Dead Poems - Poems about Dead

When appears the winged goddess Nix to cast her noctilucent spell on every creature of the night, in a sudden hush, fall on the land a sweet shield of calm and timelessness....

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everything about this song is red, your wallet is brown, the brown a burgundy and the burgundy’s chalice has gold to dazzle rubies, carnelian, sard precious, semi-precious, the same- all the same, feel the same when you hold the cup to livid lips and send them on their merry way bumping into the ugly ridges of a throat lodged with stingy agate, oh but you know that and...

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When under the gun how can one not be outdone by nepotism or overcome by favouritism altho' the norm they're no more than a form of terrorism a nebulous opponent none can fight on the human landscape naught but a blight from which we can't escape or run any self-respecting someone would shun and as for me you see I was obviously yet definitely born in the...

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Dead, Dead. Decay and rotten flesh, melting beneath the scorching sun. Worms, maggots, and flies- a parade in time with the vulture's drum. Teasing, tearing, ripping this way and that, dashing, splashing like an artist painting madness. Bumblebee, whisper to me: Am I dead...or just asleep in the scariest dream? No... I can't be dead. I refuse to be dethroned. Oh death, you have no...

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In the dead of night, when sleep refuses to come like a gentle cloud over thoughts, there should be a sanctuary where you can retreat when fatigue becomes a burden, when drinks no longer quench the thirst for forgetfulness, and grass no longer weaves dreams, and I don't mean places where the escape is towards stardust scattered in...

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Your lack of self-control is what makes you manageable. Some words if left unscathed will manage to cut to the bone You tried to mold me in ways that would turn me to stone. A solid with no emotion. that way I'm all ways alone. Another hopeless possibility A so called thawing of bones. A slit wrist who's blood pools into this riddle of...

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Searching the smoking ruins of Notre-Dame cathedral, on the Paris Île de la Cité, one of the finest examples medieval of French Gothic architecture, with flying buttresses, a rib vault, immense bells, enormous colourful rose windows all of which went through hell during the fearful fire of 2019, and it was seen he'd been through the wringer when looking for Quasimodo they found a dead ringer ...

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Why do we call the good old days, good? Grandma was always talking, talking about the days that had passed. I wonder if they were really that good, or does our mind play a trick on us? Grandma loved sitting on her porch, looking out over her land in her rocking chair. Now the old rustic white fence, is falling down...

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To be sung to the tune of Little Red Corvette by Prince Roger Nelson I guess I should’ve known by the way you said, “you’ll get it back real soon” That I’d never see it again See, you’re the kinda person who listens to a tape and quickly loses it Like you might do with men I guess I...

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Zombie-Let’s think about this logically you only have 2 choices Number one I eat you or you run and are torn apart by a group of us Hi I’m Brian…wait was formally Brian deceased Victim-I could get away…Brian deceased Zombie-well I was bit this morning in edgington park about 9-9.30 and that 3 miles away and we have already...

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“I want what they have.” and “When is it my turn?” “Waiting on Prince Charming” I’m wondering when they’ll learn You can wait for Fairy Godmother To turn your mice all into men But just remember, tale’s not over When the paper reads “The End.” Cindy-Cindy Relly Did you see what’s on the tele? Broken hearts, and slippers shattered Broken record, same old pattern Boy meets...

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Like a vampire wakes in the darkness so awakens the old GOP For they hunger to feed on the taxes then like rodents, they scatter and flee They ignore and avoid all their voters who can never provide what they need Like the donors who send them the dollars satisfying their hunger and greed So they slashed all...

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More than those who swim well, more than those struggling not to drown— I want to meet you, who no longer breathes at the bottom of the water. Rather than those who speak as if they understand, I want to hear the words of someone who truly knows how it ends. Among the living, there is no one I wish to meet anymore— only half-hearted, liars, not even dead. How much water did you...

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Day Of The Dead Do you celebrate the dead? They are laid to rest. For those who live in the spirit world. Have you seen the painted skull girl? A celebration of those we have lost. They are not forgotten. Let’s have a feast. Lay roses at their feet. Put on the music. Drink into the sun set. This is our tradition. Raise a candle, they are...

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Dead Sense Noiseless Words Sneak Out Of Dumb Whimsy To Flatten On The Screen. (What-Ever Isn't Fast Enough To Escape:) Splat! Did It Make A Sound? -Gray Squirrel 05-15-2025...

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