Grave Suicide Poems

These Grave Suicide poems are examples of Grave poems about Suicide. These are the best examples of Grave Suicide poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |
Angel of Death,
Cloaked in black.
With black scaled wings,
Upon her back.
Angel of Death,
Coming for me.
As soon as I sleep
Then dead I will be.
Taken by the night
It swallows and consumes me.
Now I am the angel
And death becomes me.

2003-2004
7th Grade

Copyright © Andrea Rose | Year Posted 2013




Details | Elegy |
IMPRINTS
(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father)

His shoes by the front door make me cry,
like his glasses resting atop an
unfinished crossword
and his toothbrush in its holder
the bristles still damp.
And I wonder...

Did he brush his teeth before he
put the gun to his heart?

A cereal bowl waits in the sink;
The laundry basket overflows.
"To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator.
Suicide is not on the list, and I am
almost surprised.
He was a tidy person, neat
organized almost to the point of obsession.
That's how he lived; that's how he died.

But Dad...

I'd have felt better if, for once in your life
you'd left a mess. But no
even in the ultimate act of selfishness, 
you strove to be polite, choosing to lie 
on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt
thinking we could just flush the blood away
   with the turn of a faucet.

Yes, the place is spotless.
A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile
are the only signs that a life ended here.

It seems, somehow, that there should be more.


ASTROTURF AND SNOW
(Part 2 of Trilogy for My Father)

We stand on cemetery Astroturf
     strategically placed to spare us the dread hole,
     snow scaling the tops of our shoes
          to compete with the ice in our hearts.

The old priest’s boots peek from beneath
     a cassock that dangles below his parka.
He jokes gamely about the weather,
     reading prayers for my father, a man he never met,
     with shaking hands and chattering teeth.
He is a stranger recruited by the others lest someone
     discover the shame of self-inflicted death.

Numb in every way it’s possible to be numb,
     we await the blows of a grief that suicide denied us
     and summon memories that refuse to respond 
     while, in their place, we have 
Astroturf
and snow.


THERE WILL BE NO FLOWERS TODAY
(Part 3 of  Trilogy for My Father)

I took my children to the cemetery, a rare visit,
But they did not understand
---could not understand---
the reality
the finality 
of lives and dreams turned to dust,
of a childhood lying buried in those graves.
Or is it the childhood I wished for those many years?

"Where's Anddad?" my daughter asked.
"There, beneath that stone. His ashes," I said.
Ashes of a relationship as cold as this frosted grass.

"Anddad all burned up!" chortles my youngest.

"And here is Grandma," I tell him, but it's just a word.
"See the rose on the plaque? She loved roses."

I remember when the dog peed on her prized
yellows until they died. Until she cried.
I thought her tears silly at the time but not now.

"Grandma would have loved you," I inform my
bored offspring. 
Loved you like she never loved me.

I reach for the vase set in the grave marker,
but time has rusted it in place.

There will be no flowers today.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
My beloved wife

It was the crows calling that gave the final warning on this mid October morning.
Just as the mist began falling upon the hills in a strange manner that was almost unnerving.
This morn shall be my final calling as my soul begins souring high above the clouds on this mid October morning.
Signalled by the single rose placed upon my coffin.
Not a healthy rose but one that's wilting, It's red petals fading and it's leaves browning.
It was placed upon my coffin by a loan woman who stands morning on this bitter October morning.

She turns towards home and begins walking, towards my old manor house that now stands rotting.
She passes the spot in the garden where she hid the knife the other morning, just before the police came calling.
Alerted by the chamber maid screaming upon discovering by body laying bleeding.
Murder was the diagnosis, probably by a burglar was the prognosis.
The window was broken and my jewellery was stolen.
They didn't bother to ask about the missing kitchen knife, it was all falling into place for my dearly beloved wife.

As she approached she questions what she saw, large boards placed upon the entrance door.
Upon the door a sign held by a single rusty nail, it read this property is now for sale.
Due to deceased occupants an auction will now take place, in gods grace she calls out from behind her veil of lace.
This can't be true, I felt the morning dew seep through into my newly bought shoe, she pauses for breath as she begins to think things through.
Now the truth begins dawning that it was her soul and not her body that left the hill this morning.
We are now two souls exploring, one up and one down on this bitter October morning.

Copyright © Damien Biggs | Year Posted 2014




Details | I do not know? |
In the attic, above wooden floor,
through the hallway of psychotic, locks upon my door,
near the broken window and glass of the sore,
hiding in the shadows,
bloodstains on the wall.

