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Best Poems Written by Bernard Miring'u

Below are the all-time best Bernard Miring'u poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

Melancholy

Her mind is trapped,
In a cage she can't save herself.
Her hands unable to stretch out,
To relieve the strain in her palm.
These walls are drawing closer,
Every ticking of the clock, is a dreadful moment.
The strain in her nerves is beyond measure. 

Tried to play Elude game,
To navigate these emotional drains.
Looking for passionate and fulfilment,
But all in vain. 

Sort tricking her mind,
Playing mind game to her brain.
She thought, playing Sparx will help,
Entering the fantasy world, in hope,
To complete and connect certain puzzles of her life.
Step by step, targets to help herself outside this cage. 

At times, it felt like playing Aether,
Clothing the role of a child,
sitting on the back of a cute monster.
Exploring new planets and worlds,
coming across other monsters,
With goal of helping them in their problems.
A savior in a fanatical world, but enslaved,
Caged in her cage. 

The reality of pain and depression,
Has pinned her soul in the abyss,
The nights became long as she lay awake,
Anxiety Choking like a poisonous snake.
Self-hatred grown like some malady,
In the outskirts of sheol lays her body. 

Her mind is a cage,
A cage she can't save herself.
Empathy or sympathy isn't enough,
Her conscience is her enemy.
She has lost touch with the outside world,
Now she is looking in the eyes of death,
With deception in her heart.
Death to her, became a savior to her pain. 

With pills in her hand,
Where her last hope was laid.
Their thrust from her palm to her throat,
Few months down the line,
She became a memory in our hearts,
Her face became a portrait on our walls. 

In a cage far way,
Her once brown body,6 feet in,
a cage she can't save herself.

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

My Firs, My Last, My Valentine

Sailing from childhood,
I never pictured docking to this day.
That the sun has shine so bright,
In search of relics,
I found a goddes to call mine.
Like protagonist Sparrow,
In pursuit of my black pearl
I found a treasure,
Incarnate in her soul.
My sight caught by her beauty,
Heart, unusual, floating in affections.
My First. 

I don't see sharing these affections of mine,
Dreaming to ship them elsewhere.
From my heart to her soul,
Is their destination.
Will guard them like a loyal Knight,
till the coming of the dawn.
Will fight,
teeth and bone,
With her only will I wait,
To gaze in the dark sky of the night,
Under the face of shining stars,
on those days of clear skies.
You are,
My Last. 

Today,
my heart has settled,
with ripples of joy within.
Love is in the air,
Covered in fragrance of red roses.
To be shared and expressed,
For certain,
You are My First, My last, My Valentine

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

Despondency

There are some,
from birth are marked by melancholy,
The silent shades of sorrow,
are their congenial haunts.
The glades of grief are the only places,
their leaf can flourish.
Others, who through some crushing misfortune, 
Being brought so low,
never holding up their heads again,
but go, mourning all the way to their silent graves.
 
Some, again,
disappointed in their early youth, 
Either in some fond object of their affections, 
or else in some project of their young ambitions.
Never can dare to face the world, 
Shrinking from contact with their fellows,
Curling up their tendrils like the sensitive plant. 

In all flocks,
there must be lambs,
The weak and wounded sheep.
Even among the flock of God, the Elect
It is the duty, of those of us,
who are freer than others,
Who found liberation from despondency of spirit.
Be very tender to the weak ones. 

Far be it,
from the man of courageous disposition,
Being hard on those.
timid and despairing! 
If we have a lion-like spirit,
let's not imitate the king of beasts,
Expressing cruelty,
on those timid fallow deer that fly before them.
Let us place our strength at their service,
Reaching out to help in protection of them. .

With downy fingers,
bind up the wounded heart,
On our hands, 
gloves and bandage,
Being there nourishing their fainting spirits! 

In this walk of life, 
let the unwounded warriors bear their injured comrades to the rear. 
bathe their wounds,
cover them from the storm of war.
Being gentle to those who are desponding! 

Some deal with others,
roughly handed thoughtlessness,
"Ah," they say,
"if such a one is so foolish as to be sensitive, let him be."
Being sensitive,
timid and desponding is ill enough in itself,
without us being hard,
and cruel towards those who are so afflicted!

Go forth and do to others,
As you would that others should,
in your hours of despondency, 
deal with you tenderly and comfortably, 
so, deal tenderly and comfortably with them.
Lambs, wounded sheep,
Christ died for each one of them.

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

A Friend That Never Was

A friend that never was!
Conceived, grown in the same height and mind.
All along you've been too close.
Made myself available to you all the time.
Didn't hesitate to respond to your callings.
Was so fast,
Soothed and excited by your temporal benefits.
Knowing exactly of my desires.
In a snap of a finger, you did turn my heart all around.
At the delivery door of my heart,
Flooded me with wrapped gifts. 


