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.
("Morphogenesis Merit Badge", 2011, original oil)
Why not, kill ‘em all,
All those extra humans,
And even better, all their children
Before they are even born.
Kill ‘em all
For the sake of the planet,
For the sake of your vanity and youthful self.
We don’t need more humans
We are the cause of all evil after all.
Pro Earth vs pro Life
Is the issue of the day.
And yet strangely,
It is the earth which is the fertile one,
Earth which is really us
Growing, learning, expanding
In every one of us
One by one
Even as we survive and thrive
Happy as hell
To simply be alive.
(12/4/25)
if it can begin
is it inevitable
it will also end
Are we truly living, or shadows instead..
Are we breathing at all, or silent and dead?
Is this life just a flicker the cosmos has shown..
A half-faded echo we claim as our own?
They speak of a tunnel, a widening light..
Where loved ones appear in the softening white.
But who’s ever proven what waits when we roam..
Is it leaving this life, or arriving back home?
What if that glow we believe marks our death..
Is really the moment we draw our first breath?
What if the voices that whisper “Hello..”
Are welcoming someone they’ve waited to know?
Perhaps every ending is something we’ve grown..
A loop ever turning, a seed ever sown.
Maybe the soul never drifts off alone..
It circles and circles through worlds yet unknown.
So are we alive, or adrift in a dream..
Catching reflections of things that have been?
Maybe we're ghosts in a body we’ve flown..
Never quite sure what is new… or what’s known.
remember the core
there is no pain in magma
I was there before
you were all inside with me
and will go back to re-pour
_______________________________________________
Like a flame lit by flimsy tinder, I will roar and
burst in brilliance, bright,
Then be gone, just a flickering cinder, vanished,
lost in starless night.
_______________________________________________
Once upon a song, through the rings of smoke,
down the foggy ruins of time, they spoke
to me, straight from Bob Dylan’s potent pen.
Mr. Tambourine man, play that song again.
These words had introduced me to a world,
as a new consciousness burst and uncurled.
It doesn’t seem so very long since then.
Mr. Tambourine man, play that song again.
The jingle-jangle morning is not bright,
It’s now the crumbling, creaking dead of night,
and I’m a long forgotten, aged man.
Mr. Tambourine man, play that song again.
As from the world, it’s time to take my leave,
on this, my prayerful, final, earthly, eve.
Remember me. Don’t forget to say amen.
Mr. Tambourine man, play that song again.
In honor of “Mr. Tambourine Man”, written and sung by Bob Dylan (1965), covered by many.
Upon conception, I held gloom,
Sharp, aggressive despair.
My mother’s body also a tomb,
From when I felt the air. My body belonged to earth,
And my mind was in hell.
My first real death was my birth,
My life only a cell. My existence erroneous,
My visage transparent.
Every exhale felonious,
Hollowness inherent. I bathe in existential dread,
Dissociation strong.
Since birth, I’ve been dead —
My creation was wrong.
Nature’s Decay and Rebirth 10-23-25 Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours waiting for rebirth.
Aster means star
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nature’s Decay and Rebirth
Astral groans transcend fall gardens,
Aster stars decay in shock waves
Fresh petals turn to star flowers of straw
Like impotent stardust.
Bathed in breath of frosty kisses
Like a cold celestial caress
Autumn’s stars wilt in twilight’s pregnant sighs
Chrysalis’ for new life.
Beating hearts of crumbling seed heads -
Like the imploding red dwarf -
Release their nebulas of umber seeds
With interstellar pods.
On solar winds like shooting stars
These explorers seek for warm soil
And nascent cosmos glide into deep space
Seeking rivers of stars
From clouds of frigid decay set free
A stellar garden rises up
Aster galaxies freed from vernal wombs
To dazzle stargazers
People would argue a new life comes to light,
With a bubble about to burst at its height.
A baby on the verge of its first cry,
A bird about to take the first fly,
A clock waiting to strike twelve,
A book about to come out of the shelf.
A lion about to leap on his prey,
A storm brewing in the cloudy grey,
An early hour on the cusp of dawn,
The stretch of lips just before a yawn.
Many would say the effervescence of life,
Is when one comes out of its long dormant night.
Vivacious in its will to live and see,
The many wonders like a petulant plea.
I, on the other hand, would beg to differ,
Not by much, not much of a revelation bigger.
The froth must go out at its height,
As others so eloquently put with their might.
But it's the one last spark before they lie to rest,
One last hurrah to have lived, loved and expressed.
It expands with its last full breath of world-lust,
Before sinking into oblivion and returning to dust.
If the streets could talk, they would share stories..
Beautiful soliloquies
Harsh Symphonies
Sad Sanctity.
If the roads could talk they could tell of block parties.
Riots starting.
Friends breaking up friendships.
Life’s ending,
And its beautiful beginnings.
All from the car to black top tar,
A dad speeding home from work as his baby is born.
A kid speeding down the road full of freedom and life asking for more.
A mom speeding home from work because her baby is no more..
If the streets could talk..
They would be the best story tellers.
Phoenix rises from its death
Renewal always comes at some great cost
~ Rebirth an act of defiance
Workdku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
A child's first cry after its birth
repaid after leaving the earth
“After your death you will be
What you were before your birth”
Dear Arthur, where are you, tell me
Have you returned back to Earth?
For if you are out somewhere
Your point above is hard to grasp
That a mind over matter will care
If we still have faces of ours
For there’s no recognition possible
Without people we knew so well
Otherwise we are easily tossable
Interchangeable in this hell
Memory is the key to the soul
Lost memory can’t be revived
Little blessings of getting old
Calm down the will to survive.
He put his boots on
He stares at the rising sun
A pale, strange fire
This is not the world in which he was born
A man out of place out of time
Out on the lawn, the ancient
Face hung on a tree, skeletal and forlorn
Shadows stretch into the sands
An empty beach, eternal
The sky is burning to cold ash
He walked down the pier
The Ferris wheel turns
Its light blazing into the starless
Night a void cold the sentient
Are you buzzed for the carnival
As it turns along the horizon, the land stretches
Far and away, along a wall, stands a door
A fracture, a gaping hole into reality
Beyond a stary arc across heaven reviled
A stranger stood as a silhouette stands
At twilight, a wraith upon the shore
The Stranger woke before dawn
He put his boots on
He stared at the setting sun
A pale, strange halo of fire
This is not the world he was from
Born in, nor the last
World he would tread upon…
Ode to Jim
A faceless clock without numbers
traces past, present, recycled.
Nothing is created; nothing is lost.
It's all transformation.
Fallen leaves cradle new flowers.
As sun rises, sweeps the ground,
lifting up the dying to spring new shoots,
each unfolding rebirth.
The river's flow remakes the land.
Reshaping with unerring hand.
A moving sinuous flow, to and fro,
in endless state of flux.
Nature has no need for numbers.
Not bound by birth, life stage and death.
It's driven to become, improve, evolve,
when the fittest prevail.
Humans, adrift in yearning, trace
each hour that bleeds slow on clock's face.
To reach beyond the birth of their children.
To wrest more from their fate.