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Rose Death Poems | Death Poems About Rose

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

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Details | Personification |

Violin

.                                              She sleeps in her rose wood bed,
                                                  under a blanket of velvet red;
                                                   old and alone and forgotten,
                                           she dreams of the love she once had.
                                              Once again she recalls his caress
                                                      on the curve of her hips
                                                                and her breast
                                                         as he moved his bow
                                                      on the strings of her soul,
                                                             playing her sound
                                                    'til his passion was spent.
                                                                        ~~~
                                           They traveled the whole world over,
                                                      to every city and town;
                                              the maestro, his bow and violin,
                                                 bringing each curtain down.
                                                                        ~~~
                                               He died in a cry of sweet refrain,
                                               clutching her strings to his heart; 
                                            as he fell to the floor in a final encore,
                                                       tearing her world apart.
                                                                        ~~~ 
                                           So she sleeps in her rose wood bed,
                                                  under a blanket of velvet red;
                                                         her strings still filled 
                                                    with the song of her soul,
                                                        etched by the maestro
                                                               that loved her
                                                               so long ago!

                                                                    ~~~~~

                                                          Author:  Elaine George


Details | Quatrain |

Where The White Rose Blooms

The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.

He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.

This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.

The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.

With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.

His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.

The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.

The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.



Written by: Kelly Deschler
November 25th, 2013


Details | Sonnet |

The Rose and the Thorn

I shall nay know all the wonders - you hold
For all too soon the winds of winter blow
Scarlet petals withering in the snow
How cruel the breath that kills the velvet rose 

Tears - that canst’ bear the thought of letting go
Forever frozen in this empty soul
A broken heart forever turned to stone
A broken stem left now to stand alone

Alas! I find that life is bitter-sweet
As I stand holding only memories
Of a rose blooming in the summer breeze
Here beneath this old weeping willow tree

Once I held the sweetest rose - ever born
Now – in my grief – I hold the bitter thorn.

                            ~~~

                    Author:  Elaine George


Details | Rhyme |

How A Blue Rose Came to Be

Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely -  red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.

She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be  Queen; 
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.

Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon  her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping,  like a willow tree.

Then the sky begin  to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As  tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that  Irish rose, 
As she disappeared beneath the earth, 
There in his grief below.                                      
     
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply  - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.

The years and all their seasons came and went,
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent,
Upon her grave where everyday he knelt and prayed,
And dreamed of her until his dying day.  

The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone,   
That still stands alone  upon her grave,
Where from the million tears of love he gave,
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.

 
 Written:  June 18, 2010
Author:  Elaine George


Details | Narrative |

How a Blue Rose Came to be

Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely -  red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.

She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be  Queen; 
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.

Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon  her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping,  like a willow tree.


Then the sky begin  to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As  tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that  Irish rose, 
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below 
                                          
                            	 ~~~~~
		
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply  - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.

                                  ~~~~~

The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he kneeled and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.  


		~~~~

The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone   
That still stands alone   upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.

 
 Written:  June 18, 2010

Note:  To late for the contest,
but I thought I would post it anyway. 










Details | Narrative |

The Rose

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair

Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee

Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark

She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?

To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife

Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest

And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear

And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber

She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee


Details | Free verse |

'God selected the perfect rose'


your voice now silent never to see you smile again you left us heartbroken unprepared shocked to silence we remember your laughter and your “I can go on attitude” never complaining just being you even when fighting this battle we'll never know why you had to leave us so soon we'll always wonder we'll always have questions God knew your journey was complete when He selected the perfect rose for His garden today--- IN LOVING MEMORY OF A FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE, MICHELLE SCHULTZ 26092011 We, at BABS miss you already
280920111335


Details | Free verse |

The Salted Leaf

Crystal sapphirine salted leaf,
The forlorn friend of aqua rose.
Memories of ages, only the leaf knows.
Bright blue tears of eternal grief.
The wedding bands confirm our love.
Passion, ardent affection for life.
I and Lenore forever my wife,
Beautiful as a pure white dove.
The eye of the rose reflects all,
You see the past in a single glance.
The aqua rose: Lenore, did me enhance.
Away she flew, to kingdom hall.
Why? Did she die; I do not know.
Answers in the blue crystal salt,
Sapphirine leaf will sorrow halt.
I eat the leaf for status quo,
My heartbeat quickens, then a smile.
Lenore, my wife doth call me hither.
Aqua rose begins to wither.
The saga must continue.

HGarvey Daniel Esquire


Details | Free verse |

Fields of the Black Rose

Flowing fields of black 
Roses the hue of night 
Dark meadow take me home 
Relieve me of my fright 
And take me back. 
Blackened fields of ashy rose 
Take me to my home 
Where I'll never see the sun again 
Where I'll never hate 
And never bend 
Where we only see in shades of gray 
Where summer sun has shone its last 
And November wind is here to stay. 
Where I can go forget my past 
And never have to pay 
For the things I've done. 
Blackened fields of ashy rose 
Take me to your home 
Where we all see in shades of gray 
And I can rest in the coldly blowing wind. 
Forget my face forget my name 
Forget my form forget my sin 
Let me stay and waste away 
Please won't you take me in?


Details | Rhyme |

Tender of Roses

Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your tender petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?

For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father.
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.

From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.

As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.


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