Writing Death Poems

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Details | Epic |

      Before my flowing, poetic pen is hushed in Quietus,
And I have reached my journey's end with folded hands;
            Departed into my dreamless sleep beneath violets,
Let me write one everlasting, eternal, immortal verse;
                  Of the ravaged garden of my life.

      I want to hear a bird song when I quietly glide away,
With a sigh, I will lay my pale form down peacefully;
            I have willed my Keepsakes and my musing poems,
The Angel of death, will take my hand into another realm;
                  And the drums of time will cease.

      Oh, it has been a life full of happiness entwined with sad,
I have travelled many different roads to get to Tranquillity;
           The chapters of my life are full of the dead and undead,
Memories of childhood, family, friends and pets I loved;
                  The scars of life stab my soul.

      I do not fear death and I am ready to go through the gate,
But I will miss nature, the woods and the waters moving;
            And as I walk the silent passage alone to my eternal night,
Think of me as being set free and soaring high up above;
                  I lived a life weather-stained with tears.

      Leaving life is something we all must do; it is written,
I was held by a thread in this earthly realm until that last gasp;
            Now, all I know is the peacefulness of a leafy tree above,
Drifting blue clouds and rain falling gently on my resting place;
                  I was a shadow on the wall of time.

      Do not weep over my eternal grave heartbroken my dears,
I have followed the beautiful Angels footsteps to heaven;
           My poetry is timeless, ageless, and will always remain,
I have shed this earth bound life and I am a butterfly set free;
                  I drank from the deep blue cup of life.

      So come, dear hearts and plant some pretty flowers in Spring,
I am at last united with all my beloved who have gone before;
             Touch my name and remember me for my beauty,
And although my life was but a whisper, I loved every moment;
                  Now, I exist in another realm.

____________________
August 26, 2015

Epic


Submitted to the Premiere Contest Number Five
Sponsor, A Skat

Tenth Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015




Details | Haiku |
Now my tendrilled soul,
Has found its pergola-- Christ--
To wind its way up....

Copyright © EMMANUEL SAMSON | Year Posted 2007

Details | Verse |


I am a poet and writer of words,
You know me through my sad poems;
But there is more to me more to this girl,
I found writing at a very young age.

    It is my life,
    This poetry,
    My safe harbour,
        Sorrow in words.

I work in a nursing home for old folks,
This job is emotional it breaks my heart;
I do not want to love but I do love,
And when death comes I am broken again.

    They are sweet,
    Well some are cross,
    There are stories,
        In wrinkled hands.

I met death in childhood and we are friends,
Sorrow has walked hand in hand each sad step;
Death has taken everyone, even baby,
Husband, sister, mother, father, grandma.

    In stone are names,
    And I grieve them,
    I write this pain,
        In sad poetry.

But there is happiness in friends for life,
We shop and dine, laugh and oh gosh we talk;  
I find tranquility in sweet meditation,
The unconditional love of a sweet cat.

    In soft music,
    The birds in flight,
    In the silence,
        And I write, write.


_________________________
April 9, 2015


Verse (unrhymed)


For the contest, Bio Of A Poet, sponsor, Tammy Reams

First Place
     


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015




Details | Rhyme |
Sometimes my muse does holiday
far, far away from me
where it goes I do not know
it just chooses to go away...

I thought we were friends; maybe more 
She could quell a blaze or make the flames roar 
Through each trial I watched her strength grow 
Always at my side through every downpour

But then they came so fast; storms so severe 
One after another until there were no more tears 
No sorrow no hate no love; only echos
I stood alone. Her voice I could no longer hear

I searched inward and saw every bruise
With each break and tear I stood accused
So much blood, too much damage to truly know
Which was the cause; which gave the deathblow

It was then that I saw; a fate she did not choose
She wasn't on holiday ...I had killed my muse



1/25/2018
Note: in an effort to get my mind moving 
dear Edward McCall sent me a verse and
said get to it. He was a great help.
Thank you Sir Edward  :)

Copyright © Shadow of the Past | Year Posted 2018

Details | Free verse |
It was “Death” you drew.
You rolled that slip of paper
between your fingers 
thin as onionskin, 
and dropped it in your pocket.
Pastel lady, 

did you wish to spare 
us? You fluttered fingers 
over the basket, and drew out 
“Patio Party,” 
a subject we must address 
before we meet again.

