These Death Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Death. These are the best examples of Death Prose Poetry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
- 2012 - Winter -
- They Fought Wars Against Their Shadows -
The Road Was Dark and Paved into The Black.
He Stood at The Foot of A Narrow Lane, His
Eyes Like Burning Embers of a Dying Fire.
They Left Trails of Light as He Walked
- Satan, Beckoning Me To Follow -
They Took Everything, They Took My Sanity,
When They Butchered My Family. They Even
Took The Light From The Sky. The Eyes Adjusted
But The Skin Did Not, it Became Dull and Leathery.
- The Lane Lead to a House -
The Fire was Lit, and Thick Ash Bellowed From The Stone
Chimney. This War Was Over, But Every Encounter
Left Me More and More Exhausted. I Just Wanted To
Sleep, But I Dare Not Force it Upon Myself.
- Or I'll End Up in Their World -
The Ancient Societies Predicted This, After The Two
Giants Fell, The World Would Became Unstable, And The
Days Of Reckoning Would Fall Upon The Flesh of Man.
Those With The Blackest of Souls, Became Unrecognizable.
- Decorative Mutilations of Blood and Skin -
The Small Wooden Door Swung Open, The Smell of
Worn and Decaying Matter Was All Too Familiar With
My Senses, But This Smell, This Smell Phased Me.
Its Putrid Acidity Stung My Eyes.
- Without His Lips Mobility -
- He Offered Me a Seat Opposite him -
The Devil Wants To Make a Deal With You....
A painting by my friend, inspired by this piece.
The Stench of Rotting, Festering Human,
Melted The Air, and Turned Every Breath
Into Decay. I Used To Keep a Pack of
Toothpicks in My Jeans...But Now.
- Just a Box of Charity Shop Rosary Beads -
Each Individual Bead Clenched So Tightly
In My Fist, I Could Feel The Skin About To
Break Around Them. He Stared Me Out,
I Could Hear Him in My Head, Chanting.
- His Incantations Burnt Holes in The Soul -
They Festered Within, You Cant Reply and
You Can't Leave, A Stalemate of Will. A
Man Pursued By Hell, and an Angel, Rejected
By Grace...What Do You Want From Me?
- A Word Masked By His Breath -
When The Big Guy In School Grips You
By The Throat, You Cant Breathe, But You
Don't Cry. When The Devil Grips You. You
Don't Breathe and You Can't Cry.
- His Fingers Scarred My Neck -
Hell is Cold, There's Fire, But Not The Comforting
Heat, Just The Scarring Painful Qualities of The
Flicker. But This is Just a Taste, He Can't Take
Me, I'm Not Dead, and He isn't allowed to Kill Me.
- I'm Untouchable, Lest I Desecrate God -
...Communication With The Devil is a Sure Way to Start.
The Dust Rose in an Imprint Round Me as I Hit The Floor.
Just as He Appeared, He Disappeared, Leaving Behind Him
A Stream of Ash Which Followed Behind Him Into The Night.
I'll Just Keep Walking, Following The Light From Distant Fires.
- Hoping it's People -
- And Not their Smoking Carcasses -
People make me smile the way
their eyes shine when they talk
about something they love
when they feed me food. Or tell
me how much they love me
when I look into someone's
eyes and see it I see that look
in their eyes I see love in them
When I see someone laugh and
have fun in what they do
The way they cry for there lost
When they give me a smile and
tell me how beautiful I am
People are beautiful well some
are and I wish someday I can
find someone who will look at
me and say "you have that look
in your eye" what look?
