Best Death Knell Poems
In the light of my days-
Tears appears;
But tis yet dark,
My heart is black.
My mind trembles-
For the thoughts of rubbles;
Eon of sleep-not in mind,
A moment in the night-not it kind.
In the light we celebrate his cries,
In the dark we mourn his silence.
His presence we stand to miss,
But his absence we live to hiss.
For his peace-we travel,
As beneath our stage is his level.
To a swift journey-nature adds its woes,
A company of debris to once standing edifices.
An elongation of night to the sleeping prince,
And a job of escort to the mourners.
A saccharine rueful cry rode upon the wind,
not a howl but a solemn ceaseless wail of tears
whispering a last bell's ring, peal and tolling goodbye;
a farewell to blended melancholic images and visions
that once permeated the echoing halls and corridors
where voices rang a rhythmic haunt of point and purpose.
Now only the mournful chimes ring out
blending into one solitary hum of shrill vibrations
when heores fall and memories grow hollow and short;
their now inaudible representation fading
for those left to enviously follow
or others to willingly ignore the footsteps.
Imprinted on the breeze
the aureole of brillint sun begins to fade
and history inadequately records the garbled sounds;
time passing, inconceivable kaleidiscope discolorations
the venerated celibacy of thought expunged
by inherent truism of the amulets of freedom.
Tremulous and tender the pedantic strident sings loudly
and the ooze of the death knell tolls ineptly sings,
straining the ear to open, hear, listen to the reverberations;
the anthologic repository rigid, closes, locks in the wind,
while the alcove resounds indulgent in unequivocal silence
definitive climatic acknowledgement, the knell secured and muffled.
8/26/18 Edward ibeh's Wind Chimes contest
also, in honor of John McCain's passing.
a limp flag
hangs at half-mast
the silence broken
by the church bell
and village gossiper
-------------------------
A Brian Strand Contest
Placed 1st
June 2021
The Death Knell
(COVID-19)
Written: by Miracle Man
5-3-2020
The death knell that changed the game,
once under subjection, lives won’t be the same.
Change is constant, we must adapt to survive,
To some, change decreases, while others thrive.
Many may detest what each new day brings,
the landscape changes, making paupers of kings.
When change is gradual, most rethink, and cope,
but a pandemic is sudden and many lose hope.
For many businesses it’s been the omen of death,
for many individuals it’s stolen that last breath.
I pray for those lost jobs that may never return,
and for workers of prominence, I’m given concern.
But the actions of protesters I’ve grown to deplore,
while swarming the beaches they choose to ignore.
Some view this pandemic as a road to something free,
many hardened hearts feel, “it won’t affect me.”
autumn leaf fell
left branch shell shocked
all’s well say roots