How many great poems 
have been penned on Death? 
How many on a
Patio Party?

Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2005

Details | Rhyme |
From time to time I wonder if
It’s truly worth the ride
To live this life I’ve been given
Or trade it for one goodbye…

What good are all these memories, 
Wishful thoughts and dreams 
When the longer I crawl the farther I fall
From blue skies to cold, dark seas?

When they say we should be expanding
Outward towards the stars,
Connecting like particles and molecules 
Near and far.  

And yet here I stand a ‘waiting
The rain to wash me clean
Wondering when the sky is clear 
Will my existence be worth anything?

Does it matter that I’ve loved 
And lost, the battles I have waged 
From childhood tears to present fears
Of a cold, dark, muddy grave?

Will anyone remember 
A hundred years from now
Or even read these words composed
As if they matter anyhow? 

I suspect not a speck of dust or grain 
Of sand will anyone care 
That I lived, breathed, walked, talked, laughed, cryed 
And dared.

To climb the peak of Mount Impossible  
And swim the Seas of Sad Goodbyes;
To race the winds of wishful dreams
And time while flying bye.  

What will become of my travels around  
This tiny blue ball in space
And everyone I’ve ever known – 
Every sad and smiling face? 

And who’ll recite this poem once more 
And wonder, “Who was he?” 
When I’ve turned to dust as we all must 
Return back to the sea.       

Of mother earth and universe 
Womb of One and All
While I wonder sometimes who will find
I existed once and for all.     

Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Romanticism |
I am the Blue Poet.
The uneasy man.
Who longs to be loved,
or just to have a friend.

My heart whisphers a low melody
on a faint, cool evening
thinking of her.
Once in my arms,
laying on my bed of roses.
Now she is gone.
I cannot think anymore!
It is hard, to love again,
When all your love has been taken away.
... I am the Blue Poet.

I am the Blue Poet,
That walks the bluish, dawn and dew covered streets
in the the October evenings and nights.
But I tell you, I wasn't always so blue.
No! I was once alive... happy... romantic,
... till Love went away!

Now I sit in the wayward poetry clubs,
drinking club soda and snapping my fingures
to a finished performance on a poem about love.
Written by a soft, spoken seventeen year old girl.

Soon, it is my turn to give my poem a read.
I stand on a lone stage, with a spotlight drownding me in blindness.
I face the faces, who look at me and smile.
A clap, and a cough, bring my head up.
I look out upon the sitting crowd.
To see that one face
that speaks to me,
without the movement of the mouth.
The face never showed though, and my head fell back down.

I start to read.
A vase of emotions kill me and swallow me up.
I try to hold back tears, but no more could I halter.
I finished, with a salty tear, rolling down my rough and oiled cheek.
I leave the crowd at ovation
and leave the women, all with tears in their eyes.

I come down from the stage, leaving the bright spotlight.
I shake hands, give hugs,
and collect my pay, and have another round of club soda.
Then, I go down the midnight alleyways of sprinkled city streets
finding myself a cozy room.

I think of her for a moment,
then off to sleep.
I dream of one time laughs, and hugs and kisses.
I cry in my sleep,
...For I am the Blue Poet.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

