Spirituality poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of spirituality poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on spirituality are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Yin-Yang, push, pull, always switching directions, Digging deeper, future bleaker like a chronic infection, Help her climb back up, otherwise she’s drowning, Always feeling demoted, never in line for a crowning. She lives in the moonlight, but always searching for
In my trials and tribulations Be they however great I’ll forever own the splendor In the sanctity of faith You, my precious God Are my hope, guide and way Throughout this realm of ruin Where I patiently remain You amplify
Racism is a poisoned thorn that is imbedded in the heart of America. At first glance, it appears the thorn is merely a sliver creating a small amount of—discomfort but not really a wound worth considering after all, it will
November 9, a stroke again in her life, The broken phone lying near the bed, her eyes filled with tears, a blade in her left hand and bleeding fingers of her right hand, all spoke the same story of betrayal.
I was aware My breath was not the same His presence sank in me such I feel him in every drop of rain Pain,anger and intense moments Life’s become a fast trail The destination is worthless now Journey my only
I cannot bare to see it now! It’s symbol so forlorn. The Passion we so fondly show To place your crown of thorn! And yet, it harbours life, in droves; For all things come from you! This delicate, sense filled,
She is within an ever-lasting atmosphere, She is beneath the never lasting core, She prays, searches, hopes and fights, To find this never lasting door, A door leading to peace and promise, She is running out of time, So why
Blinded by religion the world is, Touched by holiness, everythings at ease. The parents of a girl of seven Got her a holy guide to make her reach heaven. His deeds and thoughts were said to be long, His greatness
About the book – Ray Mootrey, first time author and poet has captured elements of new-age spirituality in an exciting post-apocalyptic science fiction fantasy. HARRY THE MOLE is an epic poem; the story of a reluctant hero who overcomes his
Captain, my Captain, find another ship, You need not hit the bottom on this rig, Born in this sea, this fateful maiden trip, Make not your cradle be your grave to dig: Sleep not, hear not the siren’s lullaby, But
If one day I’m caught waltzing to bed with drunken imaginings of the gates of Heaven, gilded in virtuous hues of golden rays, allow me to stumble over the reindeer slippers I purposely left out in the open. I’ll know
There’s a kid somewhere in a town you’ve never heard of sitting in a prefabricated movie theater or maybe one old and rickety haunted by the adhesion of a million spilled and sticky substances lost within their own great thoughts
Beyond the storm of screams and groans And cries of a wretched tortured people, Lies a child curled, fists to his ears Consumed by the roar and fury Of a haunted Peace. Sweetening his ears now burned to whitened noise
Life going perfect for me No wish unfulfilled even those In my weirdest dream I could see The thoughts people always pose Suddenly Almighty plans A new weather just for a change Smiling smugly like the summer rain And I
July 20th, 1822. We’ve done it. As I lay down my tools for the last time, Here stands before me the fruit of my labour. This night, a technology beyond its time has been born. She truly is beautiful. A
Integrity of door was challenged, walls will not take the blame. Tension increased between believing and non-believing. Did we listen to moaning of night? There was a murder in broad day-light. Eyes will not betray the whisking of corpse, pallbearers
I am a freak sitting by a creek, listening to the meek plan a revolt. We are weak, we will sink, and we will drink what we are told. Peel back illusion, reel in confusion, do not accept manipulated intrusion.
“A Noseless Woman” Once I saw a wretched woman, She was badly mistreated by a demon. She was an unfortunate wife, Her husband cut her nose with a knife. For her there was no place to hide, She sold glass
Far before the time we’re in, a tribe had lost their Khoisan king, who led his tribe, and led him well, compassionate king with love for all, for he made sure they’re nicely fed. For this king was a thoroughbred,
Who are forgivers? Forgiveness belongs to those with a big heart, people of a strong heart, and powerful in mind; ambassador of peace and jocund, those with heart of kindness and people with milk of benediction. Can you forgive? Yes!
Don’t look at my smiles and cheerful face Because I have hidden tears underneath The hypocrisy of world made a base To dip down in the ocean and to see beneath Wonderful people are from wonderful race My enemies are
Being Alive is to feel the breath…that cannot be felt after the death… Being Alive is to feel yourself beyond the senses…that capture your spirit in all the instances… Being Alive is to feel the real you…feeling the consciousness, pruning
A river was frozen in my chest, O God – I choose a burning boat to reach you. My planet has become a broken bridge. Voiceless hymns are haunting me. Standing in a remote village of words, my poetry beside
The raindrops were falling tip-top-tip and I was feeling to sleep, one day it rained which took everybody with itself all were dancing happily the peacock was dancing its wings were so delightful. The raindrops were falling tip-top-tip and I
Twined in time and silken shadow Bathed in light and blinded there Lost in rhyme on greenest meadow Confusion, sadness, a cross to bear Can time make end this never-ending? Can future lost e’er be replaced? Can past distort the
And he has waited for her since eternity, eternity still awaits him. He has spanned infinity, infinity separates him from her. His love is true, eternal-infinite, beautiful. She is Absolute: true, eternal-infinite, beautiful. In a moment and a movement, she
I live in the cabin up in the woods Where the river winds its way through the oaks Wild squirrels racing on the rosewoods My hound sits by receiving backstrokes I love lilies but more of red roses Stuck in