A friend that never was!
Covered in pitch black clothe.
Seated at the corner,
Ready to attack day and night.
Thought you were a shadow of no harm.
Look what you've done!
Stripped my inner part naked,
Setting free the hidden monster,
from the chambers of my heart.
Without mercy you've come out,
Not minding of my reputation to friends, family and society. 

Made me feel secure in wickedness,
"No one sees you" was your daily dose to my conscience.
Your wisdom and knowledge led me astray.
Made me love pleasure, seating securely.
On my way to death.
Oh!What a friend? 

A friend that never was!
Seated comfy, leaning on your back.
Looking at the sharp nails that torn my heart apart.
Left deep scars in my skin.
Tears in my eyes
Grief to my soul
Glitch sound in my ears.
I thought you were a friend! 

Here in the mirror, I stand,
All along it was you, I.
I lead myself deeper than the abyss of death,
A man who has lived a life of rebellion,
With Clubs in his hands.
Stiff Neck, blasphemous heart.
Here standing, hopeless and weak.
But Christ still died for me and my sins,
Gave his life, succumbed to death,
To Save such a rebel. 

Today, here I stand in awe!
Knowing my sins have been atoned for.
I will forever live in praise to,
A friend that never was!

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

Good Grief

Our desert rose is dead,
Left in the mere mercy of the sun.
His scorching hands has suck her soul out,
Housing ourselves in our sin.
Chained to the ground,
Like villain we look at each other in anger. 

We slipped and we fell,
Not once or twice nor thrice,
But more.
More we craved for sin,
Our skin became pale unnoticed.
Numbness spread like leprosy to our conscience,
We are doomed to stand before men. 

Our rose is left alone in the desert,
Lying dead.
Forgotten,her carcass half buried in the sand.
Her beautiful face is gone,
The sand storm is coming to take her away,
To the abyss of nevermore.
Our once desert rose will be gone sooner.
Our memories will fade away,
Our lips will mumble her name,
Our desert rose is dead.
All is left is grief of her death. 

Still there is one who shades His grace,
Though not much water but little rain
Always with her shall remain.
And she will be revived again.

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

Circus

Welcome to the circus.
Where Men full of wicked courage
stand holding firm the sacred scripture in their fist,
Ready to mislead the sheep.
Without consent they open their mouths, 
their eyes open, arms widespread to share self-made tales from the pulpit.
Without reasoning they birth false teachings
Claiming "it is from the Lord."
They've abandoned shame, settled in stores full of empty promises.
Without hesitation they hand them out to the pews.

Welcome to the circus.
Deception is their life and distorting the truth is their adrenaline.
Men with a popular tongue,
soothing words that spring from their lips,
boldly and willful blaspheming the glorious ones.
These men are clouds without rain,
Waterless springs,
Trees without fruits.
Unconverted hearts with a "Christ" professing tongue.
Relying on their dreams, defile the flesh and reject the authority of God.

Welcome to the circus.
For they come as wolves in sheep clothing.
Be warned, they are not just clowns but the entire circus.
twisting and preaching a "different gospel".
Men who think the fortune of the pews is in their hands.
They can 'claim, proclaim and anoint'.
They've rejected Jesus Christ as the savior,
replaced him with charms.

Welcome to the circus.
they think the problem with the pews is negative thinking,
low self-esteem, poor budgeting.
misleading the sheep, leading them astray.

Welcome to the circus.
God will attend to them,
their way shall be slippery paths,
in darkness they shall be driven and fall.
Not even one will be left,
their punishment has long been in wait.
And God will gather all His sheep and bring them back to the fold.

Now to him who is able to keep us from stumbling.
and present us blameless before the presence of his glory,
with great joy, Christ our God and savior
be glory, majesty, dominion and authority. 
before all time and forever Amen.

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

Risen

The one who came and dwelt among His creation.
Embodied Himself with the same nature as his brothers.
Born of a virgin,raised by a carpenter
Grew in wisdom of God.
Who came by the water,the testimony concerning Him made clear,
The descending spirit from heaven made it public. 

Performed miracles before the multitude,
Fed the crowd, healed the sick, walked on water
Authority of His word,
Rebuked the hypocrites,dinned with outcasts.
He welcomed many though had nowhere to lay his head. 

On the mountain,His glory was seen,
a voice from heaven bore witness concerning Him.
3 eye witness, heard the voice from heaven,
saw the glory of the Son. 

Was arrested and tested,found innocent but falsely charged.
They preferred Barnabas to him,
In silence and opened not his mouth.
Sentenced to death. 

Two days ago,along the streets of Jerusalem, wooden cross staggering as he fell.
A crown of thorns that pierced through his flesh.
his cloak darken by His innocent blood,
Climbed the hill of calvary.
Laid down on a cross,his hands wide stretched to embrace our wrath.
Nails on his legs and hands.
cursed is He on a tree. 