In my thoughts poetic words are swirling,    I found writing at an early age,
Tumbling and whirling, like caged birds;         Depth of spirit and creativity are mine;
Trapped and reckless to be set free,       Memories are free flowing in my words,
I must find paper and pen and release;     Deep inspired poetry releases the past;
The fluttering, my muse is screaming,    I drift and float, soul searching my inner life,
In my head, or is that me?                    Meaningful words pour out the sorrow.
I start to write and sad poems come,        I let go of the past, I let the pain drift,
Creeping, word bleeding on paper;       I lay each sorrowful and weeping word bare;
Oh do all poets struggle or just me?   Bleeding upon a white page of paper,
And as I pen my verse, I weep.             My poems are full of tears and memories.
The writing done, I sigh a tear,                I have laid open this heart for all to see,
My muse has set me free;               The story of my life can be found easily;
Memories are all I have,                Photographs that float in my dreamy thoughts,
And the rain is falling down.                     The tomb is wet, so dark, so cold.
The pages of my life fluttering,          Words deep engraved for all eternity,
Past the ornate gate;                 The wind takes my long hair and trees tremble;
Voices and murmurs calling me,     Past the ornate gate and winding road,
I kiss dead lips and caress cold hands.      I so often stand in this place of sorrow.

________________________________
September 26, 2015

Free Verse

Inspired by the poem Crack like fissures written by Richard Lamoureux


In my poem, I combined parts of four poems with a similar theme.

Winds of Time, August 2014
For All Eternity, April 2015
Soulfulness, April 2015
Like Caged Birds, July 2015

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |
Up into the sky 
he soared 
like an Angel

With us 
down here-- 
at Soupland, watching him as he soared 
like an Angel;

So gentle… 
and brave 
he was,
a strong love he had, sharing it till the end, yet

His breath
could not resist the resounding call 
of Heaven 
and he left, 

Leaving us his poetry, for 
when great storms come in, his laughter 
will dry our tears like rain.


--

for Tom Bell, a great poet who taught us all-- 
to laugh and to smile…to learn… and to give.    

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2008

Details | Blank verse |
Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.

Copyright © Nick Hertzog | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |
Songs Of Power 

(Lost As Blackness Invades)

Where the agony invades life seems in blurs,
And the long nights eat the fruited trees,
And later, night dreams stalk barking curs
Where blue-red tides overcome futile pleas.

Across infinite space--thoughts dreaded
And blood-lust seeking new infesting homes,
Deeper into darkness the Soul is headed
against its will- the mind wickedly roams.

Bright roses once bloomed in this castle dark,
Violets arose to soon die in vanished splendor
Where shadow raced to eat resting meadowlark,
Bound and chained heart goes with its sender.

Sorrow alights- in its ebony spreading cloak,
as storms slash across the turbulent seas,
Speared in the chest and rotting shaft broke
cried for and nothing found to appease.

No relief! Falling stars batter forsaken mind,
fiery reds cover vanishing jungles greens
Life in its mysteries, finds room to be unkind
as purple hearts- grace such melancholy scenes!

Death of innocence, once dark strain all too real
jungles evergreen, turn to exploding red,
Where death invades, soldiers always ready to kill,
war and its eternal darkness, await the dead.

While man thus cursed, seeks illusionary gains!
Darkness cast forth from Souls feeling no pains!

11-08-2015

For contest- Songs Of Power
Song chosen- 
Paint It Black - Rolling Stones:

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Couplet |
  In God's own ink
with bloody hands,
he writes his life away.
        Incarcerated.....
   yet he's free
to have his final say.
        Dark and dank,
his tiny cell
         becomes a living tome,
to tell a tale of villainy,
      of madness 
    and of home.

 His maiden fair
     returned his love
with evil and deceit.
    She led him here into a trap
his enemy to meet.

    At length 
she saved him 
     from an end
a death both quick and sure.
She left him in this dungeon dark
forever to endure
the memory 
     of her false heart
and one who stole it all.

He tells it all right from the start
      it flows upon the wall,
and when his bright red ink runs dry
    the angels come to read.
He falls upon the stones to die
    with no words left to bleed.

