Poems About Faith by New Members
#faith
Casted_Runes
Turpin
Turpin
Poem Published
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
The Evolution of the Christian Church
a sonnet
The church is cold and empty in
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
The church is cold and empty in
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
#religion
#Christian
#faith #historical
#faith #historical
46 reads
1 Comment
Casted_Runes
Turpin
Turpin
Poem Published
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
The Evolution of the Christian Church
a sonnet
The church is cold and empty in
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
The church is cold and empty in
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
#religion
#Christian
#faith #historical
#faith #historical
46 reads
1 Comment
Casted_Runes
Turpin
Turpin
Poem Published
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
The Evolution of the Christian Church
a sonnet
The church is cold and empty in
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
The church is cold and empty in
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
#religion
#Christian
#faith #historical
#faith #historical
46 reads
1 Comment
Casted_Runes
Turpin
Turpin
Poem Published
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
The Evolution of the Christian Church
a sonnet
The church is cold and empty in
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
The church is cold and empty in
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
#religion
#Christian
#faith #historical
#faith #historical
46 reads
1 Comment
catnip
Poem Published
9th Oct 2021 6:13am
9th Oct 2021 6:13am
RENUNCIATION ATTEMPT
Never shall I wade,
Never shall I slip.
Into the depths,
Into the ooze.
Into the warm anesthetic flow of self ingratiation,
of fetid tumescent narcissism.
Nor shall I venture into the arenas;
Into those meat-rending chambers of razor- tongued, blunt- brained image brokers.
Rather that the screeching, grunting warthogs and jackals of the underworld
should feast upon my stinking flesh.
Never shall I slip.
Into the depths,
Into the ooze.
Into the warm anesthetic flow of self ingratiation,
of fetid tumescent narcissism.
Nor shall I venture into the arenas;
Into those meat-rending chambers of razor- tongued, blunt- brained image brokers.
Rather that the screeching, grunting warthogs and jackals of the underworld
should feast upon my stinking flesh.
#anxiety
#faith
#philosophical
48 reads
6 Comments
catnip
Poem Published
9th Oct 2021 6:13am
9th Oct 2021 6:13am
RENUNCIATION ATTEMPT
Never shall I wade,
Never shall I slip.
Into the depths,
Into the ooze.
Into the warm anesthetic flow of self ingratiation,
of fetid tumescent narcissism.
Nor shall I venture into the arenas;
Into those meat-rending chambers of razor- tongued, blunt- brained image brokers.
Rather that the screeching, grunting warthogs and jackals of the underworld
should feast upon my stinking flesh.
Never shall I slip.
Into the depths,
Into the ooze.
Into the warm anesthetic flow of self ingratiation,
of fetid tumescent narcissism.
Nor shall I venture into the arenas;
Into those meat-rending chambers of razor- tongued, blunt- brained image brokers.
Rather that the screeching, grunting warthogs and jackals of the underworld
should feast upon my stinking flesh.
#anxiety
#faith
#philosophical
48 reads
6 Comments
catnip
Poem Published
9th Oct 2021 6:13am
9th Oct 2021 6:13am
RENUNCIATION ATTEMPT
Never shall I wade,
Never shall I slip.
Into the depths,
Into the ooze.
Into the warm anesthetic flow of self ingratiation,
of fetid tumescent narcissism.
Nor shall I venture into the arenas;
Into those meat-rending chambers of razor- tongued, blunt- brained image brokers.
Rather that the screeching, grunting warthogs and jackals of the underworld
should feast upon my stinking flesh.
Never shall I slip.
Into the depths,
Into the ooze.
Into the warm anesthetic flow of self ingratiation,
of fetid tumescent narcissism.
Nor shall I venture into the arenas;
Into those meat-rending chambers of razor- tongued, blunt- brained image brokers.
Rather that the screeching, grunting warthogs and jackals of the underworld
should feast upon my stinking flesh.
#anxiety
#faith
#philosophical
48 reads
6 Comments
sammyr88
Poem Published
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
The Tiring Journey
There was a time that I was hanging from the edge of a very high cliff. I'm not exactly sure how I ended up there. I think it may have been a combination of events that led me to the cliff, yet it seemed so sudden. In a blink of an eye, I was not only on top of this cliff ledge, but somehow managed to fall too near to the edge and slipped down the side. It was almost as though I had been pushed. Though I could not say for sure what had happened.
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
#depression
#dark
#friendship
#God
#faith
34 reads
2 Comments
sammyr88
Poem Published
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
The Tiring Journey
There was a time that I was hanging from the edge of a very high cliff. I'm not exactly sure how I ended up there. I think it may have been a combination of events that led me to the cliff, yet it seemed so sudden. In a blink of an eye, I was not only on top of this cliff ledge, but somehow managed to fall too near to the edge and slipped down the side. It was almost as though I had been pushed. Though I could not say for sure what had happened.
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
#depression
#dark
#friendship
#God
#faith
34 reads
2 Comments
sammyr88
Poem Published
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
The Tiring Journey
There was a time that I was hanging from the edge of a very high cliff. I'm not exactly sure how I ended up there. I think it may have been a combination of events that led me to the cliff, yet it seemed so sudden. In a blink of an eye, I was not only on top of this cliff ledge, but somehow managed to fall too near to the edge and slipped down the side. It was almost as though I had been pushed. Though I could not say for sure what had happened.
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
#depression
#dark
#friendship
#God
#faith
34 reads
2 Comments
sammyr88
Poem Published
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
The Tiring Journey
There was a time that I was hanging from the edge of a very high cliff. I'm not exactly sure how I ended up there. I think it may have been a combination of events that led me to the cliff, yet it seemed so sudden. In a blink of an eye, I was not only on top of this cliff ledge, but somehow managed to fall too near to the edge and slipped down the side. It was almost as though I had been pushed. Though I could not say for sure what had happened.
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
#depression
#dark
#friendship
#God
#faith
34 reads
2 Comments
sammyr88
Poem Published
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
30th Sep 2021 7:05pm
The Tiring Journey
There was a time that I was hanging from the edge of a very high cliff. I'm not exactly sure how I ended up there. I think it may have been a combination of events that led me to the cliff, yet it seemed so sudden. In a blink of an eye, I was not only on top of this cliff ledge, but somehow managed to fall too near to the edge and slipped down the side. It was almost as though I had been pushed. Though I could not say for sure what had happened.
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
I was slipping and my fingers and arms were becoming tired of holding on. I couldn't get back up, no matter how much I tried. It seemed...
#depression
#dark
#friendship
#God
#faith
34 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems About Faith by New Members
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