Grave Poems | Examples of Grave Poetry

Tilling the fields ‘neath a hot blazing sun Removing the weeds when the rain's pouring down Baling the hay in the heat and humidity Breathe the dust of the chicken coop, abject...

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grab your pail, we'll clean the sea fetch a comb to coiff the sub-Saharan sand don't fall for burning cities to be eternalized as a pinnacle of table salt pinch me, porfa! looking up or down— that's some health insurance umbrella perilous looking back psychics looking forward irresponsible pronouncing words over Tomorrow's world should you be dissolved by inquisitors' hands furious...

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The Reaper I know, You respect no one. When you decide to take one home, Age, color, accomplishments mean nothing to you In your court. You harvest every soul At your most convenience. In life's prime and low, you strike hard Without any consideration. You cause unexplained weeping And a void that will never be filled. You take when you want, Without...

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A gossamer hung on the graveyard's gate. A spider clung to steel, consuming its meal. It had no need to know dinner was served late, Nor sensed ghostly keels the summer winds conceal. The owls flew on, unperturbed by midnight's scare, That made dead men howl silently in each grave, Fresh ghosts were blown toward the gate in despair, The gate creaked...

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It was a late night of the lively day, When I returned from the dance theater, ...

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Sponsor : Constance Le France submitted : 6/7/25 Placed : Third ——————————- lovingly she opened a tungsten gate to his Heart quantum lasers sharp, her ordained healing art penetrated a GOSSAMER of silver spider-webs drew slightly aback to allow patu marplesi to ebb GHOSTLY armoured soldiers wandered within from Constantinople fields to Berlin yields spin filling spirant space with unearthly eerie...

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Built in the middle of Nowhere, A gate of turquoise, very rare, A sculptor carved a figurehead, The gate was built to guard the dead. It's best to come on full-moon night, for the dead don't care for sunlight. GHOSTLY music is often heard, And one unidentified word. It's said, on a September date, GROANING is heard near the big gate. GRIEF-STRICKEN singing to the...

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Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com>syllable_counter "A grave wherever found preaches a short and pithy sermon to the soul.” Nathaniel Hawthorne ************************************************************** ...

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Get too close and i tend to push away Come real close and ill be prayin that you stay ion fk with these hos from them i breakaway my phone look like a funeral all these dead bod-ays contact name the tombstone revisit text like a grave walk thru the cemetery alone wish some of them stayed where they are is unknown some of them...

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“Fear of death is fear of surrender to Infinity.” ~ Adi Da Samraj In my fevered state, I sought the godforsaken sounds of the gossamer strings of the harp. It was hours of grave thoughts before I would awaken to the ghostly groaning of my mind’s steep scarp. Grief-stricken, I lie staring through closed eyes listening to the beat of my heart...

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Can't get you to understand. I already know your kind. You're really blind. Maybe, a sign, to you, will be given. To make you change, your way of living. I'm through with always giving. It's only your grave, that you're digging....

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"Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity." --Khalil Gibran She returns here every May sixteenth, the day she was to marry. I saw her GHOSTLY visage there at the GATES of the cemetery. I went, as I've done everyday, to lay flowers upon her GRAVE. I, the GRIEF-STRICKEN groom just striving to be brave. Just as the...

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Gate of GODFORSAKEN GRAVE yard made sound. A girl with GRIEF -STRICKEN face to enter. Her long dress of GOSSAMER touched the ground. She walked and reached almost at centre. It was Moonlit night...

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“Hey, look there Jim” the young girl said “What is this old gate up ahead? Now do you think we should go through. I’m really game if you will too.” We’ll have to clear these sticks away and find the latch - what’s that you say? You don’t think we should touch the gate? What lies beyond might not be great? Oh, come...

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I write not with anger, but with the burden of sorrow that cannot be cleansed by diplomacy nor buried beneath the noise of geopolitics. For in Gaza, the earth drinks the blood of children, and the sky records the cries of mothers, while the world—our world—calculates the cost of silence. Under the shadow of international law, we proclaimed the right to...

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