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse |
How many have ever heard the song "Somewhere in Time?"
       It's a song with only music and with no words or rhyme.
 "Fantasie Impromtu" is another one written by Chopin?  
       Also a song of rare beauty without words thrown in.
These two songs along with "Moonlight Sonata" were played by my son.
       He's an acomplished pianist who can play most any run.
He played these songs at my funeral last week.
       Don't be shocked all you people keep on sitting in your seat.
You Poetry Soup poets who are sitting there reading this write.
       Yes you!  Don't turn around and look behind you or look to the right!
Do you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now?
       Well! It's because of me! I'm hovering over you somehow!
No don't look!  You won't see me. 
       My spirit is floating above your right shoulder freely.
I'm watching you read your poems.  Did you get some good comments today?
       Yes I saw where you wrote that beautiful verse, and that nice display!
You deserve that nice comment.  How about your soupmail?  Are there very many?
       Did someone tell you a secret?  Remember!  I won't tell and I know a plenty!
I've been watching you on Poetry Soup for hours writing your poems that rhyme.
       You're writing about love and mysteries, about cat tails, building spaceships and rhyme 
        time!
You're writing of happy new year, time warps, romantic longings and betrayals and how do 
        you do it,
       One of you says your poems are like children to you, one writes of beautiful women 
        with wit
And one of you even wrote of hanging berries!  And all of these wonderful poems I've read.
        I have hovered over many of you and you never even knew I was dead,  
Such wonderful talented writers we have on Poetry Soup. 
       Everyone writes his own style that belongs to this group.
So take heed when you sit down to write a new rhyme.
       And know that someone's watching you write all this time.
And when you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now.
       Well!  It's because of me!  I'm hovering over you somehow!

Copyright © Marty Owens | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |
Writing with a pin,
I know it is wrong.
Writing with a pin,
Blood is being drawn.

Writing with a pin,
My skin's burning and searing.
Writing with a pin,
It's wrong, but it has a satisfying feeling.

Copyright © BRITTANY MOON | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |
I know I may be kidding myself,
many see it as absurd.
But just because they think that way...
does it kill the written word?
Should I not write in rhyme,
Because it's no longer formal?
When did expression through the art of words,
become so strict and normal?
If the melody has died,
and the ancient bards subside...
then I shall mourn the loss of beauty,
that has receded into the tide.

Copyright © Amy Greaves | Year Posted 2011

Details | Verse |
Spinning Webs And Sad Gray

Spinning webs hold my life in place
gems waiting from flames yet to be lit
Why would set sail to another shore?
When this one, rocks as it slowly moans
Morn's new frost never touches my toes
nor dawn's beaming rays fail to inspire

Car wreck yesterday by our home
roadside two bodies, lifeless there lay
I wondered will school be different Monday?
Now that death has touched my soul

Last year father died, and my tears I withheld
not manly to show such a display
Lessons learned at home and at life
Death, death has the final say!

R.J. Lindley
1970
Old Note. Winter's bitter cold tells me I am still alive..

New Note - First poem in my oldest surviving private journal.
I thought today may be a good day to post it , as it was written in June, one year after my father's death in 1969..

Third Note-  Funny how it doesn't even rhyme...

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

Details | Salaam |

Jab Meri Bechaini Mit Jayegi
Jab Mere Dilko Sukoon Mil Jayega
Yeh Khaalipan Mit Jayega

Do Pal Ki Chandni Ke Liye
Aj Bhi Zinda Hoon Main
Meri Khaamoshi Ke Ageh Aasmaan Bhi Khatam Ho Jayega

Kehne Ke Liye Toh Roz Marta Hoon Main
Thoda Aur Marne Ke Liye
Yeh Deewana Kal Phir Ayega

