Best Bereaved Poems
“When I Get To Heaven”
As I walked to her bedroom door, I paused to wipe a tear.
I had to stay strong, God would take her soon, this
child that I loved so.
Dawn was breaking as I stood at her door, frozen in
time. I gazed upon this child, hoping this moment
would never end.
As she lay there quietly, my emotions overwhelmed me,
this beautiful child of only six, she didn’t understand life, death, Heaven. eternal life.
I wanted her to stay, I wanted to take her place.
I wanted to pretend nothing was wrong ….going back in my mind, to before she was sick, and remembering, wishing, hoping..and yet knowing I had to let God take her home.
As I started to walk in her room, I stopped, as I saw her tiny hands fold
in prayer.
Her voice, so soft, so quiet she began to pray.
“Jesus, when I get to Heaven, will Mommy and Daddy
be there, will they be happy to see me, and will they
hug me when I get there, will my puppy be there and
will my toys be there too, will there be music, and do I get to see Grandma and Grandpa again and oh I almost forgot to ask, will everybody love each other, thank you, Jesus, Amen”
Tears streaming down ….
I walked to her bedside, and held her close as she smiled and closed her eyes.
The ice-cold sun was hid
Behind a bank of clouds that came unbid,
Ugly freezing winds blew
Birds felt it all and flew
No place to rest, they knew.
The black cypress did their shelter forbid.
Beneath, lanes clearly showed
All tombs and snow covered the dead's abode.
Alas, their days were timed,
Their heavy hurdles climbed,
Their dirges were long chimed,
In heaven's eternity, they now rode.
Despite all I hunted,
The one tomb where peace and my love were granted.
I knew the number and lane,
Cold wind numbed not the pain,
Bereaved from my love was not a pleasant feeling
Especially when I heard the dirge bells pealing.
Saw her lovely photo,
Her sweet pale smile, and eyes were soft like a doe.
On the old tomb, I saw
A plaque, I stared in awe,
Her writing, without flaw:
That she loved me always, she had to show.
Placed 1
27 January 2023
Writing Challenge - B Word Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
It is a fallacy to imagine
I could know your pain
The depth of loss for one we love
And who's loved us
Could never be transposed.
But I do understand...
Your loss is very great
And very distressing
I offer all the sympathy..
Empathy...support...
I can summon.
I'm hear to give...
Comfort and companionship
Through these terrible, difficult days...
My thoughts and prayers are with you
As are my time and attendance
You are never alone.
Copyright 2016 Iger Rolyat All Rights Reserved
Amidst deep silence, colored black,
Souls escaped from pestilence's blight,
Death shan't find their hidden track,
In this realm of peace, they lurk.
Amor, once loved, now fast asleep,
Years passed, and her memory I keep,
A beauty, once famed, now covered in dust,
Vivid still, her colors in my heart.
Time's lake is deep, serene, and calm
Afloat like lilies, she rests with charm,
Peace and stillness surround her soul,
Serenity entangles them all.
The longing in my heart is amazed,
By her courage bold as a precipice,
While I mourn the days of my yearning,
Hers is years patiently waiting.
In the heart of silence, they reside,
Souls lay in peace side by side,
Amor's slumber, a timeless repose,
In stillness, her beauty forever glows.
midnight explodes, cheers, sings
life for the new year begins
a mother still wears black
Each year on December the first,
I remember for twelve years ago,
my mother, my wonderful mother
gave our family a terrible blow.
She passed away quietly at home,
and I made this solemn decree,
Each year on December the first,
I’d take flowers to the cemetery.
This year while at her graveside,
in midst of my own silent prayer,
I heard a wail in the distance,
and saw a man kneeling where
he held his hands to the heavens,
while he looked up into the sky,
and shouted out time after time,
“Tell me why did you have to die!”
It was obvious he was in need,
of comforting with his ordeal,
for I had not witnessed before,
the way this man seemed to feel.
So quietly I walked to his side,
where still he looked up to the sky,
and shouted out time after time,
“Tell me why did you have to die!”
On his shoulder I placed my hand,
while he cried that comment again,
I thought maybe talking might help,
to ease him through part of his pain.
