THE TOMB OF THE SAINTS... [A Visit To The Catacombs]
Visited the Tomb of the Saints last week
At the catacombs, beneath blackened soil
Cracked cobblestone, its entry path
Outer walls wrapped, in pea-green moss
Ancient must grabs you by the throat
Coats your lungs like the Takla Makan
Yet, two-thousand years of ashened mire
Ne're waver curious minds, from visiting
Canonized souls, within hallowed walls
It's cellared cold dampness, chilling your marrow
And, the warmest days, cool your blood, and brow
Centuries of Godliness, imbedded, like stonehenge
Walk deep inside its sacred womb...explore
Touch the countless stoneheads one by one
Each crypt a storied tale beyond its epitaph
Tales of martyrdom, aberration....miracles confirmed
Read, the etched carvings 'tween aged crosslines
Remind yourself as to who they were
Before they stood before you here, in silent sainthood
The structure itself, wears a badge of discord
Hieroglyphics still vaguely legible....
Saw the disfigured Cross of James The Lesser
So curved, it mirrored the twist of St. Bridget's
Time's touch is acrid, and boldly un-Christian
The chilled ambiance...eerily captive
Makes Grant's Tomb, seem like Strawberry Fields
Candles at night, only shadow this maze
Of the sacred remains, in thie caverned walls
Walking back on the cobblestone path, i muse
How faith, and sacrifice, still strike the heart
And my God....how my lungs ached for days
From the lingered must and moss that festered
As if Heaven made it clear, i would not soon forget
My visit, and experience in the catacombs
And i'm going back to the Tomb of the Saints
And revel in its holy echo, once again
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Be Very Patient
Be very patient,
The potter's clay;
Be very wise,
The writer's pen;
Be very useful,
Of the muse of life with a living hope;
Let your yes be yes and your no be no.
Life is like the patience of Iyyob,
So abstain from fleshly lust;
Like the days of our visitations on this earth.
Sarah obeyed Abraham,
Like the sea and the seashore;
So established are the two witnesses.
Oh womb, womb, womb!
Oh bomb, bomb, bpomb! !
Oh tomb, tomb, tomb! ! !
Be very patient in this life.
Womb. bomb, tomb;
The womb is opened.
Womb, bomb, tomb;
The earth is defiled.
Womb, bomb, tomb;
The time of trouble on this earth with our muses.
Our bombs will shake the heavens,
And our sins will led us to our tombs;
As it is written in the Book Of Life like,
A child born today from the womb.
We came out of the womb and,
Many of us will be killed by the bombs! !
Which will finally send us into the tombs.
Read about the facts,
Learn about the truth,
Our days of darkness from the womb!
We came out of the womb and,
Are destroying the world with our bombs;
Soon, we will be buried in the tombs!
Womb, bomb, tomb;
Be very patient on this earth without hatred.
Lets be each others keeper,
Lets learn for the truth of all things;
Our days on this earth is still very short.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Tomb 19
Tomb 19 was sacred 1000 years or more
The Mayan king was restless a curse upon the door
His shrouds of royal fabric his journey to be made
To offer spirits good and evil 14 beads of sale
The jade had ancient power or so beliefs allege
To anyone who plundered they would drive him to the edge
If you take the treasures of Tomb 19
Let the curse remind you
Take the treasures of Tomb 19
But never look behind you
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Catacombs Of My Mind
i feel you tip toeing through
the catacombs of my heart.
which is where you had gotten your start.
now you walk through
the catacombs of my mind
of every waking moment
and every sleepless night.
no matter how i try to forget you
or keep you from my sight.
you continue the walk in my mind
searching for anything left behind.
and picking up the pieces
that you find, of the love i left behind.
what is a heart and mind supposed to do
when 'it is so in love with you'.
the softness of your lips
the gentleness of your touch
the look in your eyes
all of this makes me realize.
that you are the only one in my life
that makes me complete
and of that, no one can compete.
so continue to walk through
the catacombs of my mind
for i will love you till the ends of time.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God’s House
Walking through the doors fill like a sin,
Hundreds of years of faith instilled in these walls.
His house is cheapened by lights that are charged by the dollar,
Take a postcard,
Religion comes at a price.
Flashes from cameras fill out his heaven,
Where people come for mass,
To look for guidance in these dark days.
We’re taking away the faith instilled in these walls.
These are now a places of history,
Not a haven for those with faith.
