Best Free Verse So Far This Year
Sponsor : John Hamilton
At the edge of the shrinking time
in the gleam of pale twilight hour,
down the misty memory lane
I see me walk my children
on the changing contours of childhood,
hands held with paternal care,
with warmth of everlasting love
as they grow wings, fly away later.
An ancient mariner, self-disposed,
I navigate across many a rough sea,
with propitious winds of love and empathy,
on the frayed sail, I strive to raise,
you all take me to the shore called home.
In the obscure depth of introvert psyche,
the shrouded sense of gratitude subsists,
instinctively silent, undemonstrated.
Engulfed by seamless emptiness of solitude
I open my window on the flushing meadow,
the sunburst dawn sparkles on pearls of dew.
My blank mind morphs into a Monet canvas,
on strokes of bruised brush paints of joy flow,
forlorn life configures in spectrum of expression,
as the sensuous stimulus of the pristine nature
aspirates the dormant artist in me, unexposed.
Written : March 2, 2020
May 27, 2020
Contest : Brian's Choice X
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Written: November 14, 2023 For Robert James Liguori
_____________________________________
Sitting in my comfy chair with my injured knees
Insouciant spent time alone with my disease.
In which my companion bade me farewell.
To hoard a spot for me in her paradise dwell.
Dreams I had as a child flooded my mind.
Eat, study, and play without anguish or grind.
Being older never induced a query.
Neither did I pursue my parents' theory.
My languor body is ripe and showing its age.
It subsists, yet I witness a lassitude page.
In a mirror, I view a mellifluous, sketchy shape.
Upon the eyes of a child, struggle to escape.
I used to be a ring, all brilliant and smooth.
I slid through the night's lightning and sleuth.
Casting jovial rays in a haphazard course
While vestigial bellows heralded each source.
In this woebegone life, age, and frailty show.
As lichen cypress, we sway, graying, and slow.
We admit amorphous days to be a ripe apple.
Progeria grip pushes youth to grapple.
once robust and blooming stems of youth.
We aquiver to mellow, writhe, and cough.
Our eyes bore witness to the events of life.
The exquisite scene is a symphony of strife.
A sunken summer reveals a winter of fading light.
And the gossamers will be wilting before sight.
And the blithely petals will shortly wither away.
In a broken bucket, once balmy blooms display.
I am a paling star to be washed out
In the dazzling brightness of the arriving dawn
A calendar that ran out of time
A broken guitar with strings loose
I will soon exit out of life
Like a man hardly anyone knew ever existed
And only very few would miss
As I look back to the prime days
I feel years have flown away in a flurry
Like scraps of paper whirling in the gale
A dense fog crawls up into my eyes
The verdant vistas and smiling faces
Have discoloured like weather worn paintings
The violet shadows of red rocks
Form a dark cave within me
Nothing subsists in the dells n’ hollows
Of my memory
I wilt under Age’s burning breath
And wither under its deadly blight
Now I drift... a rudderless vessel
Through unknown waters
Waiting at the Departure Lounge
I now have only one prayer;
Don’t let me scorn and disdain the young
Whose sky is wider and dreams endless
Who walk with nimble feet and sure steps
To conquer the world that has left me a scrap!
Cornucopia Of Stars
Whilst cruised adrift soared vast ocean read stars,
Afar interval page Earth's crystal seas,
Space passengers booked sums bout avatars,
Chapter launches since archived gravities.
Scan per reposed heavens, Earth angels host,
Sprawled free honesty exalts harmony,
Wanderer's blessed hearts a sung melody,
Harp solos sojourners attuned utmost.
Origins, through edges, test proper hopes,
Advent horizon explorers broad scopes,
As Terra dwellers foresee remote news,
Of another Earth subsists whilst their views.
Nirvana utopists merge trudging past,
Transpires being the most advanced outcast.
2019 October 15
*Honorable Mention*
I sense Tomorrow is the Future
~~Sheri Fresonke Harper
Time's eyes twinkle kindly towards my fate,
while I steal glances between old growth trees.
Aching for what's beyond the path that waits,
that rekindles a driving force within me.
It has been so long ago since I've felt
the tightening of sweaty hands against
once argent frame, where fond affection dwelt,
and heard teasing laughter that would ascend.
Sheath in his continuance of life, which cleaves
with passing of time, love did, finally bloom,
while petulant leaves and wisp of wind weaves
swapped stories on whist cool nights it consumes.
I nuzzled into his embrace, to exist
there forever, relation which subsists.
7/10/2017