In agony and pain,cried out,the Son of Man who knew no sin,but was made sin.
his breath was cut from the land of the living.
Laid in a tomb. 

Yesterday All hope seemed lost, those of his company were in hiding.
Couldn't fathomed a prophet and a mighty man indeed could die.
his body laying dead in a far tomb. 
A week ago they proclaimed him king,
How comes he lays dead in there?

But today morning, He rose from the dead.
He is alive!
In His life, death and resurrection,
Sin and death were conquered, debt paid, salvation  acquired. 

Two thousand plus years back,
He ascended to heaven.
After making purification for sins, sitting at the right hand of God.
That through faith in Him, and Him alone all escape the coming wrath of God.
This Christ, who came died and rose from the dead,
He is our only hope,
He is risen.

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

Trail of Grace

Last night I took a thought travel.
Across the land of my past.
Weak soil and slippery grounds
Thorns, thistle,
bends and curves.

I could see myself wasted away.
Blinded by my passions, desires.
Ambitions and the things I longed to acquire.
My heart was darkened, sick and lead me astray.
Soothing the desires of this flesh
Living a life of rebellion to my maker
Though my conscious bared witness
My spirit suppressed this truth,
For everything that surrounded could see a reflection of him.
But still, kept on clinging to the false than the truth.

Saw myself headed to the pit. 
A place that I deserve,
All alone in this broad road.
With all the flitting pleasures that I desired,
No hope of salvation from this.
Like a sheep before the Shearer
Blinded by knowledge, trapped by wisdom.
None to tap a shoulder to warn me.

When I looked around the land grew darker
Storms rose, the wind blew heavily.
Quakes,
The land started folding ready to take me in.
My heart fell in despair, limbs felt weak. 
Eyes clouded with woes. 
Feared for my soul, everything that tasted good now is poison, 
sight turned to be blindness.
Sweet turned soar, light turned darkness.
Joy turned sorrow.
And the fullness wrath of Him was in wait.
Ready to be laid on me.

Just at the right time,
Christ drank the cup of wrath as a substitute.
In his body took it all.
All at once light shone,
Peace became the ocean around me!
My heart changed; joy filled in.
Stood in awe, tears of joy. 
Nothing in my hands to deserve such a great salvation.
How amazing is Grace.

Today I stand,
His mercies displayed,
How amazing is Grace?
That He could reach a rebel,
save a wretch man like me?

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

Thank God For Poetry

Poetry,
Words that have created a land for her,
Come,come you'll who have not seen her for a while!
She has found refuge in words,syllables and alphabets,
Her mind is full of letters,and sentences.
No action is able to describe what's in her,
Description of how she feels, none can understand her words. 

She enjoys spending time alone,
Gazing in the air as she plays JENGA with words.
She would appreciate if monopoly was a one party game,
She flies in worlds of imaginations alone.
Creating fantasies of what she longs for,
Poetry has been medicine to her. 

Expressing her emotions with words,
In this land, she finds peace and freedom.
Not escaping reality but experiencing it,
Not evading emotions but walking in them.
Some call her a loner,
Complex, a thinker, dumb and a mumble. 

Thank God for the gift of poetry!
Outside she is an outcast,
This has been therapy in part.
Behind her closed doors are walls,
Poetry has helped her penetrate them all. 

Why don't she spend time on hills?
Rivers banks and their streams!
She can go zip lining to satisfy her adrenaline,
These isn't for her; poetry has been a friend.
Cutting through Hurts and disappointments,
She comes outside this land strong. 

Next when you see her smiling, laughing and hugging,
Thank God for poetry!

Details | Bernard Miring'u Poem

The Ruin Falls

From birth, I never thought of being selfless.
Built castles on foundation of my pride,
The city was a reflection of my selfishness.
The atmosphere, full of Me fragrance,
My desires painted along the pavements to my castles,

Puffed chest, head held high as I walk,
In this city, Life seemed beautiful.
All I ever demanded was allegiance from the folks.
OH! My legal advisor, Mr. Brain served me full.
My comforter, Mr. Desire was excellent in his work.
My all in all, pillars of my city, OH! dear Pride
Made sure the city walls are firm.

My blindness seemed knowledge to me.
Couldn't look above the city walls of me.
Slept through the night with confidence on bed of lies.
Each morning, stretching hands wide like the birds in the sky.
Gazing to the City from the rooftop,
knowing nothing new would pop.

Until the ruin, my heart grew faint.
Crumbling the city down,
All that was sweet, don't have taste.
The light flashed through the walls,
the ruins brought a fall.
The pain was unbearable,

But all these you did to create a bridge in my heart,
A bridge from exile, to bring me light.
And in this, I bless you for the ruins fall,
the pain you brought is more precious than all gain.