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showyoulove Dec 2024
Rejoice and be glad for you have been set free
A Holy Nation, a Fruitful People you will be
You were once long in exile and shame
For you turned against God and His Sacred Name
You were a people lost in great darkness
A creation of your own desire and wickedness
But rejoice for your light has come
Bright shining like the sun
He will raise you up again a mighty nation
Your God has chosen you from all creation
Freedom for prisoners, strength for the weak
Justice for the oppressed, life for those who seek
Give thanks and praise to the God who saves
Sing to Him a new song born of a grateful heart
Live your lives in the light of Christ so others imitate
Your example and may also enter the narrow gate
Rejoice; for today, salvation has come
Now go and share it with everyone!
Inspired in part by Isaiah chapter 60-61
I will run to the Cross.
The hill where Christ died,
Dead with thee I shall be.
I have seen the blood.

The precious Crimson,
Beloved of them drawn.
I will taste the blood
Here quickening avail.
G N Kayacılar Nov 2024
Darkness, meet the sound of water
I was a rampage, now I calm
Barren from ****** charm
Violet fissions igniting in my mind

I can feel an end coming,
A millennium long surrender
My castles rumble on rolling waters

           Darkness, meet the sound of thunder
G N Kayacılar Nov 2024
Hello sojourner
You, walking down the freeway
Did you **** a man last night
before riddance took him on his own time
Did you come out of the womb and become a holy judge

I can tell by the look in your eye
You dream of building a house on hard shells and salt mud
Down the shore on the ramparts
to drink from the debris and float in the cyclone
You don't cut your flesh
But you feel, every time the tide hits the rocks

Goodbye sojourner,
Are you done with the mountain?
Did you watch a bird of prey as it glides,
and envy the freefall more than the flight?

If I told you I rooted out time  
Held it by the horns, knocked it out
A lifetime landlocked, would you go gentle?
On a pinnace, through the gulf.
You would go a sailor,
moored into the chasms below
Carla Nov 2024
Forgive me father, for I have sinned
I have drank from the sacred cup, tainting it with the atrocities of my mind.
Forgive me.
For I give you my life today and confess my faith in your son.
I dread the loss of heaven and fear the agonies of hell
Forgive me father
For I am not truly seeking forgiveness.
I have every intention of sinning again.
Letting it's sweet taste fill me up,
Allowing me to drink from the cup and experience salvation once more.
Zee Nov 2024
You never asked.
For this burden.

To be their salvation.
To salvage the light.

You grew up in the dark.
Yet you never dulled your spark.

They look to you for answers.
They look to you for hope.

You nurturer you're mind.
Found another way of life.

You learned long ago.
Not everyone can be saved.

Still somehow.
You hope.
You're wrong.

You are a boy.
You are a saviour.

Finding the faintest light.
To keep the spark of hope.
Alive.
Another character inspired poem from Arcane. This goes out to Ekko.
Jack Groundhog Oct 2024
A dark clay raven hung at a windowpane
to ward off bright songbirds from glass.
It never spoke a word, nor did it feign
to know of a departed late lass.

I asked it my questions, expecting more
conversation than it had on offer,
but plainly it found me a tedious bore
for it stayed quiet. Not much of a talker.

The brief encounter left me po-faced
as I’d been led to expect more from him.
So I turned away, belying a trace
of disappointment weighing within.

Then I heard the wind, and nothing much else
except the song of birds who’d survived
thanks to the clay raven who hung by a belt
in front of a window to keep it disguised.
Inspired by an old-fashioned clay raven that hung in front of a window in Mainz Old Town to prevent birdstrike. Having a bit of fun, too.
Coleen Mzarriz Oct 2024
I'm not as soft as a swan gliding into the poet's lake. I'm not as graceful as a ballerina waltzing in the arena. I am not as calm as the trees attending to your whimsical needs. I am built on ruins; I am something that has been running for decades, and I still think about the house keys I abandoned near the forest; they open the portal to your house. It was my favorite.

I am full of words,
Rotten poetry,
Full of work,
Empty memory.

"I don't know what to write anymore," I whispered. I was a romantic maniac. In me were growing daisies and burnt coffees, orange juices and promised salvation.

It's a funny little detail; now, it's all mishaps and mishandled poetry.

Through the shallows and the shadows, I screamed in horror, and then I felt the mockery of longing.
as I age, I spend less and less reading books that will keep me at night until dawn. I am slowly forgetting how to form words, and my love for writing is nothing but a fond memory kept inside my favorite box. now, every poem that I write is just as empty as me; it’s lacking. it’s boring and awkward. it’s a dream I keep repeating on and on. it was once my favorite escapade, a heaven; now, it’s all nothing but frugal chaos.
Lemon Black Oct 2024
When tiresome rowing takes its toll,
Brings dare to care for what's beneath.
Long lost memories emerge from darkness,
Like the drowned, following surface call.
A cry for help, left with no answer,
Now meets our dread, begging release.
Reunion with those we once held dear,
Only to recognize their faces,
Their silhouette, their traits. Identify them,
To call old sorrows by their name.
We know them truly, to their core,
And wish were spared from this truth.
We close their eyes, bring them ashore.
A rescue arriving long overdue.

But the final push has yet to be made—
To find room for love in a grieving heart.
Where we can lay them to their grave,
Bid farewell, before we part.
With each epitaph, every tombstone,
Each pain brought where it desperately yearned,
To end the suffering, rejoice salvation,
Our own anchorage lessens weight.
Encouraged, we’re back to the boat,
To keep on making the heroic choice.
One day, unburdened, we too will float,
Feel pure, cared, loved, and rejoice.
Our lives act as harbors for all that happens. Without a witness, what would it matter if anything happened at all? Yet, comes a time when these stored experiences become too heavy to carry. Some of it we do not want and push away. But this only drains us, unloading no weight. As we grow tired of merely coping, we start to seek true relief. This process of opening up opens a way for the rejected, the pushed-away, to rise to the surface, longing for our attention and care. To be relived - to fade away. The task might feel daunting, the challenge insurmountable. But it is forgiveness that initiates the healing; it is ourselves that we are ultimately caring for.
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