Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?
For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.
From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.
As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.
Copyright © Tom Valles | Year Posted 2013
When walking through a graveyard in among the many stones;
I’m told beneath the path I tread, lies rotting flesh and bone.
But I refuse to dwell upon what death and time have done:
Instead I choose to speak out loud, "To me your still someone".
Then I might introduce myself and ask him of his fate.
Were the years on earth allotted him, full of love, or seething hate?
He comes alive there in my eyes, but only he can tell;
If he found his place in Heaven, or he now resides in Hell.
At least for these few moments; he can now exist again.
Had our paths once crossed in another time; I might have
been his friend.
But I must let him rest once more, for it's time for me to go:
Back to the land of 'here and now', that he left so long ago.
This now rescinds those few moments, he became alive for me.
Not rot and bone, decayed, alone, but from his grave set free.
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
The day becomes night;
As a comrade transcend
To true world beyound.
Oh! Finally, a jolly good fellow drops the baton;
A justice of peace with unstained character,
A sacrificial giver who neglected his needs.
Death, you never cease to amase
As you drive home valiant colleagues.
Death! Hope you know?
Here a while we must be parted
For a while the tired body
Erupt in sleep.
Soul and body reunited.
Thence; death, nothing shall divide
Father, mother, child and brethren.
Nevertheless, the dead, you were great while alive
And great in death.
The pens, sleep till we meet and part no more.
WRITTEN BY EDORE PAUL OYAKHILOME
DEDICATED TO JOURNALISTS .
Copyright © EDORE PAUL OYAKHILOME | Year Posted 2013
I stare upon December's moon,
and wonder why some leave so soon.
When news hits us like shattered glass...
Can we believe what's come to pass?
When we aren't meant to understand...
Then who are we to judge God's plan?
As he sifts through the sands of time...
Was this really by design?
Will we get from here to there,
and know it when we do?
Will we greet our flesh and blood,
and those we never knew?
Remember those that mean the most,
and hear their voices ring.
Then shut your eyes...and listen close,
and you'll hear an angel sing...
Copyright © 2007
Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013
It was a dry, dusty day when I saw the wheelbarrow, with long handles made of dark wood.
The wheel is struggling as it carries its burden, but it manages the job that it should. The man pushing appears to be crying, his eyes all puffy and red. It’s time to move on, but I wait, I wait for him to reach me instead. The wheelbarrow has a dark green cover, such a sickly, metallic sweet smell underneath, such a heavy lump in my throat, “don’t lift the cover!” but regardless, I pull back it back to see.
The first thing to strike me, such a tiny hand, tiny fingers all bent into a fist, and an inch below there in my big gloved hand, the smallest most delicate wrist. Her face is held together by bright orange thread, her eyes are searching the stars. Her crown should still be there, on that beautiful head, where she lays, crumpled up inside her Dads cart. I put back the cover, swallow hard and just stand there, my head, Jesus Christ I can’t think, my pounding heart tearing itself apart inside my trained body, at this beautiful little angel in pink.
Her father, his eyes screaming toward me sobs gently, silent rage and yet deafening shock. Why can’t I bring myself to look into this man’s eyes, oh Lord, grant me some breath that I may talk. To say sorry, to ask why, to just speak in his tongue, to show him that I really care. I realise that I could never find words, I’ve no such tragedy to compare.
I walked away from the blue wheelbarrow, thinking that I could leave it behind. But every night as my daughter hugged me, that wheelbarrow crashed into my mind. Whenever she cried my stomach went tight, when she laughed those dark clouds disappeared, whenever she told me she loved me, I knew that I had nothing to fear, but yet so much. The wheelbarrow changed me forever, drank me to illness, and brought my whole life to the edge. I couldn’t switch off from that sweet smell, and I couldn’t explain that to friends.
I will never forget, such a small wrist in my hand, such beautiful soft lips kissing the sky. Such a pretty pink little dress, though stained red with blood, those clear and lifeless brown eyes. I wish that I had asked for her name, what to call that three year old victim of war, so small and so beautiful with those innocent eyes, my body aches that I can’t wish so any more.
If I could explain to people, about my demons, in one image to make them understand. I’d draw that blue wheelbarrow with the green cover on top, and that sweet delicate wrist in my hand. Two days after the wheelbarrow I became a Father and to my comfort, for the rest of my life I will know. No matter how often the wheelbarrow returns, I have my daughter, here for me to hold.
Copyright © James Clark | Year Posted 2013
Long love day's has past.
My mind felt with howling storms,
grasping to hold on to vanishing love.
Rape and abandon my weary soul
transpires, poring with instant fires.
Oh this dark secret love does thy life
Like amorous birds of pray,
Once ways, and known devoured
Your beauty no more to befound
nor shall the sound of your voice.
Love to dust, love to ashes.
Our love has now gone to a private place.
The grave yard of love.
Copyright © JAY JOHNSON | Year Posted 2008
My darling's epitaph reads
Do you hear the whippoorwill
Copyright © Mark Goodson | Year Posted 2012
I know, when I see you, how terrible you feel
I know you're fatigued and cannot stand still
I know you want to tell the whole world your despair
I know you've lost hope in ritual and prayer;
I know you have worked hard, I know you have tried
I know, how in utter despair, you've cried
I know, how polite and courteous you were
I know you liked to mingle, to share...
