Relics Poems - Poems about Relics

Read, escape; Then share it; That adventure will last for all time; Before bed give daydreams, feast on relics from the past; Passed to the next generation a gifted storyteller wields the mystery and magic of evening tales....

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Each relic here Looks back at me And shares A sacred memory Of every joy And all the tears Acquired living Through those years They show the smiles Each taste and smell New joys that thrilled Sad tears that fell Your look of love The gates of hell Pained memories of Our last farewell Francis J Grasso written … Jun 26, 2024...

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Roaming over the wheatfields their joints a-cranking insecticide fog blankets the air Oklahoma dustbowl bleeds Relics of a bygone day, all angles they move ravaging fields and pests, pests and fields wheels of progress a-churning away ...

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I bought the shroud of Turin the vatican had a sale they have legal expenses and priests that needed bail. It was just an old dusty cloth so I put it in the wash that Tide detergent, never fails all the smudges and stuff washed off. don’t get excited, i was raised a catholic...

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Time is a mirrored hallway. As you walk down it, the past echoes at your heels, The present flashes briefly as you pass, And each step brings you closer to a future you can never see. Life is what happens between the past and the future. Every second we live is both the birth and the death Of that particular moment...

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A midnight shriek or sudden bang Disrupts the thread of tales, Entangled in unconscious mind With sounds of lashing flails. Wherefrom it comes, whither it goes? I threw my eyes up there, The eerie void soon called me up To trudge down through the stair. Where does it end? it takes me down Where lamps of darkness blaze, That shrouds my home with hazy mist, As...

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I struck the flint against the steel sending sparks showering over the tinder I’d arranged in the pit topped with the single bit of char cloth from the tin of my fire starting kit Not many know how to do that these days The weight of what I was about to do demanded the old ways Breathing life into the flames I fed...

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I think I lost it... Has anyone seen my mind? Must of wandered off... I'll check lost and found The last time I lost my mind It played hide and seek I last found my mind Hold up in an old Junk Trunk Sorting memories... A box of clutter Relics that remain after We've faded away......

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They boarded the mighty ship on a fateful trip And waved to those ashore who craved a last goodbye, The ship set sail without fail as champagne they did sip The vessel's might was their delight, what could go awry? They had it all, the sea was theirs they had no fears They ate caviar...

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I don't mind if you climb inside This stump I left behind This lump of rot whose body parts Broke free of dotted lines Pluck a tooth, score a limb Scrawl a note or two In this lair of desert air There's room for both of you Odds and...

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UNSUPPORTED CODE RELICS OF GRACE to have been on this planet prolonged time and still discern naught, distinguish… all the pain, the ebb of dirt, and the coffers stronghold pull; observe no grace relics of buoyant youth; where perchance all that now is fungal was filled with hopeful hues of honey © Kim van Breda—25 June 2014...

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Ancient relics of the past shouldnt matter in this modern day of age... but it still does,so I must..something of such sort and caliber should be spoken with caution, but i cant..my blood rushes...uneasy abdomen.. a burst of wind swirls in me...this feeling..again.....im alive... The dust is blown of that book once owned my an angel,left on my shelf...

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Your religion is not so different Than mine. While ghosts Reveal themselves to you, so do your posters. I will not Hang them on my wall. Am I ashamed to believe in other things than you? Certainty is not nearly close to the Complicated equation of our respected faiths. Let us march to the Church now, and parade around like it was easy....

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R ead into what you will E ntrusted into a religion L acking proper understanding I mplicating sinners into false saints C onflicting souls one at a time, what do you really believe if not in me...

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“Relics and Memories” Lone relic image of the days gone by, Of many tears, fears, trouble and toil, Depressions, obsessions and blessings, Perhaps simple children and castor oil! The joys of the many jamborees, The echoes of the times would remember, One of the most favorite comes to mind, All the Christmases in each December. Barn’s beautiful face , now seems out of...

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