Poems About Death | Poems on the Loss of loved Ones

Contest : Alice through the Wormhole Sponsor : Tom Woody 29. 7.26 ______________________________ warm sun sweet liquid dark moist hole bristles soft sand wonder exquisite * ...

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Death is not our story's end Far from the garden where we tend Flowers of love to blossom and send Fragrance on the winds aloft, Drifting into...

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… Ridono. Entrano. Rodono. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. LUCE. Buio. Ridono. Entrano. Rodono. … ...

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I The loud, cruel laughter of dirge besieges us so greatly in the face of wanton humiliation. It comes mightily, crashing our aged city walls, unearthing the foundations of churches, tolling bells in pulsated grief . . . Dirge comes with thunder, like the trumpets and horns of treachery common with lachrymose compositions; when rain suddenly comes, we fret visibly. The events of dirge are colourless, edgy and heartless...

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Life comes from the living ones But death? Where does death come from? Does it come from outside? Or it comes from within? Does it start when we are born? Or walk with us throughout life? When we start crawling When we start schooling When we fall in love When we get married or When we are on the edge of life And nothing makes sense Not...

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I wrote this for my mom since it's the anniversary of her passing today Today marks the day, my heart's heavy stone, A decade has gone by, yet grief fills my heart even more so at home Mom, I'm missing you more than words could ever say, Every milestone, every memory, every second of everyday. I wish you could've...

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Lay me down in open skies Put the pennies on my eyes Wrapped in my suit and tie of gray Say a couple words of grace Toss the earth upon my face And let's call it another day Endless time is all I've got As I decompose and rot It's a horrid situation As I leave you all behind The one thing that...

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Asleep Awakened by a voice The Deceased one appeared as an image The voice spoke of encouragement Felt a sudden excitement Visualizing and wonder if what was happening all true Thinking I was dreaming and my mind playing tricks It was a friend I truly missed Yet I listened to every spoken word the deceased one was saying Endure and courage being assuring The...

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We all search for prescience the future on hold As each dying moment forever unfolds We all crave the silence preparing for death Its welcoming stillness a last — final breath (The New Room: July, 2025) ...

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across the festival of grasses I ran through the view of various booth and attraction run by locals and those aged faction along those sneaky foreigners with imprinted aliases rolling my bike seemed to bother with their necks closing in leaning towards my upward chin read as arrogance, instead as an evader invader of their land shattering their drinking glass yet still manage to outclass...

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… Dall’oscuro bagliore del Desiderio, il Piacere protetto. … ...

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As morose as it may sound I know I’m really just another Death row man. No, I’m not locked away For a crime I have done. I’m free, But that doesn’t mean I’m still not on that row. And that also doesn’t mean There isn’t some crime I could have done That would have me lock away and unfree. I’m sure there are stacks of...

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There was nobody who could come and weep at his graveside. So we invited the misty mountain, the gusting moorland And meandering little river where he had sat down and fished; But, they were all previously engaged. still, we went anyway. Someone had to lower the coffin...and songs refuse to sing If there is nobody to listen....

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He tastes the salt before he knows he's shed a tear He'd always been a staggering man Since his Army days known by most simply as Big Roy Now he's a staggered man This night, curved and hunched Bags so heavy and dark under his eyes They'd just as well be rotten figs about to fall And splat and stain the ground...

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There was a chill in the air that night, as the taste of spun cotton candy and stale popcorn floated through the breeze. Lifeless clouds hung in the sky, moving swiftly past an ever-broken moon. Remnants of rain clung to weeping blades of grass, as a shattered heart cracked under a ribcage in disbelief. The...

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