I want to find someone so
beautiful in the inside I can't
stay away they amaze me with
what they say an do how they
will dance in the rain and know
every detail about me
Will bring me Starbucks on a
rainy day and just talk about
I want someone beautiful
Amidst the binge of the champagne, and the glitter on the faces, she heard the
distant lullaby. Glistening repertoire of appreciation elated her, but her soul had been
far forlorn. She smiled her way through the ballroom, shaking hands, wishing
prosperity and hugging the nonchalant children, who didn't even remember her...
their innocent, curious eyes, complacent enough to defy contact.. but still she bore
them momentary warmth.. and quietly soon enough, they gleamed with fondness
towards her. That made her happy. She danced through her guests graciously,
illuminating even the minuscle flicker of the dynamism that inflamed her celebration of
triumph. It was her day of glory, but somewhere, the gaping hole within her had
She couldn't bear the tinge of strangers crawling beneath her destiny.Like cobwebs
spun all around her, she gasped for someone to call her own. The outlanders raided
her memories in the making. Her soul became an illicit labyrinth that had been
expanding like a monster. She couldn't find her people! Her People. Everywhere she
looked, her vision proliferated from Void. How could she hide from darkness itself?
She cried, but...
A sudden loud burst of laughter from a nearing clan hurled her back to reality. The
strange realization that she had been ruminating through her desires, made her
smile naively. She knew she couldn't be happy. The lust for satisfaction glided life into
her. She resumed her counterfeited solace. To tunes so subtly high and alone, she
began dancing again.
Only till the guests had left, she looked at the empty glasses and collected her tears.
She saw her reflection...The splendour of the ballroom in the background, the beige
on her body and the silence....she felt alive, only, to die again.
~~Won 2nd prize for the Dark Prose Poetry Contest~~
~~~~Thank You all, so very much ~~~~
I bent down to pick up a penny from the frozen ground.
I could smell myself, the acrid stench of sweat and soot,
the taint of vapored vagrancy
that marked my movements, masking me from the reality that used to be.
I hate me and what I am, more than you could ever think to,
but more so becuase you do, with your limp laughter and scared stares.
I never knew my life never needed me to know it could all go away in a single day.
I see it all through dirty windows draped in singed eyelashes and gutter grime,
the pathetic gazes from afar as another afternoon of sale shopping and shoe sizing is ruined
by my appalling appearance.
"How dare you be here! What's wrong with you?"
"Go get a job you junkie, you slob, just jump a bus so you can't disgust us with your sewer
shoes and hard luck blues. You deserve the dirt and a kick in the teeth from the steel-tipped
toe of a jackboot too. No one wants to see a scummy sack of crap like you, bending down to
pick our scraps off the frozen ground."
The helping hand of man slaps the taste of humanity from my mouth with each volatile volley
of acid arrow analogies angrily slung and fired furiously from the bows of bastard
businessmen and bleach blonde bimbos.
My weary wounds fill with the sea-salt of sarcastic statements and unflattering finger
gestures from frat boys as I bend down to pick up a penny I found on the frozen ground.
"Head's up means luck," Abe smiled at me, and suddenly my thoughts began to run
I took a long look at the lingering light of one of the sweetest sunsets I had ever seen, and
the simplicity and majesty washed over me.
There was no use in listening to abuse and accusations and obtuse observations any more.
I was being shown a door.
Wrapped in the warmth of the amber and amethyst glow, I finally smile for a little while and
close my dirty windows against the icy winds of waning words.
Tomorrow, someone will bend down to pick me up from the frozen ground.
He stands proud and strong, this kilted warrior
head held high against the unending pain
of a heart born out of sadness
for the loss of those who came before him
and thoughts of those who would
continue on when he himself was no more.
Proud men one and all
vows made, till surrendered in death
to defend that which
was their birthright, the very land
upon which he now stood.
The call to battle though long since silenced
came from within his very heart and soul
blood of the ancient ones raged in his veins
his sword by his side...shield upon his back
he stood ready to charge into battle
to do what was expected of him since birth
to fight as those before him fought
without fear, but with a strength
only a battle hardened warrior
knew and understood.
Life is like a coloring book
with few or many pages
filled with complex
We are given a box of crayons
and are asked to color in the
background and spaces of the images
Sub-titles are allowed.
When the coloring book is finished
we are given a new one to complete.
REINCARNATION THINKING 2 -SOUL SEARCHING
Was I once before or never
Don’t know how or even whether
I was a firefly, a bird of prey
a centipede, a fish fillet?
A baseball fan to keep the score
a mockingbird, a carnivore?
