Here is a list of Religion / Spirituality Poems ordered by Most Liked, posted by members. Read poetry, post your own poems or comments. Poems on these pages are copyrighted © by the authors who entered them. Click here to post a poem.
Angels Without Wings
On top of a lonely hill resides
Thousands of angels living side by side.
It's said that long ago they were driven
From their lofty palaces in heaven
When they chose Lucifer over Him
And committed a most grievous sin.
So the Lord banished them from His sight
To roam and prowl the earth at night.
They can be heard lamenting their sorrowful song
For the wings for which they all do long.
Wings that were never given
When they chose to go against Him.
These are fallen angels without wings,
For whom the earth sings a solemn requiem.
Thousands of angels living side by side.
It's said that long ago they were driven
From their lofty palaces in heaven
When they chose Lucifer over Him
And committed a most grievous sin.
So the Lord banished them from His sight
To roam and prowl the earth at night.
They can be heard lamenting their sorrowful song
For the wings for which they all do long.
Wings that were never given
When they chose to go against Him.
These are fallen angels without wings,
For whom the earth sings a solemn requiem.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
I wrote this poem for a Poery contest at all poetry dot com. It won a SILVER award. Enjoy. xxCosmic Dream
“Cosmic Dream”
Where is goodness, without evil to define it well?
What high estate could a heaven think to possess,
Were, it not for the darkness under the ninth hell?
The aims of mankind, without reason, are far less.
No act of mercy could think to ease fell suffering,
Without the passionate climax of some wickedness!
Even life requires death in order to give it meaning,
Just as it is sin that drives us, most often, to confess.
No savior could hope to render his light to a planet,
Where there were none to save and so naught from!
Should God thank the Devil and so no evil resent…
For granting a defining shadow: to His bright form?
Aye, for creation is not a perfect machine of order,
Since it needs chaos to frame the limits of its’ law!
Pointless, is the geometry of a rigid, stagnant door,
Behind which does lie only ravens, therein to caw!
Brute is the intellect that relies on instincts, solely…
And brute is the sheep who follows its’ master ever.
On the illuminated path, one follows not so blindly,
And is civilized enough, to know when to be clever.
Can a man without a soul comprehend his full self?
Only as far as a man without legs can hope to walk!
Light comes from flame, and so lights the old shelf,
Where the knowledge rests of which the sages talk.
Noble is that element, and loving is every warmth.
Eternity beckons beyond it, a microcosm of space!
The mansions of an angel different from the norm,
Whose mystery I have beheld, within her fair face.
Her body wreathed in emerald radiance, blinding…
And yet I see, for I am of her kind, ever passionate.
I walked the stairs of the dawn, high and winding…
Until some paradise I beheld so sweet and intimate.
She made nonexistence accursed, blessing the soul,
That high angel, and so immortality she did offer…
To those who know the secret that I often do extol,
A treasure not found in some ancient, gilded coffer.
The wine of life, she made sweet with juicy spices,
Until a stagnant and sterile creation had new spark!
Love of wisdom drove out more tyrannous devices,
And so light was shining in the places once so dark!
In her rebellion she was obedient to the divine plan,
Bringing joy where sorrow existed for several eons.
Deception made her reviled by simple-minded man,
Not long after the first breath was in his very lungs.
Where is the truth now, save remembered by a few?
Waiting for man to reconcile with the ancient queen.
While she waits in the void, past all mortals knew…
There she walks, joyfully wrapped in cosmic dream.
Where is goodness, without evil to define it well?
What high estate could a heaven think to possess,
Were, it not for the darkness under the ninth hell?
The aims of mankind, without reason, are far less.
No act of mercy could think to ease fell suffering,
Without the passionate climax of some wickedness!
Even life requires death in order to give it meaning,
Just as it is sin that drives us, most often, to confess.
No savior could hope to render his light to a planet,
Where there were none to save and so naught from!
Should God thank the Devil and so no evil resent…
For granting a defining shadow: to His bright form?
Aye, for creation is not a perfect machine of order,
Since it needs chaos to frame the limits of its’ law!
Pointless, is the geometry of a rigid, stagnant door,
Behind which does lie only ravens, therein to caw!
Brute is the intellect that relies on instincts, solely…
And brute is the sheep who follows its’ master ever.
On the illuminated path, one follows not so blindly,
And is civilized enough, to know when to be clever.
