Best Dying Poems
darkness come caress me now
and as I die I weep
my body lies here limp and
cold
I prepare myself for eternal
sleep
a million miles of starry skies
to me they look like sparkling
eyes
that come to watch me die
but then they're blocked from
my view
by a deity with soft black wings
i know he's here to comfort
me
though death is what he brings
it's odd
it feels as though he loves me
he strips my clothes away
his wings caress me now as he
holds me
and we begin to sway
he holds me close to his chest
as a mother holds her child
sheltering me as i leave
the wicked and the wild
and i can succumb
because now i feel so weak
then i see a tear
fall from his eyes and wet my
Cheek
it's over now he kisses me
he longs to taste my breath
and as if he longed for more
he sucks it from my chest
his lips linger over mine
for he knows when he pulls
away
the fire in me that screamed to
life
will not see another day
Darkness come caress me now
and as i die he weeps
and now that i feel no longer
scared
he lulls me off to sleep
“The Queen-Sized Bed”.
© London F. Buss
A queen-size bed was coming slowly,
down the rough dirt track.
As it drew closer,
The wheels clumsily mounted on the base of each leg,
rattled like a hospital gurney on the stones.
The bed was being pushed slowly,
ever so, carefully.
By a weary old man in tattered clothes and worn-out shoes.
as he drew closer, and closer,
I saw that he was pushing his dying wife who was,
lying in a dressing gown under the covers,
in the Queen-Sized Bed.
He pushed carefully trying not to shake the bed,
excessively.
His wife's head was supported by four pillows,
she had wispy strings of silver white hair.
She was dying.
Several I.V. Bottles dangled off a hook,
And dripped painkillers into her arm.
She was awake but barely conscious,
I wondered where they were going,
but in my heart, I knew...
privacy for an hour,
I came back as the sun was setting.
I found them together sitting on the bed,
Looking over the ocean.
The old man was holding his dying wife,
in his arms… stroking her silver hair under the sparkling,
southern cross.
They were sharing her last sunset as,
the dying embers of a fiery sun faded into the ocean.
Night fell and I walked home alone,
I had witnessed love real love,
something I had never experienced,
something I had never known.
If you’re near Cowell and you look hard enough,
You may just find the queen-size bed,
with a tattered mattress and exposed springs,
quietly rusting away outside a decrepit ruin of a barn.
Take a closer look at the legs and you will find four rusting,
gurney wheels.
and if you approach quietly on a moonlit night,
you will hear soft sobbing in the whistling wind,
as it dreams of that dying sunset,
under the southern cross...
and the milky way lights up the sky,
soaring into the heavens
as the angels sing.
I wrote this non fiction poem
For Debra Jean..
Death be not proud but humble with strife
Old man flicks ashes, has one last choke
‘Tis nothing to fear, just the nature of life
Many passed before him, cut off like a knife
They fester in his memory with this his final smoke
Death be not proud but humble with strife
In youth there were ladies, his courtships were rife
But never a vow, no promises he spoke
‘Tis nothing to fear, just the nature of life
He lived wild and free, never seeking a wife
Much wealth he acquired, never to be broke
Death be not proud but humble with strife
He failed to see beyond the edge of gold’s knife
Shared nothing, loved no one, found no comforting cloak
‘Tis nothing to fear, just the nature of life
Tonight he wishes that he should have changed his life
He snuffs his candle, knows he’ll not feel heaven’s stroke
Death be not proud but humble with strife
‘Tis nothing to fear, just the nature of life
His fragile fevered brow is soaked with life’s sweat
Nearing the end, his death has not arrived just yet
Shivering, his body is on fire, he makes a gentle sigh
His frame broken down by the years now passed by
The end of the final chapter, his book has grown old
Soon in a faith filled church, his past tales will be told
He’s a person, loved, surrounded by his living history
His family hold one another, parts of his closing story
Go quietly now love, for the time has come to move on
Hush now, your wearied tiredness, is oh so nearly gone
Soon the warmth of living will become so stiff and cold
Leaving this earth’s dusty soil, so as to join an eternal fold
He enters deaths doorway that will close quickly behind
A peace beyond imagination, a kind welcome he will find
Tears flow, fond goodbyes are spoken a kiss of farewell
Do not mourn too long have faith, know he is now well.
Patrick Brennan © 2010
I’m afraid of dying young
Of leaving things yet undone
I’m afraid I’ll leave this place
Yet not leave a single trace
I’m afraid I haven’t said
All that lives inside my head
I’m afraid I’ll disappear
And no one will hold me dear.
I’m afraid I’ve yet to touch
The hearts of those I love so much
I’m afraid I’ll never see
Who it is I’m meant to be
I’m afraid, for can’t you see?