Copyright © shadab shaikh | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Bio |
It was February 2002 (WWF Raw, WWF SmackDown!, and WWF No Way Out), that Jessica McCord and her then-husband, Jeff, killed Alan Bates and his new wife, Terra. Before their deaths, Alan "A.B." was in a custody battle against his ex-wife to have determined who'll have gotten full custody of their two daughters (born in 1990 and '92). The custody hearing might have taken place in November 2001 (WWF Raw, WWF SmackDown!, WWF Rebellion, and WWF Survivor Series), but not until December 2001 (WWF Raw, WWF SmackDown!, and WWF Vengeance), when the lady had spent that time in jail for skipping custody hearings more than twice. It seems that Jessica had disapproved of both of her daughters having the late Terra for their step-mother. the only two things that describes Jessica McCord are selfish and a coward. She selfishly pulled both of her daughters out of their respective schools, she hid them away so that her late ex-husband couldn't gain full access to them, and/or whatever. So, the fact that Jessica McCord had used her own daughters as a pair of pawns as if she's been playing a game of chess had made the late Mr. Bates, the attorneys, and Birmingham Police officers of Birmingham, Alabama, very sick. The lady, Jessica, was afraid that the judge would grant Alan and his new wife, Terra, full custody of the girls, so she and Jeff killed them; thereby dumping both of their bodies in a burned-down car outside Atlanta, Georgia (aka Hotlanta, aka Dirty South, and aka ATL). Jessica McCord may have tried to label her late ex-husband as a bad guy, but no one bought it, not even her in-laws, the prosecutors, and the judge. She knew that she and her husband were going to get caught; they knew it. And where is Jessica McCord as of February 2003 (WWE Raw, WWE SmackDown!, and WWE No Way Out/World Wrestling Entertainment's first 'No Way Out' pay-per-view event, ever)? She's in prison, along with her then-loser husband, Jeff McCord, serving a life sentence in prison with no possibility of parole. Ms. McCord should've gotten the death penalty, but that's the way the law works. And as far as the Bates family, the entire community of Birmingham, and the two daughters are concerned, prison is exactly where they belong. Well, it looks like the ghosts of Alan and Terra Bates will be haunting the two-then McCords for life. Let's hope that the Bates sisters don't suffer the same fate their father and step-mother did. And if I see the Bates sisters in person, there's just no telling.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011

Details | Elegy |
"Daddy" the way I call my father
The man who loves my mother
The man who gave life to me
And the man who will risks his life to protect his family.

He's not showy about his feelings
But I know he loves us unconditionally
He gets angry when his siblings were hurt
And he makes us laugh the way he dances and tells us jokes

Now..he left us already
His silly jokes,crazy dance moves now were gone
Coz he went to a far away land
In a place where  hurt and sorrow has no place in man

I miss my daddy a lot
His voice,
His jokes,
His crazy dance moves
And his being father to us
I miss everything about him!

I know God has a plan
And I give everything into His merciful hand
Pls.take care ofmy daddy in heaven
Coz someday we'll see him again
And continue the sing and dance with him again...

Copyright © Jerica Sanchez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Frantic searching for my sanity as the odor of explosives and burning flesh assault my soul.  Longing for the boredom of stuffy barracks my eyes my friends constantly search for your return I hide all but fear.

We know the death of friends but in our life embrace we conceal all that is deferred for recollection in our final days.  For now bravado, lots of scotch, and a Thai stick sets the pattern for our only security.

Lost are the joys of spirit we envisioned as children; gone is the clarity and respect for lives easily expended in the most secret of a nation’s honor, generalities served in a bitter beer.

I know you friend, your dreams your plans you say them softly in your sleep.  Our  prayers to will keep you safe.

We dare to plan in-country encouraged by being too short not to let our minds drift at the possibilities.  

We hope that God is truly on our side and confess only in our eyes the sins we speak to no one.

The blood of those we do not know anoints the heads of those we do and love for now, until our final taps brings us home.  

With this kiss of honor I embrace what remains of you my friend and your courage.  I curse your departure and salute the honor of our time together.