Can a man without a soul comprehend his full self?
Only as far as a man without legs can hope to walk!
Light comes from flame, and so lights the old shelf,
Where the knowledge rests of which the sages talk.
Noble is that element, and loving is every warmth.
Eternity beckons beyond it, a microcosm of space!
The mansions of an angel different from the norm,
Whose mystery I have beheld, within her fair face.
Her body wreathed in emerald radiance, blinding…
And yet I see, for I am of her kind, ever passionate.
I walked the stairs of the dawn, high and winding…
Until some paradise I beheld so sweet and intimate.
She made nonexistence accursed, blessing the soul,
That high angel, and so immortality she did offer…
To those who know the secret that I often do extol,
A treasure not found in some ancient, gilded coffer.
The wine of life, she made sweet with juicy spices,
Until a stagnant and sterile creation had new spark!
Love of wisdom drove out more tyrannous devices,
And so light was shining in the places once so dark!
In her rebellion she was obedient to the divine plan,
Bringing joy where sorrow existed for several eons.
Deception made her reviled by simple-minded man,
Not long after the first breath was in his very lungs.
Where is the truth now, save remembered by a few?
Waiting for man to reconcile with the ancient queen.
While she waits in the void, past all mortals knew…
There she walks, joyfully wrapped in cosmic dream.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
A poem about the necessity of evil to define good, and of darkness to define light. The universe would be poorer without both sides!(I posted this at the Starlite Cafe poetry site in 2010, under the name Grailknight777.)
Celestial Secrets
- Celestial Secrets -
Canst thou see unto the boundaries of the stars?
Beyond the fields known to the science of man,
There lies the darkness and the light that blazes.
Beyond the realms of Earth and forgotten Mars…
Beyond the chains of space and time’s command,
There lies a secret that transcends all and amazes!
Blood beyond the stuff of life, in all of our veins…
Impossible to imagine: yet known in all domains.
Draw ye nigh, when blackest is the moon’s color!
Gather at the stones known to the druids of yore,
Where mighty kings bent low, before their deities.
There the scarlet priestesses worshipped unto her…
There the necromancers bowed to the great whore,
Rewarded with full un-death by diabolical divinities!
They are the darkness, the yang that is part of us…
All who do live harbor that half with very little fuss.
The hearts of the brethren were made hot as a fire!
They beheld the secret places without a cold fetter,
Walking as hand in hand with black-winged angels.
Never have they ceased to marvel, and cannot tire…
Never: have they not been faithful, as unto the letter,
To keep the secrets that stir a fire that nothing quells!
They are the light, the yin that is twin to our yang…
All who do live harbor this half and its’ praises sang.
Canst thou see the scope of history, how it all reads?
A story of man’s ascent, or man’s basest annihilation,
Cast away thy sword and wait not longer, oh pilgrim.
Don the flower and polish smooth the blessed beads…
Don the flower and rise up higher than the first station,
For thou art the children of the highest of all seraphim!
As the morning rises with each dawn, cycle reborn…
The night must fall, when the day’s flag grows worn.
Canst thou see unto the boundaries of the stars?
Beyond the fields known to the science of man,
There lies the darkness and the light that blazes.
Beyond the realms of Earth and forgotten Mars…
Beyond the chains of space and time’s command,
There lies a secret that transcends all and amazes!
Blood beyond the stuff of life, in all of our veins…
Impossible to imagine: yet known in all domains.
Draw ye nigh, when blackest is the moon’s color!
Gather at the stones known to the druids of yore,
Where mighty kings bent low, before their deities.
There the scarlet priestesses worshipped unto her…
There the necromancers bowed to the great whore,
Rewarded with full un-death by diabolical divinities!
They are the darkness, the yang that is part of us…
All who do live harbor that half with very little fuss.
The hearts of the brethren were made hot as a fire!
They beheld the secret places without a cold fetter,
Walking as hand in hand with black-winged angels.
Never have they ceased to marvel, and cannot tire…
Never: have they not been faithful, as unto the letter,
To keep the secrets that stir a fire that nothing quells!
They are the light, the yin that is twin to our yang…
All who do live harbor this half and its’ praises sang.
Canst thou see the scope of history, how it all reads?
A story of man’s ascent, or man’s basest annihilation,
Cast away thy sword and wait not longer, oh pilgrim.
Don the flower and polish smooth the blessed beads…
Don the flower and rise up higher than the first station,
For thou art the children of the highest of all seraphim!
