Loss Easter Poems

These Loss Easter poems are examples of Loss poems about Easter. These are the best examples of Loss Easter poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme |
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

Details | Free verse |
Sister, you left me without saying goodbye
And lived your life in a wink and a sigh
Born in the spring with a short season to give
I lost you in the fall leaving a long winter to outlive
You taught me love and held me close in my grief
I'm wishing we had never put our faith in false belief
Nothing could harm us as we sought out love
When you were gone, something I could barely speak of

I miss your presence even more today
On your birthday, this Easter Sunday
I have only to hope and pray
And wonder about the woman you would have become
Lend me your strength not to succumb

To sadness, yet whisper to me to go on and grow
So I carry you with me wherever I go
You're there in my dreams and never really apart
Now you can finally take flight and know heaven's heart
You are my April angel that will never depart


Copyright © Karen Dominick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
It's been seven years, I almost forgot-
not this day: but the distance we've climbed.
I couldn't remember my age, because it correlates
to years we've been apart.

I forgot to be apprehensive, this time it was sneaky.
It waited for the first happy holiday wishing
from some idiot to remind me.
   It was Good Friday. 
When God took your spirit home
and left me dying to know,
how to love him for his sacrifice
when he asked me to give up you?
How do I heal this death and rise with you in his arms?

I blasphemy, I know, but you loved him more
in sight of you that graceful place grows
pale in and foreign in mine eye.

Alas, I fail the test, I could not be as strong as you.

We knew it would not wait, but the parting was still to fast.
I sat in thought three days before your sleep and asked,
"In three days time my savior died, I wonder hence
what of my soul will rise with his?"

And sitting easter morning, 
  holding some idiots well wished basket,
I realised Three days passed.
  He took you home and left me lost on Friday morn,
I wailed my loss through Saturdays more,
         and Easter morning I felt your last hug, your kiss good bye.

I cursed my self for asking, if my soul would rise with his,
    because you, my love, are my soul and all ready there
there fore I am not strong enough to give this pain up 
       to honor his sacrifice and transcend, I sit still lost and wonder:

I believe and I love, but I don't know how to rise
I don't now how to live again. 
Faith crushed I don't think I can trust.
I am the shell of your grace trying once more 
to live in the love that failed me, as I failed the gift of his sacrifice.

Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2011

Details | Cowboy |
The day did not mean much to him,
That’s why he did not know—
Just how he came there Easter morn
With Tombstone down below.

There’s a tumbleweed a blowin’,
Pushed by the breath of God—
That moves across the distant range
And marks where He has trod.

The golden sun rises again
And bathes each tattered cross—
And like that day so long ago,
There is a sense of loss.

So for a time that ol’ graveyard
Has been again reborn—
As sins and sinners do repent
And they outgrow the thorn.

There’s a tumbleweed a blowin’,
Pushed by the breath of God—
That moves across the distant range
And marks where He has trod.

And so a man walks down Boot Hill,
Touched by the robe He wore—
With Easter and the truth in him—
A doubter now no more.

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2006

Details | Blank verse |
It is gone forever now, a swirling mote of dust, 
  above the hills and fields, memorial fleck of dying love, 
vanishing from tear swept sight, away from the world, 
  oh how can life continue now, how can it go on? 

In cruel desolation, such cold, numb emptiness 
  where scalpel sharp pain wields a wafer thin blade 
daily drawn, lacerating nervous tissue and nuances of emotion, 
  slow, meticulous, precise, a living thing this pain.

Silvery and honed to savour each slash and each nick 
  with the sick sadist glee of a diligent torturer; 
tears cannot be cried anymore, dried out now, Winter cold, 
  desert arid and Easter Egg hollow, a screaming skull inverted. 

Bleeding dry, bleeding dry, a pale anaemic husk; 
  eyes look but do not register the living world, 
fingers touch but do not feel the pulse of regrowth, 
  ears listen but do not hear the words to set things right.

One of the almost dead who envies the truly dead, 
  the truly dead for their interment to inanimate peace, 
for where will my love find the object to lavish itself upon, 
  who will hold me now as one who did before? 

No courage at all, only the curse of the craven to endure, 
  less than surreal, no longer human, nothing outwardly tangible 
save a mass of screaming, electrifying pain 
  howling down the empty corridors running beneath the flesh. 

The hardest of hard lessons are learned and learned so well, 
  taught as only a past master of deranged ardour can teach; 
the loss of sanctity when expelled from the mother womb 
  is the outset of the clue to life's meaning. 

From this point forth, the love object is a thing to be lost, 
  family, friends, possessions, innocence, integrity...mind, 
eventually life itself, for all is ultimately stripped away, 
  with each love object finite and thus both fabulous and terrifying to behold.

If loss be the meaning of life, vice versa, the meaning of life be loss, 
  instilling life with it's value and fragility; 
your trauma spills indistinction, uncertainty - the loss of the love object, 
  wreaking ball on my defences - and likewise my refuge from pain... 

Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005

Details | Bio |
Mother's day is approaching and the sadness in my heart is brewing. 
Tring to fight back the emotions within . 
Having to go to the grave yard to see you is tearing me up inside. 
I know that we all must pass on someday but it does not ease my mind none the less. 
I will go to your permanent home at the graveyard and shower you with my love for flowers. 
We both shared that same love. 
For if not  for you i would not be here. 
So i will continue to pay my respects to you every chance i get. 
Wheather it be Mother's day or your birthday or Easter or Christmas . 
I will be there to pay you a visit. 
I want to say Happy mother's Day to you but its not happy any more without you here. 
So i will say i love you and i Miss you and you are still in my heart and soul and there you'll stay. 
Love ya Momma

Copyright © carmella hohner | Year Posted 2005

Details | Free verse |
We welcome unexpected winter births
In this cold country: A new warmth
Delivered in our midst.

So far a-field we are, no home or hearth, 
Our lives and this somehow entwined,
His investment in future's salvation
Safe within this small skin.

Awakened in darkness, eyes straining to
See the faces of the desperate, hopeless
Strangers aching for a glimpse of promise.

Sleep now, precious gift, and do not 
Dream of tomorrow's tomorrow.  Love's labor
Will stay the bitter Easter for this 
Christmas child.

For a while.

Copyright © Sander Wolff | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |
one person understood me.
one person stopped the war in me.
to wipe away my tears in the night,
calling me sunshine, calling me blondie.
one person went so far away,
one person won't return.
another voice i cant ever hear,
another loss i couldnt afford.
because illness fought a better fight,
because of old age,
because of death.
thats why i cry tonight.
battered photographs,
stories my father told me,
they could never do you justice.
because i couldnt cry when i saw you for the last time,
thats why the tears fall harder now.
because im reminded of you when i think of things,
like blueberry pancakes and peppermints,
of easter egg hunts, and the best birthday cards.
i hate to think of when you last saw me,
when i was tainted, alienated.
and i wish that you could see me now,
how far i've come,
and help me go further.
because no ones on my team anymore.
because i dont think they understood you.
because they played the wrong song,
because they think that you still linger in this life.
i want go back.
i want to cry.

Copyright © Lisa Barton | Year Posted 2006