Submit a Poem
Get Your Premium Membership
spacer

Lonely Death Poems | Death Poems About Lonely

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

12345
Details | Epic |

Black Diamond Night

Black Diamond Night (a coal miner’s cemetery) 

Where the ebony, we call “NIGHT”,
Old black rocks sit under the twilight.
Diamond shape eyes unclear and lonely, 
Sinister through hostile spirits only,

I stumble across these stones without a bone.
A solitary confinement alone,
From a barren zone the light transcend.
Only in time, our minds will mend.

Endless valleys and limitless stones.
These bones- these bones they sit alone.
The abyss, of rotten cavities with no fill,
A system no power can unwell the drill
The blood that passed over without a spill.
Peaks collapse into a spellbinding chill.
They are trapped! They are trapped!
Another diamond in the rough. 
Is what they left.

Obsessed with the dead without a death. 
A death that impatiently awaited their last breath.
Gushing, into the gems of dead chemistry,
Diamonds holding its own intensity,
These lonely graves, on top of sycamore hill.
Coal mining hearts that will never heal.
If only shiny eyes could see?
These lonely bones inside of me!
Moving in every direction possible
Flowing in every direction noticeable.
Sockets without eyes.
Stones hiding under the cobalt skies.
The mad sparkles, the madness dies.
Throughout this mess, we held in the blasphemous.
Intervening lots of gems so miraculous.
  
Into a stone of self-religion,
A black night filled of legions.
Acknowledging the soul's capacity of free.
Near the frail bones that sit alone,
Alone they sit in a morbid home.
Through a path unclear and all alone,
Troubled by the visions of my own stone.
Where the night takes place in the dark. 
The ebony rides under the diamond bark.
Along with the coal miners who never got to see the;
“Diamonds of another day!”

:)

Contest name: Black Diamond Night	
Date: 9/19/2012  
Placement: first place


Details | Ballad |

Disturbed Child

That disturbed child
The teen girl with no friends, 
and is rejected by her loved ones
She feels broken inside,
like theres no other choice
She takes the iron razor, 
she puts it to her arm and hopes the pain will fade,
but in the end it only makes her feel worse
She does this to herself not because she is sad, 
but because she doesn't think any one cares
She thinks 
What if I put this razor to my throat,
and ended my life
Would they care then?
She feels like no one cares 
What she doesn't realize is, 
if she died a river of tears would come,
even faster then the blood would run from her
If she only knew life can be brighter 
If she would only see, 
that she is loved
That disturbed child, 
We miss her
and theres no getting her back
What could we have done
Was there any changing her mind
Only God knows


Details | Rhyme |

Like The Sun

Like the sun awakened, from slumber grey
Blessing every tortured fray
embraced  my soul, your glorious gaze
and set my lonely heart ablaze
like the sun amass  a brand new morn
upon your whispered wind was born
our love, till endless ages sworn
like sun enveloped, rainy days
you devoured all my hopeless haze…
and since dost now my heart amaze
with joy and laughter, lifes’ rephrase
but like the sun,twas time to set, 
now life dost seem just wretched fret
sunless days chase moonless night
drifting along alas lonely plight
A Godly gift you were to thee
rewarding every desperate plea 
now I must sail amidst raging sea
blind to hithers destiny.
But I shall rise above the moon
Amidst the troubled waters swoon
For love like ours it strengthens mast
To ride relenting waters vast
Till time dost ask for my return
To the place my tethered soul doth yearn
And all my cares shall be set free
your womb my love this soul shall flee
where thine was always meant to be
in Heavens Grace… Eternally


Details | Free verse |

Dementia

He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died, 
he has not been the same.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain, 
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best, 
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows 
what happens next.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia


Details | Narrative |

The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss


April 14, 2013


Details | Ballad |

A House On the Cliff's Edge

There is a house on the cliff’s edge,
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
At night, the tide lifts high against a foggy moon
In the morning, gloomy clouds settle with the sea
At times, not even the birds are seen or heard
The house is left to nature’s caress

Home-crafted seashell chimes sway and sing with the wind
Crushed sand dollars lie together on the back porch
The shells were once whole, collected by the former owners
Long gone are they now, smiling with the moon
The owners are the very sound of the ocean spray,
Striking the rocks, announcing the cool dawn of day
They are not the dark, empty rooms,
The rooms that nobody thinks of as they go about their lives
The quiet owners are long gone—thought of only by one
A stillborn legacy about as tiresome as the sun,
When the clouds crisp out its beams . . .

A seawater puddle is in the middle of the dining room
Nobody knows it sits there, sinking in the floorboards
It used to be a far larger puddle after a storm,
Stealthily leaking into the house
But now it is small—so small—and the boards are moist,
Moist with its only companion amongst the instilled silence

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
They were not much for socials and gatherings
They always lived their quiet, happy lives
Without a care of the outside world,
Far from anybody’s thought
Miles from the nearest home
Where the next generation comfortably lives 

He never finished fixing that leak . . .

Sometimes the puddle gets bigger after other storms
And when it does, there is almost life there again
You can see the chandelier reflected on the unperturbed water
As a crystal dangles and falls from on high
The dark silence following the drop is as deep as thought . . .

