Death Flower Poems | Examples
These Death Flower poems are examples of Flower poems about Death. These are the best examples of Flower Death poems written by international poets.
smiling faces scorned
by overwhelming rainstorms
once bobbing heads-droop
Gaze upon the glorious decay.
Gaze upon the glow of pitch blackness.
Cut through the flames, Sword of Hades.
Grow tall and strong my flower,
O’ Blackened Sunflower.
Decay of flames, my Sunflower.
Inspired by my poem “The Black Sunflower” 3/5/2026
This is a non-traditional Tanka
may's setting sun
seen through purple coneflower petals....
God' amazing grace
memories flood mind of husband
he planted them last year
beauty but a beast
creeping bluebell horror scene
weeds the death of me
Please take me home
to where the pink flowers grow;
brush my cheek
and inspire mortal desires.
Cast the dark away
allow a light's afterglow
to meld my spirit back,
to life's eternal fire.
Yes, please carry me home,
to where the Pink Flowers grow.
spray-painted
flowers
wither unnaturally
like a butterfly
landing
on an imbecile
Death,
Shine down.
Orange moon,
Broken vessel.
Burn bright my flower,
O’ Blackened Sunflower,
Grow and consume, drink all life.
That beautiful withering void.
Gaze upon the glorious decay.
Gaze upon the glow of pitch blackness.
Cut through the flames, Sword of Hades.
Grow tall and strong my flower,
O’ Blackened Sunflower.
Set your heart ablaze,
take back your throne.
Roots, take hold.
My king,
Death.
The bad hour,
Mud shower,
Petal sour,
Dead Flower,
Devour.
All my gold,
Rotten, cold.
All this mold,
Roots, take hold.
Watch it unfold.
I rearranged just two pieces of furniture:
A small table, a small ottoman with old suture.
I placed your orange faux flowers in a vase
Atop table on orange crochet cloth as a base.
This table display centered before the window
Of your spacious living room, in the sun's glow.
Your furniture as always shall stay the same.
Memories linger, of all the people who came.
In our sunlit living room, our loved ones cried.
I as well, for days, a week after you had died.
I thought I'd be strong enough to remain here,
But I must heal elsewhere, it's become clear.
I know your spirit is watching over everywhere
That you've been, alive and gone; here, there.
I know when the sun shines into your mansion,
It is your soul giving us utmost divine affection.
As I am watering your withering white roses,
I wish I had separate simple tall glass vases
To share each and every white rose with family
Who loved you as their mother and our granny.
But really symbolically this glass vase is rather
As transparent as we are when we're together,
So I never want to see us separate nor shatter.
Times we shared are the stems of each flower.
Just as we come and go thru life and death,
I'll water these roses until their final "breath."
Though your suffering lasted until the winter,
News of your final night pierced like a splinter.
I'll water these roses and your cactus plant.
I'll think of you as I sing to songs like a chant.
I still love you, I wish I could know if you know
I have a lot of self-growth I am going to show.
Death is a dark place
Shadows are floating around
No flowers live here
red pink poinsettias
floral feast for fasting eyes
casket cream colored
The shimmering rill stones
The clear babbling waters
The yellow meadow flowers
Dancing in the breezy dawn
He passed this way, he passed away
As thus, the bearded years pass on
The buried bones
The grieving daughters
Passing years fade like hours
On the grassy knoll, a memorial stone
Wreathed with yellow flowers
Below the hill
Lay his daughters still
In everlasting silent repose
The passing years fade like hours
Upon their graves, each; a yellow rose
None to hear them sing
None to marvel their glittered wing
As they’d lay midst, the meadow flowers
The passing years fade like hours
But they still remember
The morning dove, flying
And mortal love, undying
A faceless clock without numbers
traces past, present, recycled.
Nothing is created; nothing is lost.
It's all transformation.
Fallen leaves cradle new flowers.
As sun rises, sweeps the ground,
lifting up the dying to spring new shoots,
each unfolding rebirth.
The river's flow remakes the land.
Reshaping with unerring hand.
A moving sinuous flow, to and fro,
in endless state of flux.
Nature has no need for numbers.
Not bound by birth, life stage and death.
It's driven to become, improve, evolve,
when the fittest prevail.
Humans, adrift in yearning, trace
each hour that bleeds slow on clock's face.
To reach beyond the birth of their children.
To wrest more from their fate.
After the day her soul will fly away,
I will buy her a wooden tulip bouquet.
"I give you all of my love today," I'll say,
Instead of giving them all away.