A blossom in the midst of spring
a sign of what the day might bring.
A germ grown in a Petri dish
a chicken bone an unmade wish
All things and species could I be,
even remnants of a tree.
Of all of these, I leave this post,
I am for now what I am most.
MORE QUESTIONS ON RE-INCARNATION
As 'core' beliefs thicken so,
does it leave us room to grow?
As aging souls say we must,
complete the cycle which was thrust
upon our bucolic living place
turned upside down in whorling space
searching for a redemptive life.
But for you, dearest one, do you not remember
before you arrived, you took this bucking horse of soul,
tamed it, labeled it and proclaimed it.
To become what you needed in order
that your ride be contained and controlled.
It's name is 'balance' and it keeps you level in the saddle
so you don't fall off.
REINCARNATION THINKING 3 -
If, we are on a soul journey,
then what must that soul become?
A better soul? A wiser soul?
A sad soul? A learned soul?
Until one reaches the end of time,
There are so many lives to live out
to fully experience all aspects of this world.
Animals, plants - more souls searching?
One can speculate, but from my perspective
none of it makes sense.
Was the Phoenix reincarnated?
Or was its embers reignited?
Perhaps before a lowly worm or soldier bee
or brown turned leaf upon a tree?
A seahorse, a shark, which fish shall I be?
In fisherman's net to be eaten by me?
And when the cycle is complete
and x equals x on our balance sheet.
Can we then rest in a celestial lair
with memories gone and unaware
of trials by all things forgotten?
If choose I must or chosen by me,
I'll remain in the stars and just wait to see.
It was a fair day for silence.
The sun had risen up courtly, almost mechanically,
Like a marionette on the strings of a puppeteer.
With the sun came Heat, wrathful to have been woken at such an hour.
As if avenging its early rise,
Heat caused oppression,
Discomfort and confusion
Upon the innocent day.
It was a fair day for exclusion.
Only one was oblivious to the relentless heat,
He sat there motionless, lifeless and corpse-like.
They would glance at him nonchalantly.
He was just a piece of the scenery,
Always had been there,
Always would be there,
It was a fair day for neglect.
Some say once he had been aware,
But life had hollowed him out,
Left him a shell,
The day progressed, the light dimmed,
It was as if fate and destiny had led him to this moment.
If anyone had cared to look, they may have noticed a glint in his eye.
He liked the sunset.
It was a fair day for an end.
The sun slowly made its way back home.
Heat gradually left, bored with the sun’s absence.
Silence was once more.
The sun closed its eyes.
The moon began its regime over the obeying night sky.
It was a fair day for sweet nothing.
He still sat there,
But no one knew.
So was he still alive,
If no one saw him die?
Upon a beach I came to stand
And watched a child at play.
He did while playing in the sand
A point of life convey.
With scoops and buckets he did build
A structure tall and grand.
And to the child the beach did yield
A castle made of sand.
But as he left, I do recall,
Away I did not turn.
And with the coming night would fall
A lesson to be learned.
The tide came in, with force did strike,
The castle could not stand.
And I was shown how life is like
A castle made of sand.
And man is but a child at play,
His works they will not last.
For all he builds within days
Shall be by time surpassed.
Each thing we do, Each thing we say,
Each notion we conceive,
They all to soon shall pass away,
Yes, this I do believe.
We leave no mark, we leave no trace
That shall forever stand
Be sure my friend time will erase
Our days however grand.
The Sky Wept Unendingly with Snow:
His thoughts in a Frenzied attempt at Normality,
Clung to the idea of a Priceless Freedom.
Striving Forward, splinters of Ice cut and Maimed
Revealed patches of Flesh; Each Sting a Reminder.
A Cascading Avalanche of Memories Swept him
Into the past, amidst Those he Could Remember.
Each, a diminishing aspect of his weakening
Internal Clock; The Gears, a Rusted Brown.
The Day diminished with him,
His clock struck Twelve.
An Inescapable Crossing of Thin Ice,
Half-Way across, The Gears Halt.
The Ice Gives Way.
The Sky Weeps Unendingly with Snow.