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
There is merely a house on the cliff’s edge
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline

-March 21, 2013-


Details | Quatrain |

The Dead Of Winter

Here under the cold winter sun,
Beneath the old, lifeless tree,
My winter mourning has begun,
When no one comes to visit me.

Left out here on the edge of town,
Underneath the gray and gloomy sky,
In a lonely cemetery, with not a soul around,
Where every lone wintertime, I cry.

As I lay here, frozen and numb,
Crystal snowflakes are falling down,
The dead of winter has finally come,
Like icy teardrops upon the ground.

The wind howls like a lonely, lost spirit,
Through grass overgrown this December,
And it still hurts me to hear it,
That nobody even came here to remember.

Icicles have formed on the iron gate,
And the days now become dark so soon,
Forever sealing in my forgotten fate,
My only friend is the bright, shining moon.

And so I'll just lie here all alone,
No one will come until the spring,
And while you are staying, warm at home,
No one has left me flowers or anything.


Details | Romanticism |

The Blue Poet

I am the Blue Poet.
The uneasy man.
Who longs to be loved,
or just to have a friend.

My heart whisphers a low melody
on a faint, cool evening
thinking of her.
Once in my arms,
laying on my bed of roses.
Now she is gone.
I cannot think anymore!
It is hard, to love again,
When all your love has been taken away.
... I am the Blue Poet.

I am the Blue Poet,
That walks the bluish, dawn and dew covered streets
in the the October evenings and nights.
But I tell you, I wasn't always so blue.
No! I was once alive... happy... romantic,
... till Love went away!

Now I sit in the wayward poetry clubs,
drinking club soda and snapping my fingures
to a finished performance on a poem about love.
Written by a soft, spoken seventeen year old girl.

Soon, it is my turn to give my poem a read.
I stand on a lone stage, with a spotlight drownding me in blindness.
I face the faces, who look at me and smile.
A clap, and a cough, bring my head up.
I look out upon the sitting crowd.
To see that one face
that speaks to me,
without the movement of the mouth.
The face never showed though, and my head fell back down.

I start to read.
A vase of emotions kill me and swallow me up.
I try to hold back tears, but no more could I halter.
I finished, with a salty tear, rolling down my rough and oiled cheek.
I leave the crowd at ovation
and leave the women, all with tears in their eyes.

I come down from the stage, leaving the bright spotlight.
I shake hands, give hugs,
and collect my pay, and have another round of club soda.
Then, I go down the midnight alleyways of sprinkled city streets
finding myself a cozy room.

I think of her for a moment,
then off to sleep.
I dream of one time laughs, and hugs and kisses.
I cry in my sleep,
...For I am the Blue Poet.


Details | Pantoum |

Somber Clouds

Somber clouds rest high upon the hill
We climbed the steep rocks among the wild
There, hidden so high beneath the trees
We found two marked graves where sorrow lies

We climbed the steep rocks among the wild
This lonely place so long forsaken
Were two marked graves, where sorrow lies
Ingraved were the names of those who died

This lonely place so long forsaken
Timeless heartache rekindles once more
Ingraved were the names of those who died
Awakening my grief, as tears fell

Timeless heartache rekindles once more
Who was this mother, who was this child?
Awakening my grief, as tears fell
Birds are singing with bitter cries

Who was this mother, who was this child?
Skies sprinkle the earth with memory
Birds are singing with bitter cries
Somber clouds rest high upon the hill





......................................................................
Submitted for Jared's Pantoum Contest


Details | Free verse |

Jesse

The sun was blaring down 
That August afternoon
When Jesse came into the town 
Of Early Blossom Bloom
The sun had blistered up his skin
His shoes were worn and tired
The clothes he wore upon his back
Was all that he acquired

Jesse was a loner 
Traveled light and all alone
No family he could speak of
No place to call a home
For food and basic shelter
He would trick upon the street
For a twenty dollar bill 
His throat would be a treat

His body aged and weary 
From the life now forced to live
A new found way of living
No man had chose to give
The effort once put forth
Strength he no longer had
To earn an honest living
A concept he didn’t have

What would come of Jesse 
No trade to call his name
In life he loved so many men
Each one a different way
But love for him was just a fix
An action he would show
Not something that would stick around
And nourish his inner soul

He travels to the city 
In hopes to find a friend
One last fool to take
Before giving up his sin
But in this town 
There was no one
To cater Jesse’s ways
No place for him to go and stay
Or a simple bed to lay

He sat down on the park bench
As dusk filled up the sky
Weary from the journey made
In hunger he did cry
In life he played a hell of a dance
No partner came to stay
Deep down afraid 
The city streets
Would be his home to stay

In Jesse’s heart was anger
For the people passed him by
Not one kind word was spoke to him
He sat alone and cried
His prayers of some compassion
Were seemingly unheard
This was life for him now
Banished from the world

He died that night a lonely man
On the park bench all alone
Laid to rest in a lonely grave
The place he now calls home
The life and times of Jesse
Now just a memory 
He was a man most would forget
For shame of his company

Think back on the life and times
That Jesse brought to earth
Would you have shown compassion?
If you seen him all alone
Who is to say who is to judge
For a life lived on the streets
For Jesse it was all he knew
And all he could ever be


12345