Not much time is left for me.
I’m afraid, oh, I’m afraid
Soon I’ll lie silent in my grave…
With my stories yet untold
With my dreams yet to unfold
With my songs yet unsung
With my words yet on my tongue
With my passion tucked away
With no more prayers left to pray
I’m afraid……
Entered into Richard Lamoureux's Beginnings Matter Contest
March 3, 2015
I'm not sure why this is the first poem I chose to post on Poetry Soup. Maybe because the theme of dying is ever present in my mind. I lived with the knowledge that my Mother was dying from an incurable disease and that marked me for life. Writing has also marked me for life. I've always wanted to leave something behind to be remembered by. Most of the poetry I wrote up to this point was for family members and loved ones, things I'd share on special occasions. How I love writing. Poetry is more than a hobby. It is an obsession and a dream. It is therapy. Finding a site where I could actually post my work and get feedback was a dream come true for me. This was my first poem and my first taste of euphoria. Others who love words showed loved for my words. "The rest", as they say, "is history."
A soldier boy was calling me
His faint cry heard all around
The air was still and silent
And dusty sand lay on the ground.
The far outstretched plains lay before me
Carried on for miles ahead.
And many a soldier's body could be seen
Although most of them lay dead.
But still a soldiers voice called out
Which i could faintly hear.
But with so many bodies strewn around
I wasn't sure of which cried out in his fear.
But still I kept on reassuring him
With only words that could not explain
How much I really feared for his life
And if in death he would die from pain.
Then I saw a movement
Just slightly but it didn't go unseen.
Now I could rescue our country's hero
And give back to him a life that'd been.
For we must protect our country men
Who in a war for their land have bravely fought.
A true hero who's life he gave willingly
In their fight for freedoms rights their land sought.
Maybe this can't be saved.
One more short year and I'll never see her again. I'll always be wondering about
her but it's better left that way. Never been able to face the truth. Even now.
We were all each other needed, some childish indestructable duo of sorts. All
gone.
Sometimes it's my fault. I've been a cliche since prom night when she came over
and apologised and suddenly she was perfection. After that I hardly spoke
around her in case I stuttered or worse, couldn't make her laugh. Was I in love? If
I was I still am. This intolerable inferiority complex, this petrified fear of not being
good enough feels all too familiar.
Don't think there was one moment when it all happened, but now I find myself
smiling arduously in black armour; all that she made me once again
undermined. I called her my mermaid; sunny skin, the beach in her hair and eyes
shining with all the colours and tempers of the ocean.
Now she's hacked away every detail of her. Barely recognisable, even to the one
who used to know her best.
There's a girl I still know, dancing through my memories, but already clinging to
herself, desperate to remain. She knows she can't stay forever.
We're not the people we were; this can never work.
Today I'm hiding behind a calm and carefree front; she can never know, nor
understand why. I'm blocking her out.
Out of sight, out of mind
No explanation. We were dying anyway.
But if she asks why I can't see her anymore
How can I even look her in the face?
If that's selfish then at last it's my turn.
I miss her even when we're locked in embrace. Affection is genuine. All else is
lost. She can't save us, can't put in the effort. I've tried but I'm weak. Another
excuse to take cover under.
I can't change her back. Why am I trying? I should just make the most of my
precious friend now.
A little more of her slips away every day.
When I’m enticed by the allure of forever,
Ambivalent, I query, prospect of eternity:
If there’s no dying, what fate’s my destiny?
Would such existence be sans meaning?
Would I be the compassion of pious soul
If I am blessed with permanence of life,
Or a deathly tomb of a heartless stone
Dispassionately ignoring wounds of strife.
Having been spared of inevitable death
Will I become an arrogant tyrant’s shrill,
Or will I rule alike a kingdom of goodwill
Embracing venerated grace of cordiality.
Would I be a garden of spring blossoms
Or scorched landscape of barren desert,
Would I be a resplendent autumnal show
Or decaying rot of woes in wintry throes.
Would I be a night of nightingale’s song
Invoking themes of endearing dreams,
Or would I be echo of horrid nightmares
Howling in dawn of things gone wrong.
Immortality, I fear, will lure me ignobly,
If not a mortal, unknowable I would be;
But for transience, would humble life be?
If not for dying, would precious living be?
April 23, 2022
Placed 1st: If I were Immortal Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
In the Throes of Dying Love
In the throes of dying love, you’re a
fallen angel, with no celestial saving grace.
Rose-tinted glasses shattered, you’re no longer
my hero, just a stark-naked zero.