I know you looked upon all with the same eye
I've never seen you grieve, I've never seen you sigh...
Now, when you're shattered, I've nothing to say
We can do nothing, but quietly go away -
If I were Lord, I wouldn't bear this injustice
By shattering one's life, I wouldn't get peace,
But I'm a mere mortal, with a mind and a soul
I can't give you success, I can only console.
Copyright © SOHOM GUPTA | Year Posted 2015
Dear brother you were only 22
when the good Lord came calling for you
Water had consumed your last breath
Coroners said was a flashback from heroin and meth
I had always looked up to you
but your verbal abuse made me and the others feel blue
black hair hazel eyes man you look so like Elvis
imitating shaking your hips and pelvis
blisters and sores on your young pale face
oh boy how you had fallen from Gods grace
you had a little girl right after you died
Mom always stood by her and your girlfriend's side
first Grandpa then you Dad Mom and brother Bob
for my life now feels like I've been robbed
missed over 30 yrs of wishing you birthday greetings
now at the dinner table there is limited seating
but every year when your birthday comes and passes
I will be there to pick your grave site overgrown grasses
I wonder what you would look like today
or even if your hair would be full of grey
I have forgiven for all you had done to me
for I hold no regrets so your soul can be free
heres wishing you another birthday greeting
as I lay this card and rose at your grave site's seating
Please give Grandpa Dad Mom and brother Bob my love
for someday I will reunited with all of you above
For now I have my own little girl
for she is my own everyday world
I promise to tell her all about you
and how God will turn you into someone pure and new
Rest in peace my loving dear brother
heres another birthday wish I send in passion smothers
In Loving Memory Of
My Brother Gary
10/ 18/ 48
6 / 5 / 71
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2007
Come with me, maybe you will see
Go away and stay burrowed in your own pain
Listen to my words, maybe ive got something.to.say
Barrowed time, spend all.of it in one.day
Tomorrows my time, times running out
Your offers i rudly decline, sell it back to you
A fellow.lost within his tunes,
Tune into.the station to here the lyrics amazing
Im.about.to.rise this time
Gonna fly away from here
Places ive made to be feared
Lace up your sneakers
Walk the streets to the bump of these speakers
Who is speaking?
Words i cant hear
Leave me here to stay impure, bet youll cheer
Save me from this place, places cant be saved
Pencile marking the page, erase it so they disapear
Crave this pain, taken to my grave
Just in time, a little to late i came
Im about to die this time
A ryhme for a rhyme
Rely on these lies
Combine all these minds
Whay you get are brilliant minds
Watch your step, take two steps back
This ledge is cracked
A home empty but feeling at home
Torn apart family that never made a menze
Move slow.to your.hole, then be cleansed
Whay i said is whay i meant
Loosing my ways in my attempt
Feel the same, because ive stayed in my ways
Filled my rage, break from this invisible cage
Time has come to pay my dues
This darkness ive walked hoping the sun shines through
Look to him above, may he bless my journey
Things ive done, did for the worthy
Blind and dirty, couldnt have seen this
Vision to blurry, home bound, god carries me out
My words ive spoken
Made the most of this
Filled with hope, guess its hopless
See you around if you come back around,
Hope you dont drown, your sorrow stays inbound
Refined and defined who is me
This cant be so ill just leave
For those i love i shall always bleed,
Just stick.to the course and follow your dreams.
Copyright © Danny Mcsweeney | Year Posted 2017
Either set it free
Or watch it bleed
Not every story has happy ending
But it's better then to know that it was a pretending
Either turn to a chapter
Or watch it capture
Love is said that it's beautiful
But when you lose it it all turns into a funereal
Then your worst enemy
Although love played it friendly
It can be a tragic
But it can be a bad habit
When you lose it
Love can be surround you
But then you find yourself trying to drown you
Copyright © D.E.T Sol | Year Posted 2016
The passing years, with gloomy tread,
concrete shod and dense as lead,
weigh on my downcast heart and mind,
abandon dreams and hopes behind.
At the resting place where you reside
I think of every tear cried,
I move the soil and flowers alone,
caress the surface of the stone.
I grieve each moment of each year
for all the times that never were;
and time we had is now a ghost;
I know not which I miss the most.
I clearly see your face and say:
"My child, it seems like yesterday
that you and I shared love divine
and I was yours and you were mine."
And bow my head and start to cry,
and weep, forever asking "Why?"
yet questions of this nature fail,
no answers wrought, to no avail.
I love you, miss you, pray to give
my very soul that you should live;
but nothing comes to help me, save
the tending to of Jordan's grave...
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
I do not know?
Strike absent sin
Upon the grave
The mind trapped within
The coffin of brave
You say you’re so self aware
Make sure we know
You say you don’t care
But we know
Running a lie
Until the end of your days
Selling soul ‘til you die
You still think you will stay
Behind eyes you pray
You won’t lose
Dancing in dust
Living in wealth
Living in rust
Copyright © Ian Petch | Year Posted 2006