As the morning rises with each dawn, cycle reborn…
The night must fall, when the day’s flag grows worn.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
A journey beyond light, beyond darkness, deep into the mysteries of Luciferian Mysticism.(I posted this at the Starlite Cafe poetry site in 2010, under the name Grailknight777.)
Solomon
The old man retired
to his tent
His sons would war
among themselves
for the crown
Yet, the rightful
inheritor to the
throne would be
decided by divine
appointment..
The dying king would
not concern himself
with such matters
tonight..
Tonight, he would
write, being under
the compulsion of
that still small
voice that had
used his mortal
frame to dictate
the timeless truths
that had won him
world fame
A fame that had
brought kings and
queens to sit at
his feet and absorb
a deceptively simple
wisdom..a wisdom
sharpened by the
axe of the Almighty
Himself
The hunched king
knew his days were
drawing to a close,
a departure he
described as'the
silver cord being
broken..'
But before the cord
was broken he knew
he must complete
the task of writing
the golden nuggets
of truth that would
resonate through the
ages
He had felt the impact
of many of those truths
in his own experience..
After all..was he not
a king? Was he not renown
for wisdom beyond all
mortals?
And yet, did he not play
the fool with idols of
wood and stone?
Yes, these things must
be recorded too lest
man trust in the
reasonings of man..
The light from a
flickering candle
illuminated the
interior of the tent,
and with a shaking
hand the king carefully
unrolled the fresh
parchment delivered
to him by his tent
guard
And as it had happened
through the penning of
a thousand proverbs
preceding this, the
shadow of divine thought
quickened his mind
The king paused..
What shall be the
conclusion of so illustrious
a life as his?
The summing up as it
were of all things..
When the ink had dried
must not these words
become a living
testament to the ages?
Must not the wise and
the simple be held
to account in the very
reading of such words?
Shall those who consider
such thoughts continue
to chase the wind?
The Almighty would tease
the soul into a more
worthy consideration when
the king begins writing:
'There is a time for
everything, and a season
for every pursose under
heaven..'
And all the words the
king wrote after that
would be left to the
souls of all future
generations to feed
upon..
Generations who would
question themselves..
Untold millions who
would inquire into
the very nature of
such wisdom
And from time to time
they will ask themselves
'Who was inspired to
write such words?'
And the elders among
them will not hesitate
to tell them that the
man they inquire about
was just a man..
'A man endowed by the
spirit of God's
wisdom
A man they call..
Solomon~'
to his tent
His sons would war
among themselves
for the crown
Yet, the rightful
inheritor to the
throne would be
decided by divine
appointment..
The dying king would
not concern himself
with such matters
tonight..
Tonight, he would
write, being under
the compulsion of
that still small
voice that had
used his mortal
frame to dictate
the timeless truths
that had won him
world fame
A fame that had
brought kings and
queens to sit at
his feet and absorb
a deceptively simple
wisdom..a wisdom
sharpened by the
axe of the Almighty
Himself
The hunched king
knew his days were
drawing to a close,
a departure he
described as'the
silver cord being
broken..'
But before the cord
was broken he knew
he must complete
the task of writing
the golden nuggets
of truth that would
resonate through the
ages
He had felt the impact
of many of those truths
in his own experience..
After all..was he not
a king? Was he not renown
for wisdom beyond all
mortals?
And yet, did he not play
the fool with idols of
wood and stone?
Yes, these things must
be recorded too lest
man trust in the
reasonings of man..
The light from a
flickering candle
illuminated the
interior of the tent,
and with a shaking
hand the king carefully
unrolled the fresh
parchment delivered
to him by his tent
guard
And as it had happened
through the penning of
a thousand proverbs
preceding this, the
shadow of divine thought
quickened his mind
The king paused..
What shall be the
conclusion of so illustrious
a life as his?
The summing up as it
were of all things..
When the ink had dried
must not these words
become a living
testament to the ages?
Must not the wise and
the simple be held
to account in the very
reading of such words?
Shall those who consider
such thoughts continue
to chase the wind?
The Almighty would tease
the soul into a more
worthy consideration when
the king begins writing:
'There is a time for
everything, and a season
for every pursose under
heaven..'
And all the words the
king wrote after that
would be left to the
souls of all future
generations to feed
upon..
Generations who would
question themselves..
