My God,
forgive this heart
The priest stands above
takes his cross, firm
Merciful Christ
who will love privately?
for sin
between words and his name
his name a confession
I confess
I guided him against you
and it was good
Sorry,
Amen
The head the priest..Or pastor stolid.' And a
A tail un-tamed that can strike ( most horrid.') Or wave in joy..Before the Lord, who rules and orders who claims all rewards.' Who tells the tail to shake or strike like a scorpion in the blinding desert light..He alone gives the order..The tail shows his joy or His judgement, with satan He now toys.' Head for judgement and direction yet
The tail you won't read..' though you will know of its action, when you have been stunned by its speed.'
The Lord chose me for Himself,
Before the dawn of ages.
He asked not for my consent—
He simply said,
“You are a priest forever, as is Melchizedek.”
As I shepherd His flock,
The road grows long and weary;
At times the rains beat hard upon me,
Yet I take heart in His words:
“You are a priest forever, as is Melchizedek.”
Time has weathered my old soul,
Yet I have served with zeal.
“May I rest now, Lord?” I ask—
But He gently reminds me,
“You are a priest forever, as is Melchizedek.”
Though their highest potential destiny
May or may never become a part of reality,
Their transcendent love helped them see
All of their paths in which they can be free.
Though there were chances they never met,
They overcame days once filled with regret.
They had to learn through pain and lessons,
They had to accept they had confessions.
They had to find their true selves firsthand,
Then find each other in an ancient land.
The aspiring Hindu sage found a woman:
Always followed her intuition, did all she can.
Whenever this medicine woman spoke,
Something ancient deep within him reawoke.
She fully realized her powers in his presence,
Then he realized what is true love's essence.
He wore the Robe—of solemn Thread—
I wore my Soul—inside—
His Words were Beads upon a String—
That Heaven—might Divide—
He spoke of Grace—as if it grew—
In Gardens—known to Him—
While I—behind the Chapel Door—
Heard Angels—sing his Hymn—
He prayed for me—a gentle Choice —
That Mercy—might forgive—
I prayed for Him—that he might learn—
What it is—to Live alone—
Between our Knees—a Silence fell—
Too Holy—to explain—
For he had God—and I had Doubt—
And both—believed—in Pain—
My oath, a word, a mission, a law,
to walk the sacred path of being human—
fierce, and yet profoundly kind.
My soul, a compass, divinely aligned.
I heal with a thousand salient balms—
words, deeds, and quiet thought.
For wounds unseen and histories unsaid,
a constant, quiet redemption I've sought.
I am a living truth of mercy's deep mechanics.
A quiet hand that mends the broken, a boundless sea of grace.
If my silence disturbs you,
know I am choosing health
over hollow greatness, over loud display,
and the fleeting shimmer of cheap grace.
My strength is born in stillness,
a vow my heart will keep.
I am good, not merely nice.
See me in the arc where Priest, Prophet, and King
bend toward justice.
Foundation.
In this modern world, has mankind forgotten judgment may await if one is religious?
Title.
The Priest talking on a Pulpit in The Great In-Between
(A regal voice whispers)
You do know
What you do and feel in public or secret
My child
Writes all your life's many hidden manuscripts
And follow's you like a Charles Dickens's
Jacob Marley
Character
Into and after the crypt
So do more good
Purge yourself.
Pull yourself away from the Great Tempter's black hole
Don't just sit and judge
Urge your soul
Or the goal could be
You
Stripped and whipped as you become
Just another
Of the Devils legion's
Of unloved conscripts
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Pow! the pale powder pumps power into
The pastor’s panicked pulse. Peeing his pants,
He pulls his parcel and pitter-patters
To the piss-pot, paying his penile penance.
Old Drunk McNab stumbl'd to confession
The priests waits and waits to start the session
The priest then knocks on the wall
“Occupied…, comes a slurr'd call,
…an’ no TP so don'ask the quess’ion!”
how I wish I’d been
a man, a dog, or a priest
being held from sin
by a roman collar or leash
how I wish my acts
were good and virtuous deeds
narrowing the path
for saintly men and their beasts
Red on the marble floor
a silent witness to the horror
Her blood pools at the altar
a stark testament to my sin
Her body lies lifeless
once so full of grace
Now broken bruised
deprived of love’s embrace
I stand frozen
disbelieving
the weight of what I’ve done
crushing me
A priest’s collar tight around my neck
a smoking gun heavy in my hand
She came to the chapel seeking refuge
seeking solace
She found only death
I was meant to guide her
but instead
I took away her breath
The red at her feet spreads
a stain that no prayer can erase
My footsteps echo loud and hollow
as I flee into the shadows
the shame following close behind
I never meant for this
I swear it wasn’t part of any plan
But now I’m a murderer in the house of God
a broken damned man
They call it a crime of passion
a moment of rage
but those words mean nothing
She’s gone
Her life ended by my hands
and no confession can turn the page
And now here I sit
on death row
counting my final breaths
haunted by the altar I defiled
by the blood I spilled
Her face her voice
they never leave me
My soul is stained
eternally lost
forever chained
to the altar of my hate
Normally, the three offices of prophet, priest, and king were distinct from each other, with no overlap. That is, a king was not a priest or a prophet. A priest did not function as a prophet or a king. And a prophet simply did a prophet’s job without trying to be a either king or a priest. But Jesus Christ perfectly fills all three roles simultaneously: He is the Prophet, Priest, and King, to the great blessing of the world.
A Catholic Girl's True Story
I was only nine, when I was
denied absolution!
I had eaten meat on on a
Friday, tsk,tsk.
To burn in hell 'twas the
Priest's resolution?
Daddy raged at the Chancery
Office.
How dismayed he was at all
this!
I had to go back to the Church,
the pastor heard my Confession.
How frightening this was for
a little girl!
Who thought she was headed
for hell!
I thought obeying my parents
was more important than eating
smelly, halibut from hell.
Mom had cooked the meat not
me.
I was simply following her orders!
How the Church has changed!
Now they cannot keep their priests
to follow sacred Holy Orders?
11/1/2024 Poem 5
//
wings,
wings,
wings,
An ongoing black screen,
A blandest morning, ,
,abundunt ///////////blunt & burnt
DAMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
inadequate
, looping And/////////////ripping , In a room, twenty floors up, thriving,
_ to let me in, in a
doll _incorrect mannequins insolvent
remainders
I am a boom, a bloom Buddha, a
simpleton you know , frantic and pretty much done
our manners_____________________
, onto into upto will do somehoww
of too why to anyhoww hey, hey, hey
Clarity, clear of blemishes,
mannequins !!!!!
yes please
the numbness of seasons ,
a blues like you, half , half , a job, Near to sea, is scary
as it can b
wings,
wings,
wings,
It is all the same
both poet and priest
The Word his feast
One quotes God
the other, less above
in common
they both love
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.