I said to him “Was it your child?”
Still crying “No” he shook his head,
so I asked then “Was it your parent?”
“No, my wife’s first husband!” he said.
When I found you in bed, you had just died.
I wept; my grieving lodged inside my head;
you clearly were gone—I was horrified!
As you lay still in bed, utterly dead,
the huge shock I felt could not be denied,
as tears gave way to muffled sobs and dread.
Mother, I always had longed for your love:
you loved the one who never for you wept.
When your tired spirit had risen above,
I knew my tears were hopelessly inept;
meanwhile, we all assembled to remove
your slumbering corpse as it quietly slept.
Hours passed when we all gathered for your wake,
a solemn event that was neither good
nor sane as we all tried (for pity's sake!)
to offer our condolences if we could.
You laid there like marble—no more awake.
A victim of fate, I felt like deadwood.
The final day arrived: the ceremony
was on Sunday, which was dark and sunless;
dream-like, bizarre, and strange, all was eerie.
Distraught, I was overwhelmed and bloodless!
As they gave your last rite and obsequy,
I, too, died more than words could ever express.
I beg your forgiveness for I am not long for this world. Happenstance has led me down this path so crooked and forlorn. Misery has preceded my path and darkened my senses all but torn. Mistakes have illuminated my way though their light be a fallacy; an illusion to comfort a tortured mind, riddled with confusion and false fancy. ‘Tis only just to forgive me sisters, I am not long for this world.
An image wreaks havoc with my memory. A picture so horrendous the effects of its trauma echo through the hallways of time. The sight that for all my life I was so grateful to possess, leads me now to curse what gods may be that granted it me. For surely had I never seen the sight of him, cold and lifeless, I would have eventually endeavoured to be healed in my spirit. The fault is mine; it was never him but I that had the capacity to change. ‘Tis only right to forgive me father, I am not long for this world.
My middle name should rather have been disappointment. That is all I have ever delivered to her who brought me into the world and nurtured an infant into a lady. I call her Gaia, that is her spirit name. My existence has put lines on her face prematurely and caused her to despair time and time again. The audacity of me now to leave this earth without ever having produced for her a grandchild. The insolence of leaving only words to counter the preponderance of condolences from rejoicing enemies that shall now assail and abuse her. My soul is repentant, twas never the intent to hurt your heart dear Gaia. ; Tis only compassionate to forgive me mother, I am not long for this world.
As for the empty future that awaits me. No children to carry on the memory of me. No great achievements to render my life the content of legend. No great works to immortalise me in poem and prose. No others to mourn the passing of a life most unremarkable. Nothing but things, regrettable decisions, words left unsaid and the cold sound of silence to mark that most auspicious event. Death finds me waiting and unafraid with only the last words to pass from these lips; ‘tis only fair to forgive me self, for we are not long for this world.
“Though grief burdens one, it may lessen in time. But like an ember it keeps smoldering and from time to time, may grow into flames, burning inside”
~By Poet
Nothing remains
of a life lived together
in a world, once so full of beauty
Nothing remains
of those lovely evenings,
we rambled along the quiet country paths
Nothing remains of the twilight dusks
we listened to the invisible choir
singing for us in the descending dark
Nothing remains
of the whirlwind of love
when we rocked in gyrating motion
Nothing remains
of those blissful nights
we slept in each other’s warm embrace
Nothing remains
of the sweat we shed
to make a nest n’ feed our fledglings
Nothing remains
of the time tarried in anticipation
of our birdies returning to our nest
Nothing remains
of the times we dreamt
of magic kingdoms beyond our hills
Nothing remains
when existence was but a lovely dream
and from joy to joy uninterrupted we flew
Nothing remains
after the lid of the coffin shut
and my Love wheeled on a hearse!
How quickly life slid off its track
to immeasurable distances n’ spaces
landing me in an abyssal pit
How a winter of benumbing snow
has nudged its way
into every crack and cranny of my life
Now, I live a phantom under this roof
with awful memories barging in
like the marauding thieves!
How I search in vain
for those footprints, you have left
in the weed grown paths of my life
How I long to wash away
my grief in a surge of tears
trickling down my eyes
But Alas!
