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Butterfly Death Poems | Death Poems About Butterfly

These Butterfly Death poems are examples of Death poems about Butterfly. These are the best examples of Butterfly Death poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Lyric |

A Butterfly Inside --The Butterfly Flutters By

I feel a butterfly inside;
Its wings are cramped within my breast.
The weight of flesh, o dull cocoon,
Prohibits my free flight. At best
I only soar inside; my wings--
Gossamer, light, remain untried.
I wait...I wait...until the day
The barred' cage is flung aside
And airy wings lift toward the skies.

I have felt this graceful creature 
Flutter faintly deep inside;
Then, at times, so ardently,
I think no way will it abide!
It will be loosed! Its wish to fly
Will push the bars of flesh aside.
Determined is this butterfly 
To show its colors multiplied
And wing its way through azure skies.

The time is drawing near, I'm sure;
The throbbing swells within my heart.
The cumbrous cocoon, filled with life,
Is bursting now, falling apart.
The butterfly is breaking free;
No more its wings will tightly furl,
But lightly spread upon the breeze 
Their filmy webs, gilded and pearled...
The butterfly flutters by the world...


Details | Rhyme |

Fly…Fly…O, Butterfly

                       Fly
                       Fly
                 O, butterfly
               This little boy
With a gun, thinking, it’s just a toy
                       Fly
                       Fly
                 O, butterfly
               This little boy
A soldier he is, yet still, he’s a boy
                       Fly 
                       Fly
                 O, butterfly
               This little boy
Learned to fire, ‘cos of indecent lie
                        Fly
                        Fly
                  O, butterfly
                This little boy
He’s badly wounded, ‘cos of his toy
                       Fly
                       Fly
                 O, butterfly
               This little boy
No longer a soldier, nor, a little boy
                        Fly
                        Fly
                  O, butterfly
                This little boy
Not breathing, so he can not tell a lie
                         Fly
                         Fly
                   O, butterfly
                 This little boy
Show him, your world, without a gun
                          Fly
                          Fly
                    O, butterfly
                 This little boy
Tell him, he’s still a boy, not a soldier
                          Fly
                          Fly
                    O, butterfly
                 This little boy
Warn him, he’ll get hurt, when he fire
                           Fly
                           Fly
                     O, butterfly
                  This little boy
Guide his soul, to Enchanted Kingdom


Details | Light Poetry |

The Raven, the Crow, and the Dead Poet

Circling above on a sun shiny day
The raven twirls within his dreams
Of horrors soon to be inflicted
Soaring in the skies

The Preacher reads from the holy book
Collections duly collected on chanted psalms
The raven above with a sinister smile
He knew god’s plate was not full enough

Dark clouds from the east flew with the wind
Under the ravens command
As lightening struck the village steeple
Fire and brimstone, hell on earth

Humans who once lived by their daily bread
Became the bread of crows
Telegraph poles free to weep the news
As the crows feasted on the burnt flesh of our sins

The ravens’ heart pleased to share his torment
Amongst the brethren of feathered dark angels
The greed of humans shall be ridden of this earth
Crooned the raven under the spotlight of the devils moon

All were dead, the children too
All but one lone poet, so it seemed
Arms outstretched, clasping at pen and ink
Dying, dying to tell this black tale

Now, in tranquility, lies the village graveyard
Somber, quiet, flowers cover the horrors
Of that unholy day, of the ravens sins
His laughter echoes, echoes the pain

It is said, in the heat of summer nights
Crows sing and dance
As they feast on the remains
Of us, all of us, poets and all

Beside the village in the swamp
On that a very somber twisted day
An alligator lazed upon the shores
She, the only witness, to this feathered fiendish crime

In stealth she watched, scales of justice
A billion years of Gods creation
She slithered towards the stench of death
Teeth primed for an easy meal

A baby, oh so small, shivering in a fog of illusions
Looked into the eyes of the raven above
She saw that hell may very well come from above, not below
She resigned her baby cries to eternity, momma dead and gone

The alligator, teeth sharpened by natures instinct
Darted forth, and jaws stretched, swallows the baby whole
Slithering back towards the swamps shadows
The raven provided this nights’ meals gratuit

She spit out the baby, and licked her cheeks
Providing both substance and loving warmth
Hell may live above
Mercy and compassion may come from the swamp

High in the sky
The Raven 
Lost this little one
The Butterfly smiled


Details | Light Poetry |

Opera of the Raven

I fly 
Blood flows like a river below
I dance 
Scattered bones
I dance
Crows feast on dead souls
I dance
The moon becomes full
The night becomes a stage
The curtain drops
I sing
Capella from the chapel of the stars
Andante so they all die a slow painful death
Inert bodies pile under the stage
I fly away


Details | Lyric |

In Memory

She lay upon her bed of pain;
The chrysalis grew dull and gray;
The colors which we knew as her
Were fading fast, so fast, away;
But, underneath the fragile clay,
We saw new colors burning through
Of soul triumphant in its flight
Approaching Glory's avenue.
It seemed we heart her spirit groan,
Her frail flesh tremble 'neath the weight
Of wings fast-pulsing with new life
And yearning for the Infinite.

