Short Sepulchre Poems
Short Sepulchre Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Sepulchre by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Sepulchre by length and keyword.
I miss every bit of my childhood;
memories in a sepulchre
buried too deep to exhume
with my rusty shovel.
should I keep digging
or let those fond
days of old
simply
be?
Christians offer prayer to
Heavens above,
Realizing their sins are forgiven
Instantly and forever.
Scriptures have recorded this
Transcendent act. His death an
Investiture in mankind. His
Sepulchre a transitory tenement.
Revived by God,
Instantiating His power
So that man may know this
Emanation was
Not accidental.
Bryant’s Necropolis Conceit
Silent halls of death so cometh
William Cullen Bryant
Thanatopsis supremeus now
A sepulchre awaits us all.
Dour darkness and shroud forever
Thanatopsis-Phantasmus
The spirit world so beckons us
We all shall so wither and fall.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
(January 15, 2015) (Double Dactyl)
sequestered in a
somber sepulchre
where I relinquish
dead memories
and iced nightmares
upon resting ivy,
twisted
with rotting thistle
I'm no longer
able to breathe
pulverized pain
as I shed this
stitched-on hollow skin
resuscitation under
Jupiter's moon
Wisdom as time brushed these eyes in somber shades..
Covered gray taking another drag while pondering this sepulchre
An empty task and Hyde, always makes me laugh ? Tis my other half
Two babies amid their sandbox ? Tugging upon the rope chattering away
Aneath her deep blue sky watching his world passing by; holding them close....
When love's tiny precious heart begins to cry ? Saying, Hush little baby it'll be alright.
Form:
Bamboozlement, a joy to thy heart
And thou gloat at their misfortunes
Maliciously misleading them with tricks
Bury this private property, a plea
Otherwise, you'll earn thy pay in full
One's joy comes from good wishes
Zap thy zest for schadenfreude
Let go of those wanton moral filths
Embrace the joy from good wishes
Maintain my moral message and
Enjoy big in a little planet
Never should thou forget
The day of thy sepulchre sleep
The splinters of our marrow comes,
Shivering thunder for a lengthy spray-
Warmth beautifies our essence;
Glittering ray sends goose down spines!
She comes, nostalgia drums
The lily-borne sepulchre; its beauty I ponder
Goozy feelings; my road alone
This journey be tiresome
For I be so glad to take it
Come forth hither, the beauty of our land!
Hollow tremble, belly grumble
For its angels are generous in vision,
A journey, I delight thee.
Who moved the stone?
On Sunday - who indeed?
Evangelists extol
A most baseless creed
If the stone were shifted
As a shot-put heft
By some improbable
Conspiracy - or theft
And Peter in his madness
Encountered but the air
Never having witnessed
His visage or His glare
And no angelic radiance
(That diadems were dim)
Met Mary at the somber
Sepulchre of Him
Forget the corn
Down the gully, boy
It is a poor crop
To our present history.
First Heather,
Then your father
I am torn with so many griefs for you
Then just when healing was about to begin
Your best brother to me
And your sister evading memory
Tore the sepulchre of pain open.
O little tree
How do you take all this storm?
Where do you find the roots
So deep down to cope?
God must be very good,
Very deep soil to you.
Please plant again, my faith in three.
The splinters of our marrow has come,
Shivering thunder of a lengthy spray,
Warmth beautifies our essence,
The glittering ray sends goose, our spines
Whenever she comes, nostalgia drums
The lily borne sepulchre ; it's beauty I ponder
The goozy feelings ; my road alone
This journey, tiresome,
I be glad to walk it home
Come forth hither, d beauty of our land
The hollow tremble, my belly grumble
For its angels are generous in vision.
A journey, I delight thee.
For all our fields
that are pampered with gold,
for all our forest
that are flooded with milk and honey,
our song is yet as captives` tale.
Our shadows betray us
before the morning sun,
In lack and decay
our past is described,
and deep is it today
as stagnation prevails.
With all our treasure
our travail runs without measure.
With all our pleasure,
we are mates to untold preasure,
and all at once is the global village
passed to our future,
the cupof resignation.