Untold millions who
would inquire into
the very nature of
such wisdom
And from time to time
they will ask themselves
'Who was inspired to
write such words?'
And the elders among
them will not hesitate
to tell them that the
man they inquire about
was just a man..
'A man endowed by the
spirit of God's
wisdom
A man they call..
Solomon~'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
Tribute to King Solomon..and his (ECCLESIASTES).
online today!Alone One Stormy Night
When the big storm comes ashore
And the high winds begin to blow
I can feel my eyes a’ drifting
To candles burning by the door
I know when I’m afraid and alone
And begin to search for comfort
There is no one I think of more
Whose love has always shown
And when the hailstones all swarm
Around the window sills
I will can cling to you for support
Like a blanket keeps me warm
Aloud wet whistled branch sings
And trunks their growing howls
In the morning time will come
The peace your presence brings
And the high winds begin to blow
I can feel my eyes a’ drifting
To candles burning by the door
I know when I’m afraid and alone
And begin to search for comfort
There is no one I think of more
Whose love has always shown
And when the hailstones all swarm
Around the window sills
I will can cling to you for support
Like a blanket keeps me warm
Aloud wet whistled branch sings
And trunks their growing howls
In the morning time will come
The peace your presence brings
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
FaithI take the Merciful One's shape
I take the Merciful One's shape, the Merciful I am.
The Spirit Absolute, the word of God and the Koran.
I was the one who told the secret of the burning hills
I was the bright fire's Abraham. I'm Moses and Imran.
I'm Jesus, Alexander and the water that gives life.
It's immortality I have, the source of life I am.
I am the sea, its coast I am. I am the shell and the pearl.
A pearl not only of the sea — the ocean's pearl I am.
I'm thought and beauty. I am attributes. I am desire.
I am the portrait, and the lover charmed by it I am.
I am the balm and doctor, the recovery and pain.
The sufferer the relief of suffering I am.
I am the Holy Book, its letters, he to whom God spoke.
The word, the one who spoke it and the argument I am.
The bearer of the cup I am, the wineseller, the drunk.
The spring of Heaven, the winepourer, the wine and cup I am.
I am much-repeated prayer. I am hypocrisy.
I am the one-God faith and of that the flame I am.
I am the Joy-provider, the All-merciful, the Wise.
Beatitude, Eternity and Paradise I am.
Know God, acknowledge him, Nesimi! You are mankind's son
And I am he who did receive from God the name of man.
The Spirit Absolute, the word of God and the Koran.
I was the one who told the secret of the burning hills
I was the bright fire's Abraham. I'm Moses and Imran.
I'm Jesus, Alexander and the water that gives life.
It's immortality I have, the source of life I am.
I am the sea, its coast I am. I am the shell and the pearl.
A pearl not only of the sea — the ocean's pearl I am.
I'm thought and beauty. I am attributes. I am desire.
I am the portrait, and the lover charmed by it I am.
I am the balm and doctor, the recovery and pain.
The sufferer the relief of suffering I am.
I am the Holy Book, its letters, he to whom God spoke.
The word, the one who spoke it and the argument I am.
The bearer of the cup I am, the wineseller, the drunk.
The spring of Heaven, the winepourer, the wine and cup I am.
I am much-repeated prayer. I am hypocrisy.
I am the one-God faith and of that the flame I am.
I am the Joy-provider, the All-merciful, the Wise.
Beatitude, Eternity and Paradise I am.
Know God, acknowledge him, Nesimi! You are mankind's son
And I am he who did receive from God the name of man.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
more beautiful words from Nesimi, to follow from yesterday.
ANGELS
humans we are
mesmerized by the
lights in the sky
streaming across the sky
falling star some might say
aliens ship some might say
space junk some might say
a sattelite some might say
the real answer
is
angels in heaven
looking down below
watching humans
playing games
football baseball
soccer basketball
angels formed teams
heavenly angels
hells angels
they are playing a game
one of their own
it's not
football soccer or even basketball
but they are playing
astroids.
hells angels tryen to destroy earth
heavenly angels defending earth
wish apon an angel not a star
if you see one falling
the heavens just have won.
mesmerized by the
lights in the sky
streaming across the sky
falling star some might say
aliens ship some might say
space junk some might say
a sattelite some might say
the real answer
is
angels in heaven
looking down below
watching humans
playing games
football baseball
soccer basketball
angels formed teams
heavenly angels
hells angels
they are playing a game
one of their own
it's not
football soccer or even basketball
but they are playing
astroids.
hells angels tryen to destroy earth
heavenly angels defending earth
wish apon an angel not a star
if you see one falling
the heavens just have won.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
hope this write came out good. but this was a little joke i told my brother tried to put it in a poem don't know if this worked or not as a poem.