You besmirch every passing season
that we shared…hacking them down,
one by one, like ugly unwanted weeds
in your garden. And my hope for a new you
faded with the waning silver of the moon.
You’ve lost your lissome, school-boy charms;
and the power to pinion me with your cold,
mesmerizing eyes, those squinting black holes
that once sucked me in…trying to suffocate me.
Your love is just as phony as your
painted-on smile, and that old forged,
water-color painting of a loving couple,
that I found buried under dust
and cobwebs in the attic.
But as that ancient, worn-out sun sinks to repose,
in the dense, oblivion of dark firmament,
so has our sojourn ended…and I’ve forgotten
why I loved you in the first place.
Sadly, like that cheap wedding ring you bought me,
you’re irrelevant…in the throes of dying love.
05-22-2018
Contest: Eight Word Challenge – 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placement: 3rd
8 Words: throes, celestial, besmirch, pinion, lissome, repose, firmament, sojourn
I'm overcome with grief
as I slowly die inside.
They tell me this is normal,
and everything will be alright.
I can't seem to eat a meal,
or close my eyes to dream.
All I visualize is your face,
then accidentally scream.
I can't seem to leave my home,
whats the point anyways?
Without you standing by my side
life is nothing but a waste.
Maybe soon enough I'll join you,
as I slowly die inside.
When I finally enter the gates of pearl
everything will be alright.
I found a dove lying broken
I knelt just as it died.
It had chosen my high window
as its own patch of blue sky.
A young dove it appeared to be,
too young to know or care
that windows are seductive
when one's flying in the air.
It was too young to wonder
where Summer's leaves had gone,
or to know there'll be new buds
along with Springtime's song.
Too young to taste wild berries
hidden by an early snow.
Too young to soar and soar someplace
where only birds must know.
Too young to choose a handsome mate
and raise its very own;
to age with grace and wondrous tales
of places it had flown.
Gently it's placed beneath an oak,
on fallen leaves to lie.
While its spirit, at last released,
will fly and fly and fly.
Meet me there ...
Be it rain or shine,
Since I like both
Any weather is fine
Find me there ...
With those already met,
To mingle there ...
With ones I haven't yet
In a good place where
We can laugh and smile,
And talk to the ones
Not seen in awhile
I'll be going there
When my time comes,
I'll be waiting there
With my old chums
Promise me now ...
You will cry no tears,
And meet me there
In one hundred years.
Quote- Henri Barbusse
""We are all, always, the desire not to die. This desire is as immeasurable and varied as life's complexity, but at bottom this is what it is: To continue to be, to be more and more, to develop and to endure. All the force we have, all our energy and clearness of mind serve to intensify themselves in one way or another. We intensify ourselves with new impressions, new sensations, new ideas. We endeavour to take what we do not have and to add it to ourselves. Humanity is the desire for novelty founded upon the fear of death. That is what it is.""
*****
Dying A Little With Each And Every Breath
Within depths of human life, a radiant flame
Born from a spark, an unfathomable clear beat
Although world teaches that life is but a sad game
One that accepts the victories of those that cheat!
Lies refuted by radiance of divine light
As clear as tides caressing shores from waltzing seas
Mankind, wakes to new dawn but fails to walk aright
For from the love and truth far too often he flees!
Alas! World accelerates the dark within mankind
Seeded from birth, darkness unto each coming death
Lost soul, forbidding light to enter heart and mind
Dying a little with each and every breath!
Lies refuted by radiance of divine light.
Mankind, wakes to new dawn but fails to walk aright!
Robert J. Lindley, 3-30-2021
Sonnet,
( From The Depths, A Truth And A Sight That Time Hath Wrought )
When I remember her, I think of hope she aroused, prayers she inspired, dreams she encouraged. When I think of her, and remember… it is my own heart who beats more tenderly ~ quote by poet
Just a fading star,
she lingers in his thoughts,
singing from afar,
of winter’s cold, dark nights.
Just a wilting flower,
she mirrors grace and hope,
as she nears her final hour,
in the still of a mourning sun.
Just an ebbing tide,
she floats on silent seas,
taking it all in stride,
at the waves gentle touch.
Just a dying dream,
she remembers everything,
love was so extreme,
kissing away the past’s pain.
Just a waning soul,
she refuses to let life go,
knowing she can’t control,
it’s a little like a song.
Just a vanishing smile,
she won’t forget the kindness’,
life can sometimes beguile,
but she knows moments won’t last.
Just a declining life,
she is grateful for what has been,
even through the worst strife,
she’s known the meaning of hope.
Just a fire burned out,
she is more than an ember,
she’s a soul without a doubt,
that she’ll soon meet her Savior!
Vanishing beauty
Your charms rest in memory
Altars chant her name