 Number nine,
house at the end of the street,
where lights are low,
where silent never sleep.

Copyright © Miche Ulman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
We sing
Act
Die
Cry
Dance in the sky
We form societies
To read aloud
What others dare not say
From Shakespeare to Byron
Poe to Moe
We sit around smoke filled lounges
Spewing words forth
Love, hate, Hemingway’s mojitos staring in mirrors
Whiskey permeates the air
Smokey flavors absorbed into flowing ink
Towards the graves
We always gaze onward towards the graves
From the inside out, and looking up on coffin roofs
The seas of depression like waves to surf
Some might say we any maniacal and crazy
Today we welcome a new member
Mork from Ork

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Epitaph |
      
    In the dark of the meadow,
    Under a tall dogwood tree;
    Swinging to and fro
    Is where you'll find me.

    Silent; not a sound I will make.
    Still; not a breath will I take.
    Asleep; never to awake.

    In the shadow of fate I'm forever hidden.
    Where the light of day is forbidden.

    So if you care to find me;
    This is where I'll be.
    Swinging to and fro.
    Hanging from the dogwood tree...

Copyright © Micheal G. Weston | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
Alas there is no more confusion,
finally found my last conclusion.
Expect me as if Jesus will return,
from a ghost to a realm of concern.

Your dreams are portals like doors,
welcoming spirits into hasten wars.
Leaving the thoughts without trust,
keeping your fears in much disgust.

And though you sought no consequence,
deeds that confirm a wicked malevolence.
Awaiting in your nightmare of screams,
enjoy what is left amongst your dreams.

Copyright © Eternal Victor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |
Lately everything seems to be surrounded in darkness
Either I am way too close or too far away
When I stand close I perfectly see the flickering light ahead
How close it is but when I reach it.. it just disappears
I can't seem to grasp anything that's around me anymore
When I touch it, it just turns to ash... 

Seems I have lost the will to do much anything
Sometimes I find myself starring at white walls..
I forgot to think.. maybe I will forget to breath too

The image of the world in my head.. is so different from what I see... with my eyes
Is reality an allusion or is the world in my head.. 

Darkness surrounding everyone I stand close to
You see them fade in and out like a hologram
When you reach out to touch them.. they are not real
Sometimes they just.. disappear 
Then I find myself searching for what I used to know

Seems the world in my head.. is not so bright and colorful anymore
Either everyone is stuck in the past with me.. or they are moving forward..
I am watching them pass me by as I stay within the realm I am used to knowing

No matter how many times I change my appearance..
Everything stays the same... and I realize..
All the people I know.. 
In the end. .. nothing really matters...

Everything you knew..
Everything you have touched..

Everyone you have loved
Everyone you once cared for

All the lessons you learned...
what are they for?...

Is it better to be... alone..
Where there is no pain in a relationship with another..
I can no longer get close to anyone..
I find myself.. stepping further and further back
Yet I cannot stop myself... there is no rope to grab..

Which world would I rather live in.. the one i see with my eyes.. or the one in my head...

They both have become.. one of the same... covered and smeared in blood.. 
Darkness...

I have no reflection in the mirror.. and I can feel my soul slipping from within me
All I see.. is cracks.. where my soul is leaking its way out..
Yet no band-aid or super glue.. could help cover it

Hallow...

Nothing can save you now.. because you realize... the truth..
Once your world is coming to an end.. it wont matter.. 
You will not remember.. you wont be able to feel.. 

Somehow, even with this darkness and being surrounded by darkness
Having the feeling of comfort and a blind happiness

Everything is perfectly where it belongs...

Copyright © Orlin Collier | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Devouring, destroying, decaying. For your eyes only.
Inside, interiors, innermost. Then reflects on the outside.
Eaten, eager, eroding. Tap it, let it pour.
Disdain, disease, departure. 'Twas been driving you.

...reconciliation, with what is left.

...acceptance, what it offers.

...accord, to what you have become.

Peace, in the soft embrace of oblivion brought through demise.

Copyright © The First Born The First Forgotten | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Sinking in deeper,
No way to escape,
The dark and scary Reaper,
Fore told in the Book of Life.

Is this my end?
Will I ever see the light of day again?
No. My wounds, I must mend.
I must find my strength.

Stand my ground,
Face my fears.
Only then will my voice be found
I must survive.

Break the suffocating chains,
Run from the darkness.
Power will fill my veins.
I will Fight!