I feel a presence at ease,
Searching within myself for faith.
We all need a saviour in a time of need.
We walk along the same path,
Our hands are covered in his blood,
We seek an answer for the crimes we’ve committed.
Only to find his house sold for the highest price.
poem by Joseph Tanner
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Jerusalem, Jerusalem How Glad
Jerusalem, Jerusalem how glad
am I in prayer to have stood;
in thee blessed city at remains
of thy second temple’s walls.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem Oh how glad
am I sacred Via Dolorosa walked;
in remembrance atonement passed
stations of The Cross to have passed.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem Oh how glad
am I who before entering sacred;
Garden of Gethsemane to view aged
olive trees was cast down humbled.
For Jesus in agony fear here sweated
blood in prayer to heaven to father God;
when last among these olives he stood
thus rejoice all bowed before our Lord.
In pilgrimage to Calvary where our Lord
for my sins humanities Christ was Crucified;
where a group of witnesses Marys stood
bewailing in heart soul worship as we should.
This most Holy City Jerusalem City of our God
site of our Saviour’s Cross where our Saviour trod;
Almighty God this is thy most sacred Holy City still
at Messiah’s return here raise holy men at thy will.
The Via Dolorosa (Latin for Way of Grief or Way of Suffering) is the sacred two part street, within the Old City of Jerusalem; where Jesus walked carrying the cross, on the way to his crucifixion.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Know God
You want to know the God
Wish to pave a path, direct
To His ornate abode
Read scriptures, listen to words
Of saints and wise men
Bath in waters sacred
And visit holy shrines
But bear in mind!
From truth when you unwind
When you shun
Your duties bounden
For money when you greed
When you spurn the feeble and needy
And as long as your mind
Is filled with hatred and envy
I’m afraid your path is never ready
Remains just stone and sand
And one more hint!
There is no entry into His precincts
For those hidebound maniacs
Wearing distinctive marks
poem by Sathya Narayana
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If These Walls Could Speak
If these old walls,
If these old walls could speak
Of the things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.
If these old halls,
If hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
>from floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.
They would tell you that Im sorry
For bein cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that its only
That I have a stubborn strreak,
If these walls could speak.
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all--
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,
If these walls could speak.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Heres someone who really loves you;
Dont ever go away.
Thats what these walls would say.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Heres someone who really loves you;
Dont ever go away.
Thats what these walls would say.
Thats what these walls would say.
Thats what these walls would say.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Q5 Partition Psychic Body Mind Barriers
Walls of steel or walls of stone.
Still walls dark like a grave; poisoned spice;
or chilling beckoning vastness of space.
Tomb with no walls to tenant define.
Stung to action by storm finger; fear inspired;
driving whip empire expansion; misery cruelty.
Through legacy currency; hardship humankind;
is regeneration; encouraged to hostility climb.
A slug in shadow life trapped;
intrigue control sought slippery
slope illusion. Struggling constantly
up from stagnant slime evolutionary.
Among soul-soaking silent stars benediction;
omniscience; watches transition an entire world.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Empty Tomb
In Arlington, where valor sleeps,
there is a marble Tomb
where heroes rest whose names are known
to God and God alone.
From Korea and the fields of France
Brought here to hallowed sleep
The unknowns of our nation's wars
Are honored with a wreath.
One body from the tomb is gone-
He served in Vietnam.
The mystery of identity
Found in a shard of bone
Rededicate his empty crypt
To the missing of that war-
To honor and keep faith with them
who never have come home.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Numb
I am breathing but the air does not fill my lungs
Minutes turn into days with ice on the tip of my tongue
Thoughts of life bypass my heart and linger in the room
I can't make sense of the noise invading like stale perfume
Walking down the road I lose my inner perspective
Searching for something under stones like a detective
Sleep saves me with clouds of darkness during the night
While ideas of tenderness surrender without a fight
Stone walls keep me captive in pastures of green grass
Waiting I watch the seasons through a kaleidoscope glass
Like the echo of sirens vibrating in a storm of dust and sand
I am swaying in the breeze to the beat of a forgotten band
Crossing the bridge across a river of clammy cold sweat
I attempt to clean up the blood of the wounded as in debt
The breath of death touched my surface missing my heart
Every day I get up and move around pretending not to fall apart
Iron chains keep me captive without chafing my ankles and skin
Reborn as a virgin I gain inches embracing the shadow of my twin
I can hear the screams of the silent mirrored in pleading eyes
Paralyzed they cannot save me permitting excuses and lies
Time stands still clutching to the dances of sleepless nights
I am rattling confessions disguised in rituals of last rites
In a world of anguish I am still free blowing bubbles of gum
Smiling I am hiding my tears and sorrows remaining numb
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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The Irish Soldier
The Irish soldier, cast for fight,
Stood to his arms at dead of night,
Watching the east, until its ray
To the battle--field should show his way;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though they call you slave,
And though you but help a bandit hand
Uncheck'd to kill in your native land.
