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Death Prose Poetry Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Death

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |

War Against The Flesh - Part 1

- 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.    

http://fc07.deviantart.com/fs47/i/2009/221/0/d/War_Against_The_Flesh_Pt1_by_ZackMcBride
.jpg


Details | Prose Poetry |

War Against The Flesh - Part 2

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 -

                                    ...You...

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 -


Details | Prose Poetry |

Beautiful people

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 
ones
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?
"Happiness" 
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 
the stars 
I want someone beautiful


Details | Prose Poetry |

Diaspora of Her Soul

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 
grown deeper. 

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 ~~~~


Details | Prose Poetry |

Frozen Ground

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 
differently.

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.


Details | Prose Poetry |

Kilted Warrior

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.


Details | Prose Poetry |

REINCARNATION THINKING

REINCARNATION THINKING?

Life is like a coloring book
with few or many pages
filled with complex 
outlined images.

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.

C.A.K. 12-6-2012


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.

CAK 7-23-2012



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. 

10-3-2012


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.

CAK 4-03-2012


REINCARNATION ENDING

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.

6-2-2012


Details | Prose Poetry |

a fair day

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, 
Invisible.

It was a fair day for neglect.

Some say once he had been aware,
But life had hollowed him out, 
Left him a shell, 
Unmoving, 
Unblinking.
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?


Details | Prose Poetry |

Sand Castles

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.


Details | Prose Poetry |

Winters Freedom

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.


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