Child Death Poems | Examples
These Child Death poems are examples of Death poems about Child. These are the best examples of Death Child poems written by international poets.
For you are nevermore.
Your eyes' last light
never illumined mine.
Death prompted us
to be hasty -
curbed childhood,
sped me past stop signals,
headlong onto adult carousels.
But we must agree over how these hours are
moving against our wills.
I've remained still until here,
grasping a rumpled-up grocer's receipt
with this budget-buy, multicolor pen
confident of words
I have space to admit now
and bury in poetry's
kinetic cemetery.
I'm sure I loved
your faulty teeth's scattered English,
its determined guidance.
I wished my life
had been adequate
to cover your shortfall
as you had covered mine
back when I was all but novelty.
An engineer's uniform
sparked a child's imagination,
and, one strange and early morn,
he was in a railway station.
An old man lost in reverie,
couldn't begin to understand.
His cloudy eyes could barely see
a young lad's outstretched hand.
There, beneath a station clock,
by knobby cane, supported,
all choked up, he couldn't talk -
how was he here transported?
His railway watch, long unused,
hung from a chain of gold.
Thro' stained-glass windows' light diffused,
he saw a palm outstretched to hold.
Then, like a railroad car on a mobius strip,
a child woke up from a mystic dream,
as an old man dropped in the child's grip,
a watch, and vanished, dead, like steam.
I'm sorry for all the hell you put up with,
as I was being dragged for "witch craft"
by those in-articulate one track puppets
doing their best to bury war-weary me.
We'll watch horror films on Shudder,
a distraction from the stomach cancer,
window closed & the shutters,
as I buried myself in your lap as I lapsed.
I wish you could see six day sober me,
still lingering on to your jumper's scent.
I sleep with it tucked to my chest
Your struggles I wish were mine all the least.
Your father doesn't mind, when I open
up your broken child-hood window,
cradle in your bed from the 90s
to finally fall to you this time...
As Rich a Lie
They kill and kill
the clock ticks on
as bodies become clay
burnt trees scar the forest
as they continue to slay
silence is complicity
while the sky keeps falling
In Germany beneath a foreign sky
I took sweet Sherri’s hand as mine
We built our days upon young hopes
And we consumed love like sacred wine
Then one day the world stood still
A voice like thunder split the air
I ran by will through dread and fear
To find death waiting there
They said my sweet Sherri had gone away
And with her passed a child (inside)
“What, a daughter I’ll never see?!”
Then felt my own heart landslide
Once we talked that if it should ever be
That God would bless our love the same
A little girl with Sherri’s eyes
We both would give her Emma’s name
Then dawn broke cold upon my face
No blood, no ward, no final scream
Yet grief still echoed through my mind
For all of it had been a dream
(“Perception and Reality Merit Badge”, 2015, original oil)
We think we’re something we are not
And it’s obvious what that is
To those who know what we are not.
Some think they are smart when they aren’t
Or thin, or strong, or talented, or beautiful
When it’s clear to everyone else they aren’t
Some think they are a male or female
When it’s obvious they aren’t
Even when they try with drastic measures
And authoritarian means to force agreement
There is still the small child within us
Who simply remarks
The Emperor is yet again not wearing any clothes.
Our lives become a continual progression
Of such false beliefs and misguided hopes
With death the ultimate test at the end
Will we die then
Or only realize our body all along was simply
Something we are not.
(6/26/26)
We fought with monsters and became monsters fighting the insane acting out in strange displays dancing nonsense in a cave imprisoned by a thousand lies we designed to contain a willful child, and with hammer blows and the whips we made ourselves better slaves then the slaves who came before with fevered dreams drunken prose spoken lost and broken noses, broken skulls, broken bones tore through flesh, the fear, the fear, I miss my friends, those younger days, it seemed to me we would never grow old, tired. VIXI.
Poem 17 Note. . . vixi liber et moriar: "I have lived free and I will die free"
Fathers,
You learn from them,
For better or for worse.
How to be, or not to be,a husband.
How to be or not to be a parent when it's
your turn.
There are no books, holy or otherwise.
And religion is all but useless,
It has no moral compass
Holy images on walls,stautes,moving or mute
Never,kept a mother or wife safe in her home.
Respect is basic instinct
One either has,or, hasn't got.
' He'll be on his own yet,'
My mother often exclaimed.
When there was nothing else left to say.
And true to her word;he died alone.
The dark cloud lifted,the light broke through.
The voilens played
The mad lady sang.
And I danced around the grave.
There is a convict king..An omnivore
Who eats the atrocious, yet showed
A brother the door' for lesser offences?
Though bad no doubt.' He's also put in the shade, by dark pontifs, where is the
Righteous shout ? The hue and cry.' The
potus's call.? The vigilant news corps
When did things fall.? Perhaps when the
Serpent slithered hugging the tree that
Held all knowledge, through as a mist i
See.? A form of growth a system that
Branches rich in foliage, yet that covers
Your chances..Lost in wonder of what can
Be by man-made.? Muscles become lax, as
So dense the messaging under this type of shade.)
I am at once
a child,
an elder,
a bird,
and one who hears birdsongs.
I become
all my incarnations
as every time meets
where land meets water
water meets sky
darkness meets light
and birth meets death.
“Death makes gone a good Daddy’s body but not their light strong enough to spend endless time shining for their child." .... poet
Not one time
had weighty concerns
claimed his face.
No doc words
seized confident displays from
his eyes or gestures.
Hurt hit her
hard while her dad lay
pondering
it seemed each
health test result returned but
not with fear or scorn.
Eyes on hers,
He last sighed, ‘daughter,
when I go
I shall stay
close and above as star glow,
sparkling joy for you.’
In the final moments of the cosmic rapture,
when the armada of flames subsided,
there stood the last defiance against Father Time.
A treacherous sea, beautiful and terrible as the dawn.
No solid surface, a ghost of the cosmos.
Internal pressure, yielding storms of diamonds.
A cold-hearted sentinel.
Restless, yet stubborn.
No sister planets,
no neighboring galaxies.
Only cruel immortality.
So, you have chosen to endure.
This eternal silence, this tomb of stardust and ash.
You shall suffer in silence.
What glorious purpose awaits you, O’ Neptune?
Insolent child, how dare you defy fate.
You should’ve let yourself fall quietly asleep.
Yet, in this forever blackness,
what poor, pitiful orbit do you take—
to justify this act of providence?
Save the earth. Obliterate your world.
Begin by ending.
Let the sky-ceiling buckle and split.
You are the first to go.
Scrape the crusted-hard scabs from your skin.
Shred the nerves where the winter enters.
For the earth—which needs no saving—
your worldly heart must stop.
Your flesh feeds the gulls.
White wings. Red beaks.
Stripped clean.
(A child on the pier lowers her hand,
the splintered stick held mid-air.)
The gulls do not look up.
They finish what they started
and leave the bones to the tide.
My life before you.
My life with you.
My life without you.
All passed in a blink of an eye.
You know, granny, I am indeed autistic,
I still eat the same things I did as a kid:
Oatmeal breakfast, mac n' cheese lunch.
I both solemnly and fondly remember.
I will keep our memories, even as an old lady.
I know I am a spoiled child, but still thoughtful.
You loved me anyway, and I am so sorry,
You did things your way, why I slacked a lot.
I love you forever, even if you become another,
If we are to ever be reunited together.
In this life or in the afterlife or another life,
I know we'll meet again, somehow, someday.
I'll think of you when I eat my comfort meals,
These dishes you would always make for me.
Maybe someday, after I meet you again,
We'll have oatmeal for old times' sake.