The soldier thought on his chance of doom--
How the trampled sod might be his tomb--
How, in evening's dusk, his sightless stare
To the small pale stars might upward glare;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though you think of the grave--
Though it yawn so near you, black and chill,
Honor and courage man you still.
And o'er his solemn brow he made
The Christian sign, and humbly said--
``Your prayers, good saints, if I should fall;
And for mercy, O Lord, on you I call!''--
Irish soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight, although you crave
The prayers of the saints your own to aid,
And the sign of the cross on your brow have made.
The morning broke--the bugle blew--
The voice of command the soldier knew,
And stern and straight in the van he stood,
And shouting, he rush'd to the work of blood;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
Thousands lay round you, crimson'd and cold--
But over their bodies you still fought on,
Till down you sank as the day was won.
And the Irish soldier now hath come,
Worn, and wounded, and crippled, home,
The hated, and slander'd, and scorn'd of those
Who safely slept while he faced their foes;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
In your native land you now are told
'Twas traitor--blood on that field you lost,
For you call'd on the saints, and your brow you cross'd!
poem by John Banim
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Screaming From The Sky
I stalk close in from above
Silent wings will test your faith
Death will never hear me pass
Launch attack you're too late
I hear flak inside my head
Deafening thunder cities burn
Carpet-bombing laid to waste
Throwned inside a death mask
Holy cross embedded in your tomb
Casualties are buried through your mind
Certain death is screaming from the sky
I live to destroy below
Hunted victims are unseen
Flying wrath a fortress hell
War machine to kill all
I leave carnage in my wake
Choking bleeding for your life
Faceless prey has been erased
Silence reigns you're dead now
Holy cross embedded in your tomb
Casualties are buried through your mind
Certain death is screaming from the sky
Listen to the rhythm of a dead man walking
Silent is the heartbeat of the predator stalking
Hear the sound of air feel the warmth touch your neck
Reality is not fair no time to second guess
Hear the distant ringing of the blade as it cuts through your neck
Silent is the cry lying on your mattress of blood
An easy mark for a veteran of execution
I walk step by step with death
Where all bludgeoned bodies lie
You will see my face of rage
Cut your heart out of your chest
Leave impaled the consummation of mankind
song performed by by Slayer from Diabolus In Musica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walls Of Silent
WALLS OF SILENT
What if walls could talk what would they say?
Along the walls they walk
Sputtering words every day
In boardrooms
In school hallways
Hotels walls
And shopping malls
In Elevators
Hospital corridors
Office walls
Tenement halls
And bedroom walls
Some words never to been mention again
Other words that take to the air ways
Walls of silent’s
What would they say…
poem by Paul Klobusicky
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My Tomb
The four walls around me,
The bed in which I lay.
A lock on my door,
Keeps everyone away.
The outside world has nothing,
Not a single thing for me.
For I lost the angel of my life,
An angel as beautiful as she.
I lay within these four walls,
Counting the time go by.
The day quickly comes to an end,
And then I close my eyes.
It is then I dream of her,
As I lie here in my room.
In my dream I leave from here,
This place I call my tomb.
No more walls around me,
No more bed in which I lay.
I have broken from the locks,
That kept me here to decay.
In my dream I am with her,
No longer am I sad.
For in my dream she never leaves,
Destroying everything we had.
In my dream we are happy,
Our love will only grow.
Reaching to the Heavenly skies,
Leaving the world below.
In my dream I'm full of life,
No longer live in gloom.
My angel has pulled me from the trap,
Of this place I call my tomb.
I want to stay in this dream,
For when I am asleep.
No longer do I miss her,
No longer do I weep.
I want to stay in this dream,
I never want to wake.
For when I'm here with my angel,
No longer do I ache.
I want to stay in this dream,
Don't ever pull me out.
I want to stay here forever,
For here there is no doubt.
Eventually my eyes will open,
I see the walls of my room.