I cannot cry
My eyes are dry!
Jan.29.2023
~ Placed First~
Writing Challenge- B-Word Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe. Jandy Nelson
What I scribe assists and soothes the pain.
Conceal my thoughts and jam in my silence.
A sense of agony overwhelms you to complain.
Hardships from upshots or few guidance.
And the sorrow of collapse wager plain.
I cannot let wend my frozen dreams.
It filled my ego with scars from the past.
steadily nagging me, or so it seems.
It filled the vacuum with a mournful cast.
Delight fades away as smoke streams.
Spirits forth from might speak as a rancor.
Yet, nothing helped ease my sadness.
I suck in poison and crush out the clanger.
sick with grief, bearing with his madness.
Allow for the capture of whacks in anger.
The pause is broken, and the repeat is endless.
bleeding wounds, bringing eternal death.
Leave juicy tears of joy alone and friendless.
If you breathe in thickly, gasp your last breath.
My glimpse, soiled by each blink, was restless.
I retain moving forward and looking back.
Smile and laugh through the loneliness.
Lay my spirit on the soil, on a one-way track.
Write the facts again, hope for the wilderness.
Colors explode in a somber, limitless crack.
Return me to the realm betwixt eternal life.
Deny the facts that bind me afar of sight.
At this point, my lifeless face is blind to strife.
Thumps cry; all is gone; admit it; adopt flight.
Life's seed was lost at sea as a clasping knife.
Written: January 28, 2023
Writing Challenge - B Word Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theres a gaping hole
A part of me is missing
Blood is gushing out of my chest
For all these years I've known you
I took you for granted
Never showing you how much you
Truly meant to me but now its too late
Then I began to recap
All of those times we spent together
Reminiscing on all the lessons
you taught me,
Your doctrines resonate inside me
As my memories epitomized my sorrow
Yet I knew everything was gonna be okay
Even now
I'm in a bewildered state thinking
How could you be dead
How could it end this way
My soul is in complete dismay
But now I know its best this way
and its just the end of your role
in my life's great play
I will never shed a tear
you've brought nothing but joy
to my life
I may love you, once love is all I have;
someday, with tears I'll wash away your grave:
till then I curse you since you died at last,
leaving me broke, alone, going nowhere fast.
Despite young Cupid, I won't bring you flowers;
or bathe you in dripping-wet, sparkling showers
of worship; or grant you the gold of chaise,
that gilts your summit-peaking thrones of maize.
Instead, I'll bring you a wreathe of barbed wires;
flame it! like a thousand nuclear pyres;
hang it upon your cruel member, like so!
And watch it burn, then cauterize, it slow.
Selfish Lover! You stole from me life's measure
of passion and unfathomable pleasure.
For that, therefore, I've the evil delight,
knowing your digit stands no more upright!
Bereft of life her eyes
Barren they stare as folks
Bring casseroles, breads, pies
Bouquets of fresh flowers
Business of world still thrives
Bright summer day so warm
Baby of hers lies cold
Written on 08/16/2016
Contest-Pleaides B by Kim Merryman
Now,
he
from pain
is set free-
pain for her,went on.
In loving memory the saga goes,
or so they say when feint reminder culls a piercing interlude.
Remnant of an unfinished sentence,
broken shadow haunt awash with grief,
snapshot at the edge of a well.
Parachute of blinding insight on queue or on song,
paper mache angel deep within.
Verses, scrolls, smudges from that pink enamel claw,
whose back fold clip appearance left one reeling,
like some
tree house dweller rattled by a swooping hawk.
Gimlet sipping voyageur
adrift on ice pack yacht,
in need of solace,
yet wishing it to the bottom of his rusty bucket list.
Fragile human being torn apart,
funeral bound,
that once upon a time surreal biker skirting mountains.
A priori stunt man metaphysically divine on rocky ledge,
dare devil prayer when it suits.
Feat performance activist a sleight of hand jester,
yet despite this vapid mask of dumb amnesia,
he wanders blindfold down
an alpine peak while chasing after dim and distant keepsake
Date posted :31st January 2022