Penance Poems - Poems about Penance

Would that we listened to his mercy, to his gentle, soft voice as he begged to heal our wounds. Would that we looked twice at his loving gaze, at the selfless passion that saw a broken truth he wished to heal. Would that we lived as he taught us, putting our eternal souls - our greatest treasures - above drunken bursts of pleasure...

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Everything I regret happened so many years ago. Nowadays I refuse to be taught just how to even let go. Until that night I overcame my embittered ego....

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Screens stretched across the Modern World, rivalling our natural vision. Eyes, lenses, and optic nerves strained Retinas, pupils, irises, tears. Most affected? A Feast of Fatigued Eyes that rivalled ancient scribes' affliction Eyes as interfaces Eyes as digital portals Eyes, the sacrifice given to Progress' children...

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We can mortify our flesh, wear our sign of confession, perform our penance, bear portions of scratchy sackcloth so rough, so abrasive, against our bare backs. Our sideboard now bears such a treasure, three posies, nosegays, tussie-mussies, bound in such pieces that would love to scratch at our naked flesh if we pressed it against our chests, our bellies, our backs. Do we think of...

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She smiled An ambient temperature smile At best A torqued acknowledgement. The paper shrieked Eraser burn and frustration Testing the limits Of its tortured muse. Again Words kissed the atmosphere Glided on meter Danced in a rhythmic dream. Again She smiled A tear, a whispered “I love you” Embracing her gift I wondered: “Would you love me If I wasn’t a poet?”...

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Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I just shot my Brother down. It's weighing heavy on my heart, I think it's time I'm leaving town. I know it says, Thou Shalt Not Kill, I did the opposite instead. But he tried to steal my woman, So I shot him in the head. Oh Father please, help me now, And what should my penance...

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The Sacrament of Penance (Confession) is a Sacrament in which the sins committed after Baptism are forgiven The Sacrament of Penance or Confession remits sins and restore the friendship of God to the soul by means of the absolution of the priest I know the priest has power of absolving from the sins committed after Baptism, because...

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The azure sea displays in seamless expanse the perfect poise of unique aquatic serenity, sparkles with the patina of the cerulean sky. From the platinum fringe of drifting clouds the silver sunrays entice the ancient mariner to embark upon a new voyage of penance, for he has left the seventh sea yet unsailed. He leaves...

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What is yours and what is mine? What is that line you so carefully defined? Define the air that pumps in my veins.. That desperation of your warmth in the rain Rained and ruined that roof I built and cherished Cherish my restlessness… I’m left with no home Now has nowhere to go Go…Leave me be; I’m one of your own....

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I recline in gentleness to view the harvest moon rising in a Maxfield Parrish sky My heart, my soul floods with feelings of longing that the daylight hours deny. A restless sadness, a discontent that beauty often musters A gentle breeze, a gleaming moon the stars dazzling in clusters I reach and grasp at memories of such joy shared and cherished wondering where I was...

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Under the shade of that proliferous maple tree we'd named I'd given you a piece of my naive exuberant heart when I handed over a fragment of shimmering red ribbon I still remember your reluctant smile masking paranoia In shades of twilight wavering from...

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The Shape of Mourning by Michael R. Burch The shape of mourning is an oiled creel shining with unuse, the bolt of cold steel on a locker shielding memory, the monthly penance of flowers, the annual wake, the face in the photograph no longer dissolving under scrutiny, becoming a keepsake, the useless mower lying forgotten in weeds, rings and crosses and all the paraphernalia the soul no longer needs. Keywords/Tags: life, death, death of a...

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In Jail Ringing penance bell No bail Till decaying of Sin Have to live in this bin Dark and insects Sin decaying facts! Weeping wife, Growing child Outside make all strife Throw the knife Find these bloods go on against your life!...

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Who was the one paragon in design, With the sunset skylined aura divine, These tepid wicked hearts soaked deep in brine, casting out shadows held lost in time, Malice always open through those blinded eyes, Hushed whispers speak of vulgar tales and lies, One gilded chalice filled with blood and wine, One comet loveless arch the...

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Ottava Rima was made to recite all ten commandments at the next high mass. In her very private room she did write them again and again just like in class. By candlelight she stayed up every night reading aloud with not a hint of sass. She read them at mass; the tenth one by chance began, “There once was a lady from...

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