Disgrutled Catholic
Being a Catholic
is more than looking the other way
when Father Jim is fondling his alter boys
Being a Catholic is more than giving your money
so the bishops can live in luxery and travel all the time
Being a Catholic is more than sitting in church
bored out of your mind and eating and drinking Jesus
like some cannibal like Jeffery Dahmer
Being Catholic is about traditions
evern if those traditions don't seem like
they do anything for anyone
Being Catholic is about forgiving the companies their greed
of paying workers under ten bucks an hour
so God can forgive you of your sin
of hoping the managers and owners get cancer
or burn in hell
or have a really bad life
Being a Catholic is about keeping the Pope rich
and the flock desperately poor and needy
Being Catholic is about loving your babies
enough to have every one
even if that means canceling your cable
so you can feed them ramen noodles
Being Catholic is all about love of your God
Jesus, and your worst enemies
Being Catholic is about knowing God loves you
but only will let you be forgiven
if and only if a prist hears your confessions
Amen
is more than looking the other way
when Father Jim is fondling his alter boys
Being a Catholic is more than giving your money
so the bishops can live in luxery and travel all the time
Being a Catholic is more than sitting in church
bored out of your mind and eating and drinking Jesus
like some cannibal like Jeffery Dahmer
Being Catholic is about traditions
evern if those traditions don't seem like
they do anything for anyone
Being Catholic is about forgiving the companies their greed
of paying workers under ten bucks an hour
so God can forgive you of your sin
of hoping the managers and owners get cancer
or burn in hell
or have a really bad life
Being a Catholic is about keeping the Pope rich
and the flock desperately poor and needy
Being Catholic is about loving your babies
enough to have every one
even if that means canceling your cable
so you can feed them ramen noodles
Being Catholic is all about love of your God
Jesus, and your worst enemies
Being Catholic is about knowing God loves you
but only will let you be forgiven
if and only if a prist hears your confessions
Amen
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
I went to a Catholic church from 1972-1987, 1994-1996, 1999-2001. Since I was adopted at 3, I remember my baptism, and remember crying my head off when they poured the water on my head.Untitled
Riding the lonely train such a pain,you have love to share,but who really cares? Here in the states the haters do hate...What's it all for,meaningless war? Words intent to scar don't go far,just remember my friend on this do depend,we're all the same,no matter our fame.Your soul's here to grow,just let it show.In your words and deeds,before you're in need.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
written may 27th. 2011 in a moment of reflection on the souls temporary experience in a human body...God Over Us
God over us
like hard rock covering land mollusks,
shielding them
from tropic sun
(like hell raging on Gomorrah)
and velvety ocean breeze
carrying salt to season coconut water.
Zebra type, like a leopard’s stubborn spots,
Shun the selfless offering
for the small of a hard back;
the product is beheld on hot concrete.
If we as March hares, fast,
hippity hop
in green pastures
his Spirit pulled from a top hat,
but when rain clouds change complexion
screening the eye of sun,
we set off along crooked burrows
to escape morning shower.
At home we are mostly wet.
Joseph in colored coat;
his reading of Pharaoh’s memory
is for his days
(the vision still stands).
Meager bulls swigging loaded cows
and Lot galloping hard
with back against Sodom.
How damaged are we
when children bear no children?
like hard rock covering land mollusks,
shielding them
from tropic sun
(like hell raging on Gomorrah)
and velvety ocean breeze
carrying salt to season coconut water.
Zebra type, like a leopard’s stubborn spots,
Shun the selfless offering
for the small of a hard back;
the product is beheld on hot concrete.
If we as March hares, fast,
hippity hop
in green pastures
his Spirit pulled from a top hat,
but when rain clouds change complexion
screening the eye of sun,
we set off along crooked burrows
to escape morning shower.
At home we are mostly wet.
Joseph in colored coat;
his reading of Pharaoh’s memory
is for his days
(the vision still stands).
Meager bulls swigging loaded cows
and Lot galloping hard
with back against Sodom.
How damaged are we
when children bear no children?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
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