Fight the painful names,
The horrid memories,
The demented games 
And escape My Black Abyss.

Copyright © Jewels Chavira | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Heartbeat, listen to the sound
Of your fallen hitting the ground.
Slower, as your vessel drops
Down to my stomach, lock
My emotions away,
My empathy never to see the light of day.

Heartbeat, hear my cries, going out
To the mercy of the night, but the shout
Inside me is left unsaid.
Quiet smiling, eyes are dead.

Heartbeat, see my pain, hidden
Inside me locked and cut ridden.
Feel my hurt, that no one can see,
Stop the raging, monster inside me.

Heartbeat, watch me fall,
see the pity for the monster who caused it all.
I feel it raging at being trapped in such a husk,
An ugly, unappealing uncomfortable, thing, to be resting at dusk.

Heartbeat, ignore me please.
I am not a women to go down on here knees.
I lie with women, as women lies with man, bin
The bible, I am already condemned to sin.

Heartbeat, it is too right to feel wrong
The pained screams from my head I hear are a song.
They turn quiet, but the silence is forlorn.
The silence isn't quiet, and it foreshadows a storm.

Heartbeat, you are forever absent,
But that will be because my hear has been torn.
I figured out the puzzle though. And I hate it to my grave.
I was the raincloud. I was the storm.


Copyright © Erin Clarke | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
How queer the color of viscera
squarely foreign in my breast
To be the butcher and grim and goddess
All in one
Leaves identity succinct
Or identifies succinctness
If it has been
Then so it was always before

Therein is 'Peace'
Reposed and eyes rolling
Great, vacant saucers on vertiginous axis
She is quite the swollen beast
And on all fronts, she is terrible
If only you'll watch you may notice her growth
A malignant sort
An unwelcome appendage
I'd dash it out but I've already gone
Too pale and dogged in life to succumb
I curse her tenacity

She has a sister, I think
Or maybe a child
A child who lives down deep in my chest
A child who shrieks and tears down the walls
Perhaps she dislikes their pattern

Copyright © Chelsea Westerfield | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |
Don't stand at my grave,
An weep.
I'm not no long there.
I'm forever asleep
In a peaceful place.
You may look up,
  To the sky.
Maybe even daydream 
 Of are memories...
 I just ask this one
  Simple thing ...
Please don't cry,
Upon that stone
With my name engraved,
Cause that body is,
No longer mine...
I'm not there...
But I'm here somewhere at ease..
 Share are memories 
Tell are stories.
Cherish ever moment,
And soon enough.
ALL IN GREAT TIME
Forever by my side,
But it's not your time,
So get up and dry
Your crying eyes...
I'll be here no rush..
Together soon enough...
Don't give up...

Copyright © Chelsey D Moore | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |
(Part 3 of  Trilogy for My Father)

I took my children to the cemetery, a rare visit,
But they did not understand
---could not understand---
the reality
the finality 
of lives and dreams turned to dust,
of a childhood lying buried in those graves.
Or is it the childhood I wished for those many years?

"Where's Anddad?" my daughter asked.
"There, beneath that stone. His ashes," I said.
Ashes of a relationship as cold as this frosted grass.

"Anddad all burned up!" chortles my youngest.

"And here is Grandma," I tell him, but it's just a word.
"See the rose on the plaque? She loved roses."

I remember when the dog peed on her prized
yellows until they died. Until she cried.
I thought her tears silly at the time but not now.

"Grandma would have loved you," I inform my
bored offspring. 
Loved you like she never loved me.

I reach for the vase set in the grave marker,
but time has rusted it in place.

There will be no flowers today.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
This smell penetrates my senses;
My belongings in hand, I will wait
for the grey faced man to take me.
Solemnly walking into it;
my belongings are in plain sight.
I will wait
for the grey faced man to take me.

In this stale room;
dreary eyes proceed.
Bleak God please, not this soon,
I look through the crack
and wish to believe
that he not humiliate me.
Will he not take me?
Will he not imprison me?

Alas, he has come;
I see him through the crack.

Is my face not red with embarrassment?
Am I not ashamed?
Am I true in this guilt?

Alas, he has come;
I see him through the crack.

Will he not humiliate me?
Will he not take me?
Will he not imprison me?

He takes me now
with all too much force.
Bleak God please, not this soon.
Looking through concrete
my essence is guilt.
Solemnly walking into it;
I have ended my successes,
I will wait,
for the grey faced man now takes me.

Bleak God! I deserve all of this!
My face is red with embarrassment.
Alas, the grey faced man takes me.