Copyright © Violetta Antonia Sorcini | Year Posted 2016

Details | Dramatic monologue |
A Dark Fairytale

As I was chained, I breathe in.
As I was burned, I breathe out.
As I was cut, I looked down.
As I was broken, I looked up.
As I was destroyed, I closed away.
I had killed myself damaging beyond any repair.
To keep myself closed I chain, cut, burned, and destroyed what was within me, isolation my fear around me. But suddenly as I had nearly been kindled to a shivering light, something braver and stronger then I appeared and took me and held me and once again I was fixed and this is what happened; 
Suddenly I breathed in as I was unchained.
Suddenly I breathed out as my burns disappeared.
Suddenly I looked up as my broken body mended.
Suddenly I looked down as my cuts faded.
Suddenly I was opened up and my destruction was nothing more then a dream
As my knight, you entered that shadow and held me now I grow with a unprofaned radiance.
I was held once more, and my soul emerged.
I was spoken to once more, and my mind went blank.
I was kissed and my body reacted without a second hesitation.
And before I could run away once more, I was trapped.
Unlike my prison I lived in a fairytale, in were I don’t want to live this place anytime soon. What happened then and what happening now are so fair apart it hilarious.
 I’ve forgiven the past, not forgotten it. Prove never to make the same mistakes or else be locked back inside that tower I call my mind. 
Let me in brave knight, into your mysterious ways.
Let me in brave knight let me have secret passages into that world of yours. 
Let me in brave knight so I can truly capture you. 
I was as cold as ice even more then winters hail, but you with a ridged past that icier then I could have imagined is as warm as the summer sun and sweet like spring air.
For saving me, for taking my heart, for releasing me, I’ll become everything you want and then more, I’ll stand by your side and hold you like you held me and I shall be everything you need.
My sweet Knight.






Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2013

Details | Romanticism |
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.

Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.

Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.

Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.

What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.

My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.

Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.

-10/6/2013-

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Ones who wage,
Ones who rage,
Ones who take,
Ones who pay,
Ones who craze,
Ones who rave,
Ones who crave…

Ones who fear,
Ones who breathe,
Ones who give,
Ones who need,
Ones who will,
Ones who weave…

Ones who plead,
Ones who beg,
Ones who beseech,
Ones who entreat,
Ones who appeal,
Ones who volunteer,
Ones who disappear…

The ones who follow,
The ones that don’t know about tomorrow,
The ones who don’t deserve the morrow…

The ones who sleep,
The ones who cry,
The ones who live,
The ones who die…

The ones who proclaim,
Those who say they create,
The ones who ache,
The ones who don’t wait,
The ones who hesitate,
The ones who don’t concentrate,
The ones who fornicate,
The ones who procrastinate…

Those who fall in temptation,
Those who get in frustration,
Those who sometimes feel desperation,
Those who keep going without caution,
Those in motion,
Those in tension,
Those losing notion,
Those being poisoned,
Those getting in distortion,
Those following the broken diction,
Those dying like the billions,
Those without unction,
Those washed in the oceans…

I might seem cold,
But it is you who is bold.
I might not express,
But it is you who doesn’t let me progress.
I might not seem like I seek,
But it is you who doesn’t know me…
I might seem like I need,
But it is you who might always be begging on your knees.
I might seem dull,
But it is the one that is fool.
I might not be alight,
But it is you who isn’t truly alive…

I will remain neutral,
I will remain silver,
I will remain gray,
I feel darkness,
I feel light,
I will remain hallowed…,
After all, it is you who deserves no life…

I am a metal hawk,
I am a mountain goat,
I am a silver bird,
I am a gray wolf,
I am a white tiger,
I am a mystic rose…,
I am I…

