These Funeral Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Funeral. These are the best examples of Funeral Metaphor poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Let the Deicide commence.
You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.
I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways
Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own personal reality
A crowded table, all suspended in shock
The sound of the shot dimming to a ‘knock’
Only silence, except for the marching clock
The weapon still smoking; an anonymous glock
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?
Loud cries arise from the elongated table,
Jack Frost is shocked, the Tooth Fairy unable
To speak whilst Santa is checking the stable
For clues on the erstwhile maidservant Mable
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?
They searched for hours, called in C.S.I,
Panic set in, would the children all cry?
Sandman confirmed the bunny had died
Batman suspected somebody had lied
WHO KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY?
Guests were quizzed, interrogations began
The mystery unfolded when Santa Claus ran,
Grabbing the pies, he tried escaping in a van
But was stopped in his tracks by superman
SANTA KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY!
40 below and it's been a rough go,
through the talons of a frostbit mind.
Months to go, before relief will show,
the signs of a clear blue sky.
The winter in me like the hoar frost it seems,
grows colder with each passing mile.
The spring of past shall certainly never last,
with a frown where once sat a smile.
40 below in the Wyoming snow,
like a compromise between it and me.
So in the end, spring can rise once again,
to the death of an old winter Breeze.
The winter in me, like the leaves on the trees,
have outlived it's seasonal pride.
Gathered in time are all that I've rhymed,
through the ghost of my past,
since I've died.
"No." She whispered before drowning into her sorrows.
Her life had been a simple happy one.
There were no pains and no troubles.
Life was life and people were people.
Life was simple.
and life was all about tomorrows.
Life didn't know about sorrows.
Those same sorrows that she drowned in never existed.
They were never there, but where?
First to be sad in the naive town of joy.
Sorrow became contagious and what was known as happiness no longer was there.
It was non-exististent.
A meager thought
and a blessed memory.
She tried and tried.
She failed and failed.
Life was no longer hers.
For Pain was her only possession.
She lived and she died.
Yet, her legacy was passed on.
Never was it gone.
"No." She whispered before drowning in her sorrows,
It burns and it stings.
More than drowning beneath
More than remaining in a
She hits and I no longer cry.
Why mother, why?
It burned and it stung.
The markings remained,
returned, and were relived
Looking, loving, and little
known loathing were the known
ways of living.
Never was their pity for the
child that cried
Never was their relief for the
child that tried
You were that lovely bird that
understood the complications of
Nothing looked the same in
those dewy browns of yours.
My everbeating would cry tears
The others-they were yet to
Caring Mother, o' so fair
You were that beautiful bird
filled with care.
The others came and were not
alone. Their two suitors sat on
Rampage and rage why did you
I began to wither and wither
slumping along. So very soon I-
the child of fines- became a
The droops of the Lily of the
Valley became the slumping of
My lovely bird the enemy had
taken you and the person you
were is far from near.
For that divine nature left its
intricate self and you became
irretrievable my big bird.
All of your fairness died.
With that went my pride.
Mother, Mother what moved
Your intense spirt vanished only
to supplement a monster.
Mother, Monster and your tar
How did I kill that liver that was
so, so strong?
The lesson of pain was one you
came to learn.
My darling bird why did you
My lovely bird and your big
I'll tell you once, but never
Pain is only a flower for it
blooms and dies
And a mistake can be killed as
quickly as lice.
You dear bird hurt me well.
Though, haven't you heard?
Weakness is a souls greatest
You brought me up, then you
brought me down.
You haved helped, hurt, and
hindered my blazing spirit.
A hero in my heart-I left you
down in your deep black
Escaping those terrible nights
To go for the town of delights.
The water in my chest,
And my eyes, they burn,
Lungs burst for air,
They are losing all their turn.
My eyes see the light,
That swims in the water,
And as I sink,
My lungs burn hotter.
I try to breathe,
Yet only choke,
I scratch for the surface,
Pray that it be broke.
But I know that I,
Will soon touch sand,
But only beneath the waves,
I will never touch land.
So I close my eyes,
To be engulfed by the dark,
As as i slip away,
Shines bright, the mark.
The deeper I go,
My dress cling to me,
As I drown,
To the bottomless sea.
living not unto this world,
where vices and habits thee hold!
to walk in unsure path,
never too narrow nor too straight.
to do what is right,
even though it sometimes is out of sight.
to do what is just,
even though it can trouble you about!
holding unto your faith,
even though there's pain.
suffering that shows strength,
working and living a true calling.
seeking with direction,
goals with just foundations.
true sacrifices with no malice intentions:
justified and righteous,
that even though it hurts,
just going out of your way to help,
enough just to be called Christians with true righteous answers.
golden grave diggers they never will earn enough ghoulish disrespect - -Thieves try to steal Sigmund Freud's ashes