Death Life Poems - Poems about Death Life

No war of nations ever won No reservations in the sun From whence we came, too soon returned Our withered corpse or ashes burned No heaven for the chosen ones No seven brides for seven sons Ask if it's right when conscience calls Bask in the light fore darkness falls...

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If I should die quite suddenly Don't grieve, my dear. Don't cry for me I've waited, oh, so fervently From bonds of life to be set free This world is not how it should be Today the Lord has heard my plea Don't mourn for me I've been set free Don't stand too long around my grave For death is friend and not a...

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I looked upon this life—so vast, so small; We chase the skies, yet crumble when we fall. I sought the world, its glory and its gold; But all shall end, no treasure can we hold. We wish to live, to stretch our numbered days; Yet death walks close, quietly in silent ways. I weep sometimes— for the weight much to bear; My...

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Death bids me welcome Into his tended garden Where quiet plots of bramble clots House names now long forgotten. Engravings faded, darkened serifs Tower over brighter plaques Sooted over gentleman Look down on neater blacks. Beneath Death’s open garden There nods no congregation A concert hall of empty audience Unseen by stage commotion. Their sandstone cradle cots Swaddled in lichen sheets Are emptied of their...

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The essence of life Once one leaves Is not worldly possessions Nor wealth achieved It is the life’s that were touched Along the way Love given and received In hearts that will stay Special memories created Remain in hearts and mind To comfort and console The ones left behind ...

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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...

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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...

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I tried the blade, but it was too cold to follow through. I considered water, but I wish to leave looking like me. Rope seemed too staged—too dramatic. Gravity breaks every waking bone. Pills just make you ache and vomit. In the end, it’s easier to endure than escape....

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Every human thinks they are immortal, It is the wretched curse of all mortals, It’s a constant game of Russian roulette. Now if I was a smart betting woman, I would wager all on meeting death, But I am not a smart betting woman. I am a child in love with playing god, I live in the life unending facade. I fear no...

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A long-stemmed rose ... Her finest silk gown of vermilion petals unfurls in rhapsody of a bride's embrace. A dewy little face of splendor looks up and permeates the air with waves of scent. Spilling sweet essence of a soft lullaby A Duchess in her branch, a floating red cloud. Bees gossip around her, whispering stories of lush green love,...

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The earth, my friend, is very old. Water is ice when it gets cold. Like things that will always be, an acorn grows into a tree. A Red Ryder turns into rust, as an old man turns to dust....

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Time — a ticking bomb that will one day fall silent, with no remorse for your unfinished business. You can try to delay your time, but it will only make the silence louder. In your final hours, you may finally realize how green the trees were, how smooth the water flowed. Just then, you’ll long to see your first blade of grass...

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A silver bird departs, the sky serene, Yet morning’s promise shatters in a breath; Ash falls where laughter and bright hopes had been, A city mourns the sudden hand of death. In distant hills, a traveler’s path grows cold, A journey meant for dreams, now left undone; The news arrives—too heavy to be told— A vanished step, a race that’s never run. Where...

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Seconds pass like our lives through the sieve Sifting lives ...

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We think that by keeping busy and having a million and one things to do, the Grim Reaper will walk on by and forget us. By keeping our nose close to the grind, our eyes won't meet and lock on his, meanwhile ignoring the bell that sounds for other unsuspecting souls. In the meantime we keep on keeping our nose to...

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