I’m alive,
And I survive,
You are here,
However, it is you who deserves no life…

Being human does not imply that you have humanity…

Copyright © Ruben Alejandro Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Oh well here I go again, 
wishin for a dream that I could be wrapped in, 
entrapped in, 
torn away from addiction, 
destroy the tele… 
vision they strive to force upon you, 
its all false but you know I’m true. 
They will not protect you when you scream your broken cries, 
they are merely evil faces of masked men behind illuminati eyes 
with which they hypnotize, 
brainwash you with their lies. 
I've got those deep thoughts pouring in, 
all the roads I've traveled down
conditions I have traveled in 
here in my pretty town, 
the 910 deserves a crown. 
East Coast I'm representing, 
I promise you I am not venting. 
High on that purple haze, 
And still haven't slept for days, 
excuse these bloodshot eyes
with a krispy kreme glaze, 
some will try to say its just a silly phase...
My mind is so graphic, 
use words like special tactics, 
unmistakable like D'Jango, 
or a peace signs' angle, 
destroy the crave for war and struggle, 
no need to explain all the trouble, 
with places burstin’ into rubble, 
Rebel! Rebel! We’ll show ‘em hell! 
I’ll be fightin’ when I'm dead, 
kick and scream till my blood is shed, 
let authorities know the message will be spread! 
Put on a show with a little bit of passion 
or the bad things will continue to happen.
Get the love through your head, 
all this hatred should be dead, 
what I'm saying must be said, 
before the gauge goes into red. 
With vocabulary this brilliant makes a female more vigilant, 
like brothers boston what I speak 
my words alone will make you weak, make you faint, 
Like blood spilled by hands of a vigilante saint, 
trust me lifes too short,
you dont have the time my young cohort, 
wait until your words make an enemy
cause their threatened by the uncertainty 
that you will make it this far 
make a point unlike this war
next thing you know you see ‘em sweat
words fresh like paint drippin with purpose, 
makin ‘em wet.  
I finger paint a master piece with a just simple rhyme, 
just don't pull your piece on me just let me speak, my mind, 
while I unwind, rewind all this blasphemy, 
continential catastrophe, 
I may have to beg and plead so that my boys can rest in peace 
sorry for the interruption, 
don’t blame me for the corruption, 
for now I'll put my words at ease, 
hope you told someone you loved them today and that it wasn't a white lie, 
just a tease.

04.27.2013

Copyright © Andrea Rose | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue |

As I draw my eyes I think about what I have seen, what I have witnessed, what I have turned my eyes away from with but a blind stare, and all those special moments I missed that done passed and gone, but above all I think about what I have yet to see when I die.
 As I draw my face and hair I think about I think about how the "Great One Above" has made me what color skin that I am and how he has shaped my attitude into what my life has become and what society and environment I was placed and grew up in around which culture or cultures I have become or unknowingly integrated.
 As I draw my ears I think about what I have heard, what I am still hearing and what I choose not to hear among the many noises surrounded within ones hearing, but above all I think about what death has sounded like not in just one but many different loud but yet still very silent noises around one.
 As I draw my body I think about what my body has endured, what it has failed to do so many times but also what it has finally conquered and still yet to conquer in a world of complete competition with sports so violent and unforgiving for winning does not forgive losers in a world striving to be winners.
 As I draw my hands I think about how they have created so much but also trying not to think about how much they too have destroyed. I think about how I can easily create bad more than the good like an addiction that cannot be stopped among an addicted world full of fiends waiting to get their fix….but above all as I draw these words of life I think about how the heck I am still here today writing about it…..how I am still here enduring it and how I am still here even to share it…Thank You “Great One Above”…..

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Concrete |
Im look happy on the outs but Im sad deep inside. 
I know none of ya'll mother ****ers gonna see my silent hidden cries. 
Death's right around the corner so if I die I die with honor not pride. 
In this life of mine everyday is a do or ****ing die. 
Here in the land of OZ you face the truth even if it's a ****ing lie. 
Here you either do or you don't, ain't no such thing as giving it a try. 
Here fantasy ain't *****once the truth hits you finally realize. 
I was once a young lost soul trying to fit in and be just another one of the "guys".
 Smoking weed getting drunk feeling so dam low while getting so dam high. 
Flying so dam low at the same time walking so dam high Im fly. 
I know not one person here can understand or know my hidden cries. 
The only one who can truly understand me is the one who I pray to in the sky. 
I know I look happy but I feel like *****from side to side, 
I need to better understand my own silent cries......

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
Ah, the september weather is here,
the trees turn firery red and orange,
and the leaves gently fall to the surface.

Fall is here,
and the grass turns from green to yellow,
the souls of many change their ways.

From going on beaches in sun
to walking on wet streets,
with jackets on.

September weather is here,
too most it is depressing to see,
such change in the world.

But I love it.
The girlfriends and boyfriends go away,
and that makes me happy.
Then I go apple picking.

I pick red apples,
from low, hanging apple trees.
and I eat one, while walking down the trail.

Fall is here,
the time of death,
the last of sunshine.

I don't argue,
I love fall,
it is so cosy and it gives me hope.

Hope that a day will come again,
when the sun pops its head out
and the warmth returns.

