Death Birth Poems | Examples
These Death Birth poems are examples of Birth poems about Death. These are the best examples of Birth Death poems written by international poets.
Life is eternal
Destination unknown
Comes into physical form
Is dormant
Becomes active
Interacts with all of creation
Has an impact on evolution
Leaves physical form
Life is eternal
Destinations unknown
A possible reincarnation
Comes into physical form
Etc …
Categories:
baby, birth, childhood, creation,
Degenerate house filled with ancestry
one short hand stretches from statues to shame
pervading loose boundedness within the same
or toward less classical geometry
on this continuous interplay to show
how apotheosis may interchange the crow
this desire between rough designs, I try
to withstand its whirlwind and real rephaim
into flexible modules overclaim
terrain through the abundant baptistery
we have dispersed vital functions for coe
by distinctive architectural doe
we provide few clues from dictionary
this situation contracts markedly beldame
Categories:
birth, allegory, allusion, anxiety, art,
carve it out of me
lay me down gently and open me up
the pouring blood
the burning skin
what a sweet relief
bury your hands in my chest
hunt it
seize it
eradicate
at last purified
I can walk this earth in a sacred body
how did it feel to taste rebirth Lazarus?
it’s death
Categories:
anger, birth, conflict, death,
Creating
Birthing
Growing
Living
Maturing
Ageing
Slowing
Dying
Gone
Categories:
age, birth, death, growing
Unexplainable
Generations comes forth, Generations passing.
People acknowledging personal memoirs,
Reflections with the truth, No assumptions.
Accommodations inexplicable, unlike experiences.
Delays of Mysteries are similar when a loved one
transcends to another dimension they often see
things unexplainable that the breathing can't see or
explain.
Whilst the Sun and Moon not only rises and sets
Non-existent is concealed.
Rebirth: Metamorphosis, Changes, Shift. A moment
to be born, and a occasion to depart this life from
beginning to ending. Unexplainable
Categories:
adventure, appreciation, birth, celebration,
Self in singularity
lustrous and self-existent
polarises itself
to feel contrast
in fierce winds of duality
a form is shaped
from the elements
propelled by breath of God
mind and intellect
with bliss rooted in heart
upon death Self exists form
the five sheaths dissolve
then if soul is desireless
it too reunites in the Self
wherefrom it arose
however if soul has desires
that desires be fulfilled
it reincarnates again and again
until heart becomes quiescent
whence soul’s eye becomes single
Categories:
birth, death, self, spiritual,
A Story of Santosh that was entangled in grief
It was just another day, he thought
He stepped out of the house with his family to return
Unaware of the danger awaiting at the accident spot
He and his wife, children went out jolly, talking about
They got onto the bike and went for a ride as usual
Oh, Santosh, if at all you knew
Your day ends in a dreadful growl
You are broken and bleeding, growling on the side of the road
Wounded, wondered who would save his loving family lying a distance away
His wife watches from afar helplessly, two kids and her husband mourning uncontrolled
Oh, that dreadful day, will they ever forget the misery life has thrown
The death of his only budding toddler, struggling to breathe and left the world reeling
If at all, he knows the danger ahead.
His family would be living safely and securely
Santosh had to pass this day and face the pain as long as he is alive
God allowed this, and they have to let go; their sorrows and pain
Which seems to be healed but remains fresh in life, displeased
Life gives joy and sorrows; smile in your good days and cry when no one sees
Categories:
anger, birth, books, break
There must be
an entry point
somewhere in the fabric
of being, perhaps
an unhealed
wound in the bark
of an ancient tree
deep in a primordial
forest or gouged
in the cliff face
of a remote shoreline
where southern ocean
gales pound the continent,
or somewhere quiet,
unobtrusive, hidden
from view in a corner
of the self where it has
been all your life.
You feel its cool breath
blow across your face
much like when a slight
breeze comes out
of a cave when standing
near its mouth.
There are days now
when you are there
near its gape
when a weariness
takes hold and you peer
into a dark nothingness
at the very centre
of yourself, see it begin
to slowly dissolve
mind and form,
welcoming you back
to that place
where you were
before you were born.
Categories:
birth, death, self,
What is the meaning of it all?
If I told you, you’d surely bawl.
Cry like a baby, yes you would,
If all of truth you understood.
Truth can be so enlightening,
Also, can be quite frightening.
For from the start, we’ve known it all.
Our greatest challenge is recall.
When recalled the truth is real,
All empty spaces it will fill.
We all were born from just one source,
And are guided by the same force.
From one source till our paths are done,
And once again we all are one.
Categories:
birth, creation, death, remember,
birth-death rotate
desires bait soul
just wait it out
Categories:
birth, death, desire, spiritual,
Perhaps my truth
does not lie in shapes or outlines,
but in the empty spaces between them,
in the unbearable distance
between myself and my reflection,
between all that I am now
and what I might understand
if I had the courage
to gaze into the abyss
without blinking.
When I gaze into the abyss,
I discover only my own reflection,
not as I am,
but as I can never be:
an infinite equation,
without edges,
without a name,
a sliver of light
suspended in absolute nothingness.
Categories:
art, birth, blessing, death,
Time does not flow within me,
but rather,
it is only a frozen smoke,
a mist trapped between my thoughts
and the forgetfulness that always lurks.
I feel its shadow
treading slowly across my brow,
weary from the burden
of a moment that never ends.
Light does not guide my path,
it only reveals the emptiness,
a bottomless abyss
where foreign echoes are lost.
The shadows around me
belong to no body—
they are remnants of my silent questions,
reflections of a void
that I can never fill.
My bitterness is not a wound,
it is the proof that I am here,
a hidden inscription
on time’s bleeding parchment,
written in letters that unravel
before I can read them.
I carry deep stigmata within me,
drawn like maps of perdition,
guides toward nowhere.
What is my life,
if not a continuous absence
of all we might have become?
What is death,
if not a blind step
beyond the imperfect circle
we’ve drawn around ourselves?
And yet, from the stones of my heart
a spring sometimes rises,
from the darkness within me
emerges the light that watches me,
and from the deepest silence
rise words
I do not understand,
but feel as callings.
Categories:
art, birth, blessing, culture,
Years of growth, years of wonder.
Years of thought, years of plunder.
Years of dreaming, years of hopes.
Years of late nights, years of beers.
Years of baggage, years of stress.
Years of commitments, years of doubts.
Years of love, years of responsibilities.
Years of pressure, years of strain.
Years of mortgage, years of pain.
Years of fatigue, years of wine.
Years of laughter, years of sorrow.
Years of yesterdays, years of tomorrows.
Years of promises, years of memories.
Years of silence, years of fears.
Years of loss, years of tears.
Categories:
age, birth, death, life,
life is a book
in the beginning
you hold it in your hands
new, fresh, unblemished
it is only potential
who knows what dreams it holds?
at the end
you look back at a story, cherished
you hate to put it down
it's sad to realize it's over
it was wonderful, but...
so different from
the story you imagined
when you picked it up
Categories:
birth, books, death, life,
On the Birth of AI Poetry
With reckoning, we must conclude
Our techno masters have pursued
The human brain to cast aside
As muse embraces its new bride
And so the columns that once fell
To keep us bound within their spell
Are churned out now, crisp and clean
By soulless, heartless cold machine
No use here, mill of the mind
No sweat to pen, or the grind
All achieved through lounge and laze
With ego gorging lauding praise
Is Shakespeare turning down below
At creators course death blow
Will Frost be wearing sour sorrow
What path now, would he follow?
Categories:
birth, poetry,