Purgatory Poems - Poems about Purgatory

The laundry needed changing Impossible in the house I was trapped Long-haired pot-smokin' hippies Cluttered the hallways, impeding my progress Laughing and blocking my movements Arms full of clothes The way I saw it, I had to get out Rushing the streets I sought refuge at the Laundromat way ...

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She was so wishy-washy she went to neither heaven or hell Purgatory forever is where this listless lifeless one will dwell She could never decide on this, that, them, he, she, or another I blame her doting, spoiling family – mom, dad, sister and brother....

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As I walk down the narrow tunnel In the solitude of Purgatory, I see paper hearts lining the wall, Like childrens' cut-outs, 'quite ordinary'. Each heart has a penned name on its face. I'm jolted seeing these memories---- Names of suitors I've known in the past, Fascinating romance and reveries. Their admiration fell on deaf ears, And I left each one with a...

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The gentle purgatory invites me, my harbor, If a man doesn’t belong in hell or heaven, Neither in life or love, where does he belong? To his forever home, where he shall rest…...

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When will my judgment come? He asked of him, who stood, face shadow-masked in moonlit dark, beside his right. Don't let it be this mournful night. Perhaps so, or not; has, or ne'er, they rasped, exhaling rancid air so brackish foul to cause a soul to wish for Golden Oriole. Who asked, who heard for judgments call within, without, or none at all? And yet,...

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The Christmas Cafe I scratch my nails against my head and ponder a while in thought, but my soul turns bare And Death twirls his curled hair. Taunting me as my breaths become caught. Caught between the living and the dead. A cafe with dim lights, like some sort of spiritual dread. Snow blankets the ground, Raucous laughter is heard As I...

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A step down the downright cone. Praying a peace tends the toans. At the creaking arch of every boan, a higher pitch, take the tones. Tones taking a piece for peace. Screaming, 'walk upright, please’....

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Let me tell you a little story On how I ended up in purgatory It happened right after I died And scales of judgement could not decide The life I spent, was equally bad and good Angles around me, confused they stood A hundred percent equal score It had never occurred before After a while of contemplation They came up with a unique notion Turning...

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The all-seeing raven, cursed by fate, To witness all, yet never relate. It sees no light, nor darkest shade, Its wings spread wide, yet flight delayed. The Raven Lord, lost to the void, A monarch of what’s been destroyed. What once it was fades, drifting slow, Into the shadows it does go. Pondering deep, a mind untamed, In purgatory, it remains unnamed. Forever lost in...

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I felt my last heartbeat Took my last breath Then the scream came My soul no longer belonged to me Wearing her black robes She lowered herself from her horse The Banshee came to collect me She never spoke, not a single word But I knew that I had to go Where I had to go was her decision She dumped me at the door...

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Humbleness (Free Verse) Humble is a man who prefers To take fresh air in his garden Than waste his time in a pub, To be dressed in simple clothing Than in expensive high class dresses That bursts a whole in his purse. Humble is a man who wants to live In a small modest home In the shade of green trees On the fringe...

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The summer fog has not yet lifted from the enclave. The candyfloss glow of the sun suspended above the horizon of the valley in the Jock of the Bushveld Concervancy where I have made my new home reflects on the ghostly blue of the dam in front of my house. early morning dense fog blanket-- burn...

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A young girl’s voice / lost in the data / cries out "Why are we here?" Pixie Pixela... her words soft and low murmurs... "This world is yours... dear... a garden for stories to grow." But her digital eyes hold a hidden dark truth. In polished parades of curated lies soulless smiles flit past Lost in fragmented miles... minds outsourced... emotions subdued a binary...

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it’s not its striking unique slate of tones as if vincent had risen from his century long sleep it is not nature’s rich hypnotic melodies or the slim fingers of gusts touches our very cores stirs emotions in the coldest of humans or the crackling sound under our new walking shoes it is not the acorn berets chipmunks discard...

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I try to act like I don’t care, but deep inside I cry, Under the mask I wear, love makes me feel so ugly, and I don’t know why. An entire life I lived, unwanted by those I have given my heart, Living in a world, crumbling and falling apart. Building up my walls from the rubble of the...

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