She's free! Her dewy wings soft-dried
By hovering angel's gentle breath
Have lifted once, now twice they stir
And find the air: can this be death?


Details | Dramatic monologue |

For Him

Hi. If you are reading this letter, then i know my wife has chosen you. This is to serve as my last writing directed to you after my death. Please note she has never read this letter. I would like to welcome you and thank you for choosing her over all the beautiful women in the world. I hardly know you but I'm willing to trust and respect your presence in her life and that you'll bring nothing but joy. Strongly i hope you feel exactly the same as she does, after all she chose to give you this letter. No one can replace our love, but that does not mean you should build a bridge between my past life with her. Do not attempt reshuffling her heart, empathy, sensitivity or replacing what i planted in her heart. Our tree of love will continue growing. Please take good care of her heart as it’s not billable. 

Her tears of joy are always ready to explode. Every night has been a page in our love book. So please do not change the theme as you will be forced to adjust the ending. I so much wanted to continue writing our book but i had to off ramp my journey with her as the cancer was forcefully blocking my way. She doesn't know that. My fingerprints on her smiles never got damaged and the footsteps i wrote on her body never sounded fictional. If you look at the corner of her lips she owns no dark secrets. She gets rewarded for every risk she puts her family in. Her wheelchair has never had a flat tire, but if it does please contact bible services on psalm they fix everything. 

What i noticed is that she loved checking up the Christianity call centres within the bible phone book. The numbers will never change, only agents do so keep encouraging her to make calls. She used to randomly open the book and choose a page with her eyes closed. Even though she sometimes looked lost she always found the right pages. I hope it’s not too much to ask, but please allow her to visit on our birthday and that's every three days before the New Year. That is the only time i could turn to the other side on my grave. Plus the funeral cover promised us non of its pillows in my coffin. Do not make yes an answer to every call made by my parents. We owe them nothing, infect i haven’t spoken to them in ten years. 

With all that said she will blow your mind if you let her.

Thank you


Details | Ballad |

LETS OPINION BE DIFFERENT

Let's opinion be different so there is story
I do not like to air criticism
I just only like to ask
And the question itself will be criticism
Criticism on people who were asked
If to ask would be more prudent
Criticism is quite violent
I am so afraid of violence
I have to use the technique
Technique to ask with its critique 
And that is certainly more painful
Like a snake that run along quiet
But the extract of poison is very painful
I also laughed when criticism aired among
True indeed… 

Translation...


PENDAPAT BIAR BERBEZA
Oleh Neldy Jolo

Biarkan pendapat itu berbeza jadi ada cerita
Aku tidak suka berkritik
Aku suka sahaja betanya
Dan pertanyaan itu sendiri akan jadi kritikan 
Kritikan pada orang yang ditanya
Kalau bertanya akan lebih berhemah
Mengkritik itu agak keras 
Aku sangat takut kekerasan
Aku kena menggunakan teknik
Teknik bertanya dengan kritikan bersamanya
Dan yang pastinya itu lebih pedih
Ibarat ular yang menyusur tenang
Tetapi bisanya sangat pedih
Aku juga tertawa bila berkritikan sesama
Benar belaka…



Wednesday, 20 March 2013, 4:59 PM
Let US All Save Peace. Ilyimy. Layag Sug!
Puisi hasil perkongsian cerita dengan Cikgu Ezza Fazlina Jamlidi


Details | Couplet |

Unknown

Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?

Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.

And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.

I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep. 

Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.

And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.


Details | Epic |

Betch Please, Really

I simply love being me for I am so good at everything step into my city and they will tell you who is King one day when I am hungry I will swallow everything then and only then shall I inherit the stuff I dream even then I promise not to settle for satisfaction at any instant half a second I could spring into full action so go against me? please, you do not even measure up to half of the goodness that I hold tight like my treasure still spreading rumors about me to try and destroy my life can't believe I let myself get beat by a stripper and my self-intended knife try and say I'm gay even though we both know that isn't the truth just ask any woman I been with if they ever needed proof they'll say I was the cream of the crop as they took it all night knowing I just may never stop I own the status of a legend now what you got left to say when I bring it twenty-four seven?


Details | Haiku |

Haiku 5 - mournful cries, way of nature, flight into eternity

mournful cries fill the air
mother bird calling for its baby
eaten by the cat

mantis catches butterfly
I am sad: yet, that is 
the way of nature

loud feathered thud
- flight into eternity
deceptive glass pane


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