Short Prophesies Poems
Short Prophesies Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Prophesies by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Prophesies by length and keyword.
Drifting
on a vast ocean
emerald spangled
calling to celestial plains
of the lost citadel
where forgotten tribes
communed in radiant silence
and telepathed secrets
beyond the mortal prophesies
of sages.
promises and prophesies
are in timeless time fulfilled
in as they take time to manifest
after being created in the ethereal
all that that has been set into motion
is beheld by us in childlike surprise
although eye of wisdom knows
the manner of unfoldment
11-February-2023
I’ve been here before in a
semblance of remembrance of
dutiful belongings for things
said, done, delivered, denied
truthed and lied——-glistening
in heart hopes of a rapturous
mind meld change to bliss
entities candid prophesies charged on a
Poised path to delightenment aplenty
Biblical prophesies have been written on strolls
And also other wise words so vivid and bold
Like, we spend our years as a tale that is told
We talk, toy, and toil until we are old
We are advised to give attention to our souls
And be concerned where it goes when the bell tolls
Stars form patterns to Ancient's Zodiac.
Creatures emerge, especially the snake.
Mayan watchers see the serpent go back,
Back into the earth at Equinox break.
What portends, only prophesies can make.
Past the temple is Astronomer's dome.
There prophets see futures where the stars roam.
Silver'd wisps, diaphanous, floating 'neath the ether,
flying high like prophesies from God.
Black forbidding masses rumble out their warning,
jagged bolts of lightning rend the air.
Innocuous or deadly, oft they're in disguise,
it would behoove us all to heed the skies.
If we believe in free will,
Why then do we believe that all prophesies must come true,
Might some prophesies actually be warnings,
We have not heeded, in time to prevent many more mourning's.
Something to think about,
Before we shout,
Kill, kill, kill,
Leaving us all,
With a bill,
That will make us ill, ill ill.
Silvered wisps,
diaphanous, floating 'neath
the ether, flying high like
prophesies from God.
Black forbidding masses
rumbling out their message,
jagged bolts of lightning
rend the air.
Innocuous or deadly,
oft they're in disguise;
it would behoove us all
to heed the skies.
Silver'd whisps,
diaphanous, floating 'neath
the ether, flying high like
prophesies from God.
Black forbidding masses
rumbling out their message,
jagged bolts of lightning
rend the air.
Innocuous or deadly,
oft they're in disguise;
it would behoove us all
to heed the skies.
Silver'd whisps,
diaphanous, floating 'neath
the ether, flying high like
prophesies from God.
Black forbidding masses
rumbling out their message,
jagged bolts of lightning
rend the air.
Innocuous or deadly,
oft they're in disguise,
so it would behoove us all
to heed the skies.
moist cinnamon bark
infused fragrance levitates -
monsoon descends time
rice fields lie flooded
draft windswept change into roots -
rise to the challenge
tea leaves take shelter
swell burgeoning impatience -
cusp spring’s prophesies
seasons scent chances
tease taste bud’s fluid advance -
crow scares wet footing
22th May 2020
Perhaps the 'End of Days' will be like tomorrow,
a thing we have counted upon,
however,
it may arrive later than we thought,
not our fault really,
prophesies have their own timescale.
If that 'tomorrow' arrives, and it looks like hell,
then we might as well
sleep late,
and if there is still time,
paint the bedroom ceiling
with many a hastily applied
hallelujah.
Tell me, O Priestess, your prophesies -
The things that are to be.
The wars, the death and the disease
Tell all of it to me.
The wisdom of the sages -
Their words crash against my ears
A cacophony of Ages -
Patriarchal all these years.
Throw me, O Priestess, your pearls -
The rays of light that yet may gleam -
The life those rays will then unfurl;
Take me to different dream.
Form:
My hands are empty
My pockets bare
Yet my heart is overflowing
It’s filled with love
To always share
It remains forever growing
No clothes of silk
Nor gold adorned
Is needed for my purse
Follow prophesies
Just as warned
To satisfy my thirst
As word be spread
Upon the land
Of the truth, the saving light
With head held high
And outward hands
I await the true birthright
Form:
My hands are empty
My pockets bare
Yet my heart is overflowing
It’s filled with love
To always share
It remains forever growing
No clothes of silk
Nor gold adorned
Is needed for my purse
Follow prophesies
Just as warned
To satisfy my thirst
As word be spread
Upon the land
Of the truth, the saving light
With head held high
And outward hands
I await the true birthright
Dull reflections in a vibrating shallow,
vibrant greens glow against neutral grey.
I find shelter to feign calm stillness,
the trees roar their dissent.
“come to me prophesies, come all foreboding, come
sprits and visions.”
Yet the mused well-spring is hollow,
a confused pubescent male in the Rites of May.
Branches convulse and mutter, roots in silence.
The May Pole is entwined with the serpent.
Water in, Blood out, comes all life from
fissures and incisions.