Heaven Metaphor Poems | Examples
These Heaven Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Heaven. These are the best examples of Metaphor Heaven poems written by international poets.
will it up
grill it up
fill it up to brimming
swill to still those silly cells
drowned in what they’re swimming
press ‘em up
mess ‘em up
dress ‘em up with practice
a hoarder in its order
and thorned as any cactus
mock it up
talk it up
chalk it up to neurons
firing with mis-wiring
the receptors that they were on
hike 'em up
strike 'em up
spike 'em up your coursings
joy's in that sweet poison
tho it's life that you're divorcing
burn it up
churn it up
turn it up to 'leven
bursting drums, but first it comes
and lies to you like heaven
smoke 'em up
toke 'em up
choke 'em up a-breathing
red, the mud, as thin as blood
to leave your angels seething
tighten up
whiten up
lighten up and torch it
melt the moon into the spoon
and soon you'll swoon to scorch it
wind it down
bind it down
grind it down to fill you
you won't miss
amidst your bliss
the sweetest kiss ... to kill you …
her sweetest kiss ... will kill.
Copyright © 2023 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the poet with GALA AI software )
There will surely be a guide ~
charting my path,
protecting,
and leading me
to my destined destination in life.
As if it were a promised payment
God made to me from heaven.
A visible hand
tucked out from an invisible tucker,
In a canoe on a river ~
gently rowing me along its flow.
Many near-deaths averted,
Many of life's debts miraculously paid,
many stale breaths,
yet never for a moment ceased.
All threats to my existence –
God canceled them,
sometimes with my sweat,
other times with just a little fret.
Yet still, I never got my feet wet or smelly,
even when I trudged through the sludge
left behind by life's avarice;
not a faint trace of the caprice
that clouds my destined destination.
There has to be only one explanation ~
providence,
not merely serendipity,
For I can see the hands of the I Am That I Am,
whispering their ubiquity,
through a tiny voice –
often feeble, yet ably affable,
I am cognisant of its presence,
especially when I disobey its warnings.
All these are never through kismet or fortuity ~
they are simply the ways of providence.
Case closed.
OF THE ESSENCE OF LIFE AND LOVE
(Apropos Of 37 Years Of Onderful Onement Oneness)
The essence of you, is sweet life and love;
My dear angel sent from heaven above:-
Whenever I find myself with you,
It seems there is nothing I cannot do:-
Yes, your essence is sweet life and love;
My dear angel sent from heaven above:-
The light you bring into my life,
Dispels all gloom and strife:-
You promised to leave me never;
And I, to love you now, and forever:-
Hey angel, you mean the world to me:
And I shall love you throughout eternity:
For you are the essence
Of my life and supreme love
My blessed angel
Gifted to me by God above:-
I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.
I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.
It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning,
heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?
At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.
After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley
Like the globe she dances
Spinning on pointed toe
Pole to pole she meets
With arms en haut to show
Perfect orb, she crystal glow
Out as far as up, and
Down as far as in.
Jormungandr swim
Slicing through the molten core,
A double sided blade,
To each degree of astrolabe
Swim figure eight eternity.
Diametric pins astride
The face of ticking time
A fourth of nine
Then up to meet
Parallel at noonday chimes
The halfway of the day
Announce his symmetry.
Just like in hand at quarter three
That teatime hour, gone
Like falling sand, the face
On chain of gold or silver,
Through the hunter’s window.
Once again at midnight black
The arms of time rejoin
Same and like is to the day
The middle note is rung.
And poles so far
Like penché toes
Pointed to sky and hell
Now both to heaven
Two star-ward gazing hares
The black and white of chess in place
Adjacent palette foes.
My lover and my enemy
For this minute of the day
A fleeting time to my dismay
Are sleeping wed bedfellows.
Author Dana Redricks
June 28, 2025
Heaven and hell is real—
not just a tale or a preacher’s zeal. Beyond the veil of flesh and bone,
eternal truths are etched in stone.
Jesus bore the nails, the shame, on Calvary’s cross, He took our blame. With love so fierce, He broke the chain, to lift us up from sin and pain.
We walk a road with twist and turns, where hearts decide, and conscience learns.or toward hell.
This life is fleeting, a vapor, a sigh, yet choices echo when we die. Grace is offered, free and wide, but we must choose where we’ll abide.
Heaven: a place where joy won't cease, where love resides and souls find peace. Hell: the place of fire that never sleeps, where sorrow wails and darkness weeps.
So hear this truth, both stern and kind: redemption's gift is yours to find. The gates of glory open wide, if Christ alone is where you hide.
Heaven and hell—is real, is near, and now’s the time to see it clear. Choose life, choose light, choose love’s great deal—for Heaven and Hell is real.