Once again I'm locked up,
As I lie here in my tomb.
poem by Adam McKim
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These Walls
If these walls could talk,
I wonder what what would they say
Would they thank me for being painted
Or will they ask me, to wash the paint away.
Would they tell me of the pictures
That once hung upon them their
Pictures that once adorn those walls
Or I wonder would they even care.
Would they speak upon the stories
That was heard within these walls
That no one else even knows about,
That is if the stories these walls could recall.
Was there children laughter all about
Or any secrets heard and being told
I wonder what have they listened to
And I wonder if anyone will ever know.
These walls inside this house
That for years have stood alone
With the stories that was told and heard
While this house had became a home.
The Sadness that they might had seen
And the worries and sorrow that they felt
Maybe they don't want to remember it at all
And maybe they too keep it bottled upon their self.
Were they painted to cover up secrets
Was they battered as to protect someone's lies
Or were they wallpapered to cover up the truth
And did they hear the whispers and the cries.
These walls they are still standing
Through the years of the days and nights
While listening and knowing all done and said
In the darkness and also in the light.
I look at these walls just one last time
As I head home from my walk,
How I wish I knew what they heard and know,
But that is, if these walls could only talk.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Cage
Walking down the street do you stare at your feet and never do you let your eyes meet the freaks, The deadbeat addicts,
social fanatics, they're a dime a dozen and they carry guns
Halloween, every other day of the week
Living in a cage in the USA
Living in a cage in the USA
Holy smoke, somebody blew up the pope
Living in a cage in the USA
All around us the rules are changing
Taller walls and stronger cages
Nothing is sacred or too outrageous
Taller walls and stronger cages
What in the world is happening to the world?
What in the world?
Driving in your Mercades you think you're safe, but you're never safe in a world of hate with criminal minds with guns and
knives who say "gimme your ride or give your life"
Halloween, every other day of the week
Living in a cage in the USA
Living in a cage in the USA
Holy smoke, somebody blew up the pope
Living in a cage in the USA
All around us the rules are changing
Taller walls and stronger cages
Nothing is sacred or too outrageous
Taller walls and stronger cages
What in the world is happening to the world?
What in the world?
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today... 'The Firstfruits
For three days His body was buried in the ground.
and when they went to the tomb He could not be found.
This seed had died has now come bursting through the grave
He is the firstfruits of all those He came to save.
When the end comes and the harvest is gathered in
and innumerable saints are redeemed from sin.
He shall reign with His enemies beneath His feet
and the great plan of salvation will be complete.
For death entered creation through Adam the man
But now in Christ all will be made alive again.
For this grain of wheat fell into the ground and died
but sprang up again and its fruit had multiplied.
Not just by thirty or even a hundredfold
But countless myriads are safe within the fold.
Each of them has been purchased and cleansed by His blood
part of the kingdom He has given back to God.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Green, Green Grass Of Home
(words & music by claude putman, jr.)
The old home town looks the same,
As I step down from the train,
And there to meet me is my mama and papa
Down the road I look and there runs mary
Hair of gold and lips like cherries
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home
Yes, theyll all be there to meet me,
All creatures smiling sweetly
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home
The old house is still standing,
Though the paint is cracked and dry
And theres an old oak tree that I used to play on
Down the lane Ill walk with my sweet mary
Hair of gold and lips like cherries
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home
Then I awake and look around me
Cold gray walls surround me
And I realize that I was only dreamin
Theres a guard and theres a sad old padre
Arm and arm well walk at daybreak
Again Ill touch the green, green grass of home
Yes, theyll all be there to meet me
In the shadow of that old oak tree
As they lay me beneath the green, green grass of home
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Saints...now My Demons.
Saints turned to demons
Purity stained with grit
A heart yelling for deliverance
Muffled by a mind calling for vengeance
Knowledge was silenced by blind rage.
World turned up side down
Faith clung to for hearts grown weak
Minds cracked under pressure
Faith was all they had left in the
Revolting days and flighty nights.
Hung and crushed
By their faith in others
And saved by their faith in
Night’s lonesome powers
Delivered to their heavenly home
By their faith.
Hope was known
To be no good on this test
This was life or death.
This test turned my saints to demons
And demons into saints
The test
The test was vengeance, integrity,
And though there could have been reason
Was based out of lunacy.
Saints left this world
bludgeoned and blood,
Demons left pure and with a halo.
poem by Chantel Weston
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