September weather is the best,
when summer is gone, but not quite,
and the cool breeze sweaps through your open windowpane.

I love fall,
it gives me hope,
that with death comes life.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue |
Hi. If you are reading this letter, then i know my wife has chosen you. This is to serve as my last writing directed to you after my death. Please note she has never read this letter. I would like to welcome you and thank you for choosing her over all the beautiful women in the world. I hardly know you but I'm willing to trust and respect your presence in her life and that you'll bring nothing but joy. Strongly i hope you feel exactly the same as she does, after all she chose to give you this letter. No one can replace our love, but that does not mean you should build a bridge between my past life with her. Do not attempt reshuffling her heart, empathy, sensitivity or replacing what i planted in her heart. Our tree of love will continue growing. Please take good care of her heart as it’s not billable. 

Her tears of joy are always ready to explode. Every night has been a page in our love book. So please do not change the theme as you will be forced to adjust the ending. I so much wanted to continue writing our book but i had to off ramp my journey with her as the cancer was forcefully blocking my way. She doesn't know that. My fingerprints on her smiles never got damaged and the footsteps i wrote on her body never sounded fictional. If you look at the corner of her lips she owns no dark secrets. She gets rewarded for every risk she puts her family in. Her wheelchair has never had a flat tire, but if it does please contact bible services on psalm they fix everything. 

What i noticed is that she loved checking up the Christianity call centres within the bible phone book. The numbers will never change, only agents do so keep encouraging her to make calls. She used to randomly open the book and choose a page with her eyes closed. Even though she sometimes looked lost she always found the right pages. I hope it’s not too much to ask, but please allow her to visit on our birthday and that's every three days before the New Year. That is the only time i could turn to the other side on my grave. Plus the funeral cover promised us non of its pillows in my coffin. Do not make yes an answer to every call made by my parents. We owe them nothing, infect i haven’t spoken to them in ten years. 

With all that said she will blow your mind if you let her.

Thank you

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Hand in hand we walked 
together into Reception
Nothing could stop us and 
together we were three
James and I LARP-ed Doctor 
Who for fun
We talked and laughed for 
hours
Because no stress was in our 
way
Anna and I smiled and laughed
And jumped on our bouncy 
castle
With nothing dividing us.

Side by side we walked 
together into Year 6
Some stranger stopped them to 
talk and broken we were alone
James and I talked about 
Doctor Who for fun
And we talked and kissed for 
hours
But misunderstanding broke us 
up
Anna and I still smiled and 
laughed
And joked about our bouncy 
castle
But secondary school was going 
to divide us.

With no one there I walked 
alone into Year 7
And a stranger became my 
friend and together we were 
two
Violet and I both loved Doctor 
Who
And James found Dominic
So James and I talked for mere 
minutes
And school started pulling us 
apart
Anna and I still laughed and 
smiled
Still promising to be friends 
Never letting it divide us

Suffocating and drowning I 
walked into Year 9
Hating how I was and feeling 
alone
Katie and Chloe were so pretty
And Violet so funny and all 
were better than me
James and I hardly talked or 
saw each other
But we still made the most of 
our friendship
As we were like family, stress 
couldn’t break us apart
Anna and I laughed but I did 
not smile genuinely
Because the bouncy castle was 
long gone
And our schools were beginning 
to divide us

Dead yet breathing I stand 
right now
And I hate who am I and every 
single detail
Fights broke us up and pulled 
us apart
So I can feel Katie, Violet and 
Chloe
Falling further out my reach
James moved house to a place 
unknown
And blamed me for never 
talking to him
But really it was because of my 
ex who was a girl
It was for something beyond 
my control
Anna and I were still friends; 
only by a thread
As she did not know about me
And how school broke me apart

So this is me now; I’m all alone
No longer the smiling young girl 
of reception
The only person talking to me 
is me
And the voice in side my head
You see; they all left me and 
always will
So now the only call I answer
Is that of my blades
And the darkness
That is constantly
Pulling me
Down

Copyright © Teenage Frustrations | Year Posted 2013