Heaven Station Poems | Examples
These Heaven Station poems are examples of Station poems about Heaven. These are the best examples of Station Heaven poems written by international poets.
Weak and tired I fall on rough cobbled stones.
Blood oozed down my face across my cheekbones.
My knees are bruised and pain spreads from my brain,
The wooden bar hurt my back again.
Man must learn as I accept my bad fall.
The time must come for you to confess all.
I fall but sinless I still bear your sins,
Get up, repent and a new life begins.
Still, I suffer as lashes hit my back,
For soldiers hate and like a wolfish pack
They just wish me to arrive up on the hill
Whilst Pharisaic zealots curse me ill.
Yet I speak not one sole word nor complain.
I suffer pain and pray all are not in vain.
Sturdy hands roughly urge and lift me up.
Gives me my cross, and I drink my bitter cup.
I came to save humanity from hell,
That I might see you all in Heaven dwell.
Haltingly I trudge on the cobbled rocks,
Die on a cross. O happy paradox.
At last, when my soul shall find its rest,
And I shall relish those days of consolation
When someone says I have met the test
I am worthy of my well-earned station,
I’ll sigh, well, I escaped hell and damnation.
Of course, I never expected such a fate
To be cast down for living the life I chose,
Considering Father kept the pearly gates
And saw fit, to my benefit, never to disclose
All the unsavory things I chose not to depose.
Not that I am unlike most fellows I know
Who even at their best occasionally strayed,
And, like me, in their younger days, though,
Were not so squeaky clean as they portrayed,
Whose best sides all were a tiny bit frayed.
Written February 6, 2022
By train, we went
Then bus’ ascent
In winter cool
To God’s footstool*
A hill station
Such elation!
The clouds descend
That heady blend
Of earth and sky
I sure feel high!
Foggy mornings
Chilly warnings
Draped in warm clothes
Joyful repose
Zigzagging way
Where flowers play
I loved that place
Natural grace
Wedding of friend
We did attend
Linking of souls
On mountain rolls
Sweet sensation
Best vacation!
02.03.2022
*Isaiah 66:1a - "Thus saith the Lord, The heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool..."
From the pages of a strangers life
I note how the seas are searene
Coming upon the Gas Stations glowing lights
There in the distance it sits like a shard of heaven
so bright in the velvet endless night
Engines die in the cool evening
Like hope in the spaces between time and matter
A Spector drifting
A sentinel point in the void
A welcoming sight
As the car rumbles to a grinding halt
Stepping out form the smoke filled beast
A stranger is there his shadow trailing behind
Along this road to nowhere….
Glowing gas station lights, bright
In the smooth endless night
The car rambles on
Down the desolate road
Many shadows have past
Where the indigo black sky is filled
Stars spangle the vault of heaven
Where it meets the horizons gated ledge
Alone on the road
The need drops to close so close to “E”
Almost empty…
Our train to heaven
We wish it to be delayed
The platforms though, packed
Brother Arnel Solano
Supervises the station;
The observers shout bravo,
For his great dedication.
The programs are well handled,
As they all promote values;
The sublime shows are channeled
Into aim so marvelous.
Faith, hope, and love are employed,
To edify the brethren;
The false beliefs are destroyed
By the truth from the heaven.
The heart and mind he does touch
Truly learn from the Bible;
They thank the Lord God so much,
For surviving the trial.
We greet him in utter mirth,
Letting him have pure delight;
Now is the day of his birth,
As dawn replaces the night.
Topic: Birthday of Bro. Arnel Solano (January 11)
Form: Tanaga
A nun and her station wagon go far
In one direction on the road of life
With no brakes and a loaded gun
On their way to heaven of course
Camped out in the cemetery at midnight
Protected in her habit and giant cross
Made of metal and wood of course
Like a coat of armor to stop bullets
From people like you and you and them
A nun knows what is best in cemeteries
At midnight with a full moon on display
Tomb stones laid bare with names and dates
Secrets beneath crucifixes blessed
Nuns know what is best for death
Pray for the sinners and all that rest
With or without bullets in their chest
Authors note: I invite you to read my short story posted here on this site titled “Incident At The Bay Wharf.” It is lots of fun with guns and bums and nuns.
From the west
soundlessly gatecrashing constellations,
as bright as the Magi's star
it graciously gave me a minute of it's time
and then was gone.
Oh, to see what you see with my own eyes,
blues and swirling white,
that gentle glow that splits the day from night,
twinkling clusters of man
seemingly at peace.
With each orbit
serenely as you go, you fear no intruders,
violence or greed,
witness no suffering, vice or need.
See no flashes, hear no scream of war
only see how good it looked before
it fell abused, beneath the hand of man-
it really must be heaven
in a can.
I never told you what I wanted to say
but hey
who's hurting?
not you if you don't know the truth to it all
there's no-one to catch me if i fall again
the wind does whisper to the sun my friend
I hear it say the words that I can't say
alone and lonely I have been
the scars of time won't heal it seem
and I can't tell if heaven is my hell
and if It's over I can move on
knowing that I tried so hard
and failed