Copyright © Dana Redricks 2025. All Rights Reserved
A FAITH-BASED PERSPECTIVE
OF WAR AND ITS DESTINY
Murder is a crime
Unless it’s in war;
Then it’s all legal:
A death penalty
For the innocent:-
Our reality,
Is not of heaven;
Wars have no angels:
Only its demons;
Scavengers of peace:-
Yet, let’s be of faith,
Laboring in love
God is on our side,
And has canvassed hope:
ARMAGEDDON:-
IN AN AWARENESS CASE OF WAR
Murder is a crime,
Unless it’s in war;
Then it’s all legal:
The death penalty
For the innocent:-
Our reality,
Is not of heaven:-
Wars have no angels;
Only its demons:
Scavengers of peace:-
Oh, let’s be of faith,
Laboring in love;
God is on our side,
And has canvassed hope:
Armageddon:-
I am the sun
from heaven
A son from Heaven
birth radiance
Luminated shine
Brilliant from,
heavenly born
6/2/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
Annunciated,
Germinated, seed of God;
Blooming in heaven:
Scenting the foul air of earth
With his divine peace and love:-
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
Pheromones fill the air as the males call the females to their abode
their abdomens linked tail-to-tail, and on the damsels' eggs the male seed are sowed
From thereon, dull caterpillars slowly transformed into exquisite beauties
then, to a new hope, many newborns flew, making gardens filled with cuties
She then whispered that before brightness, there was a very dark darkness~
so don’t give up on your life just because your present swims in starkness
"Learn from my life cycle," she further said, "beauties that once were can still be
so your belief in sunshine after this raging storm is paramount and key"
From then on, she became me, and I became her, and hope of a better tomorrow fills me
far from me, fear then fled—I face my problems with glee, from hopelessness my life is free
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
Tis the vernal hour when nature's luster peaks and winter dirges no more wend.
Airy notes from feathered breasts, dutiful drones, bejeweled butterflies ascend.
Upon the indigo daze of an afternoon, my angel in lepidopteran disguise
danced along this florid patch with plush pirouettes, calling "Rose, arise!"
"Still here, a bloom to seek and hold." Groggy, dolt, my petals of discontent...
quiet cold stole my blush, then by cruel degrees, I learned snow's resentment.
But in a sun-lit-breeze ballet, God as big as the butterfly, weighing like nothing
revealed the signs of a world renewed, and ushered me thru the rite of spring.
SILENT HOMES
Silence
cloak of protection
worn longing for
heaven
sways in dust
settles
wistful
plays hide
then seek
walks valleys of unknowingness
and solitary alleys
naked wounds
shatter silence
of wounded birds
peeping through
torn curtains
hiding under unlaundered
sheets
those that witnessed
boiling water
screams
the terror of
war
in silent
homes
Silence writes
letters
to itself
never posts
them
they become
tears soaking
floral pillow
Silence goes to work
next day
Nothing
happened
Just a mouldy sandwich
in
her desk
drawer
I murmur like a rivulet through the
hitch of your hands, where the canyons
carve their parched longing into your fingers—
where silences sublimate like cera,
pooling beneath your glissando touch.
Your tremolo breath convulses rough and low
like sibilant submersion in water—
spilling, sinking, staining everything it meets.
I watch the estuary of your gaze split my horizon—
watch you hush abysmal eyes into
celestially arched surrender.
There is no stillness between starlight,
only the pull of mighty magnitudes,
fuses lit beneath the ribs,
pulses and throbs teaching the air
how to cleave—how to…
sforzando!
Love, here, is neither reserved nor reticent—
it is lightning bottled in glass—
hellfire burning beneath the tide—
language that deconstructs
even as it is uttered.
I step forward—some faltering cadence,
some submitting ascension—placing my hands into your fire,
not to be consumed, but to remember
how stars revel and rain.
Peter in the summer morning sun
his cool smile shaded by shadows run
his voice as soothing as coffee’s scent
tell me he wasn’t heaven sent
Peter of Malibu moss and Spanish rose
his lips like light-coral, in kissable repose
his legs slouched akimbo, like a tiger’s limbs
how I long to re-entangle myself in them.
Peter’s quick caress, on windy Tropez beaches
aren’t men the most delightful, of nature's invasive species?
I miss the jeweler’s precision, of his warm and playful hands
and how the sun slowly gifted him, with a model’s golden tan.
Peter sipping coffee under a brittle, New Haven sun,
his rough laugh following something silly I’d done.
There’s no cryptic, localized pathology, happening at the beach,
when the two of us are together, our worlds just seem complete.
.
.
Songs for this:
What the World Needs Now by Tori Holub & James Wilkas
be mine by strongboi