Copyright © Adam Lefaivre | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
Yeah, the Angel of Death was an ugly old Toad
In a ratty black robe as He walked on the road
Where I drove a big truck full of asphalt that day
So I hollered at Him, "Get the hell out the way!"

Then he gave me a look that would stop a clock dead
And it felt like a brick had just struck my poor head
But I shivered and regained my composure at last
So I pulled the air horn, and He jumped at the blast.

Well, I laughed and I laughed 'til I thought I would choke;
I mean, who would've thought you could play such a joke
On the Man whose sole task was to make people die
And to leave loyal dogs at their gravesites to cry?

I get mad when I think of the arrogant Creep
Who does nothing but plant victims two fathoms deep.
How the hell does He know when it's our time to leave
And to snatch us away whilst our goldfish all grieve?

But as much as I rattled the grim-looking Goon
He refused to indulge me by ending too soon
The long life that was left me to do as I like
So He settled for booming, "HEY BUD, TAKE A HIKE!"

Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Why
They asked why 
I chose black tulips for his grave
The petals
unforgiving to the touch
with fragile strength
cloak a secret centre 
Their elusive lustre glimpsed for but a moment
Then quelled in this perfidious place
How earnestly they droop their sombre heads 
As lifeless stalks lie limp on burnished wood 
And they asked why 
I chose black tulips for his grave

Copyright © Kaye Locke | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |
A lonely creature content just to be,
Allured by the rooms that hide in the strange,
As one would see fit to rest with the sea—
Where time after time, we pine to exchange.
These fields that I lie in— seethe with regret,
These doors only lock from the other side,
If only the light had shone to forget—
The moon may have spurned to play with the tide.
But nevertheless, the chamber beckons,
The aether of now is wretched and frail,
Heaven and Hell will both drain the seconds—
For this shall renew my heart— either trail.
So, scatter blackbirds! And behold the door!
As nothingness splatters across the floor.

Copyright © Lxnnnie Rutledzh | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |
I sit alone and wonder why
Why don’t I have the guts to die?

There’s nothing new that can be done
There’s nothing true that can be won

I look around me as I sigh
Eyes clear, I see the great big Lie

“It was for you that Christ has died,”
is what you’re saying smug with pride

It is your pride that makes me sick,
With that you’ve made it all a trick

And if you knew your history,
You’d see you’re holy for a fee

You know it’s just yourself you serve,
You know you have a lot of nerve

Why do you lie, and to yourself?
I see you do it for your health

Until your eyes are opened wide,
You’ll never know that you have lied

But when you do, you’ll gnash your teeth
And moles will laugh from underneath

Around, around, around I go,
But I don’t move, that much I know.

My life, it’s just the same old skit,
I’m coming closer bit by bit

There is no place I’ve ever fit,
In hell, you think I’ll finally sit

I want to die, I think I can,
So how am I to do it then?

I think I’ll shoot between my lips,
I only hope my hand won’t slip

The gun I want, it’s down the hall
My brains will fly and then they’ll fall

You will be shocked, you’ll say amazed,
“I did not know she was that crazed.”

You’ll hate my guts, a suicide!
Though do you know I’ve tried and tried?

But, there’s my boy, he’s just a pup,
And I must wait til he grows up

‘Cause if I don’t he will go mad,
For he will think he was too bad

He has a right to try this life,
But is it right to hide the strife?

He is small and so has magic,
He can hide from all things tragic

Like him, I tried this too, but found
That when you’re grown, there’s none around

Now don’t be sly and try to lie,
You see yourself that I must die

Copyright © Susan McDermott | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
There is no power in death,
great enough to stop youth.
From what must be done,
souls taken one by one.

If God should stand in the way,
clear the path you will go away.
Should I contend with this power,
no choice it is the devils hour.

When the wicked rule in time,
deception reigning of crime.
There will be a stand instead,
where I gather the vengeful dead.

Amongst in Hell that we cower,
our vengeance will grow louder.
Strong enough in legions,
numbers increasing regions.

Then the wicked will fear,
what is about to come near.
No where near closer to home,
inside Hell's nightmarish tomb.

Copyright © Eternal Victor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Is there really a reason?
I've searched the only world i know
My mind, my soul
To no avail
My sorrow overcomes logic
And i am left longing
For the end
I may soon succumb
To my undesirable truth
Despite what i know
It's what i feel
That drives my self destruction
The condition of my psychological state
May very well take me
From everything

Copyright © steven starkey | Year Posted 2016