Moving On Death Poems | Examples
These Moving On Death poems are examples of poetry about Moving On Death. These are the best examples of Death Moving On poems written by international poets.
If I should die
Before the dawn, overcome
by a morbid scene. Rise up!
My soul – step to the Light!
And the brighter dream heart
Keeps. Caged men may be subjects
Of time, forced to obey and
Bend, but the spirit once freed minds
No such rules, will love where it
Wants~ or offend. So, laid down I may be – cleaned,
Drained and perfumed—beyond then, life’s hurtful
Rhetoric~ nevermore be gloomed.
I'm wistful and sad,
you're not here,
yet you're everywhere.
Your pillow refuses to comfort me,
I punch it and yell up at you,
"Why did you leave?"
Away, I must get away from here,
I don't want to see,
all these memories.
The moon's in the sky,
strong winds are behind me,
a star shines brightly.
When morning comes,
I'll have coffee and toast,
then hold your poor pillow really close.
On the day the angels came
To the island of the dead
There was nothing more to do
And all had been already said
The waters black with time
Circled round the rocks of lime
The trees had turned to stone
And the sky had long gone home
On the day the angels came
To the island of the dead
There was no air for breathing
Nor room for wings to spread
All light had fled the caves
All souls were left unsaved
And the buildings of the past
Came tumbling down at last
On the day the angels came
To the island of the dead
They gave one fleeting glance behind
But moved swiftly on ahead
God below us now
With each as all there is
And miracle, a sudden word,
Flooding thoughts
We cannot faster spill,
Until a fear of drowning
In the merging all could be;
Til we become as one;
One and done and free.
While none can say the name
Of two or twenty, not of fame
The greatest gift is love bestowed
To those whose candle bears no flame.
Only life is immortal,
Dancing once with each of us
Then moving on;
Leaving us to grieve
For all that’s gone.
Generations come, generations go
War and Death are what they know...
In defense of land
blades of grass, grains of sand
Men battle for their very lives
their precious children, their fearful wives
If not this skirmish, then the next
injuries mount, futures wrecked
While diplomats stack the decks
to preserve their privileged necks...
Generations come and go ~
lives of peace, they never know
Death kissed me on the cheek
and said I could remain
I still had time to keep
but she’d be back again
For death she is a woman
A fickle fearsome foe
There amidst the shadows
Impossible to know
I said “You’re not my lover”
She sneered, “But I’m still death.
One day I’ll come to take you
when you breathe your final breath
“I am not afraid of you.
No I will not hide.
There is another life to live
on the other side.”
Expectation
Waiting, what for? Every things in life is moving on.
Yeah, everything has just gone, life is just an illusion. It can not be a home
What can I do?
Life lives without me. If it is called, then there is a chance of coming home.
Home? I have none. It’sn’t a long time ago.
But life is a country. My soul lives in this land, nowhere land.
Where can I live?
Life lives without me. If it is a call, then there is an opportunity to get home.
Waiting. But why? Life goes slowly. On. On? Original ongoing goal
Anyway, I know life comes, hm, always gone, mine is in a tomb.
I live there.
I am a dead man, life is in me, never calls, there is no longer an option.
Hell is my home.
I drink and drink
One may call it a bender
I drink and drink
Yet never forfeit
I drink and drink
But only when there's a true call for it
Oh what oh what would be a true call they cry
Why, not a truer call than death do I reply.
I drink and drink
Yet they do not revive
I drink and drink
Yet my kidneys do thrive
Oh how I drink
Only when death comes
Do I truly oblige.
Oh how I will drink and drink
And drink again
When nothing left flows
Will I subside
To a simple suicide.
My hands hold a strange reminder
Of your presence
When I pray
Or when I play
There's a texture of sadness
Yet a warmth of affection
A rough surface of unknowing
Yet a fireside tingle after the icy snowing
I may have travelled since you knew me
Or maybe
I still sit in the same chair
As memories clamp me there
I often see a bumblebee,
I then wonder what she thought of me,
But now it doesn't matter really.
Truth is I always left her to just be.
the sounds of the night desert me
my mind seized by ill-fates once more
as ripples dispatched by the ferry
lick down this plutonian shore
dark deeds in my lifetime like flotsam
sailing passed in the after-light gloom
arrested in moments so shattered
and birthed from my cutting room womb
memories I locked in dark corners
the ones that break silence at night
festering fears held for too many years
malignance I can’t overwrite
but the ferryman points one gnarled finger
at me, then the scenes floating by
his empty black eyes hold mine for a while
then he turns with a near soundless sigh
he claimed no coin for their passage
each fare paid in full long before
remnants returning to whom they came from
and I draw in night’s sweet air once more
She called them the sad days
The wasted days
Hated days
Moving on days
He called them the hard days
The bad days
Sad days
Moving on days
She blamed him
Bloody men
Mental torture
Good riddance
He blamed her
Bloody women
No respect
Goodbye
She wanted love
Commitment
Wanted him
Needed him
He needed love
Needed space
Needed time
Wanted her
She couldn’t move on
Wouldn’t move on
Hated time
Hated him
He drank the bar
Numbed the pain
Saw the train
No need to explain
She took the call
Final fall
Found the pills
Ended it all.
Why does the sun shine,
Even on this week of sorrow
And on this ever reminding day?
I think I know why;
It is a revitalizing sign
Of those who passed away.
It has moved so quickly,
It’s rays are reaching out to me.
They are gone,
But I will be strong and move on.
I understand now
why widows
and widowers
let themselves
wither away
crossing the bridge
to choose joy
is a most
treacherous
journey
AP: 1st place 2021
FICTIONAL POEM FOR CONTEST
I sailed through my pregnancy without a problem
We’d painted the nursery in pale blue
I was having
A little boy
I'd stroke my swollen belly every time he kicked
we joked he'd be a great football player
tragically he’d never kick a ball
no one knows why he stopped moving on my due date
The doctors could not save my child
Why was my baby born sleeping?
My precious son
You never cried
F I C T I O N P O E M W R I T T E N F O R
n/a in Fragmented Verse Poetry Contest
(n/a because the line spacing was incorrect for the form - now amended)
02/15/21