Grave Poems | Examples of Grave Poetry

Gate of GODFORSAKEN GRAVE yard made sound. A girl with GRIEF -STRICKEN face to enter. Her long dress of GOSSAMER touched the ground. She walked and reached almost at centre. It was Moonlit night...

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Griefs love breathed a gossamer kiss upon my stolen lips, A moment that dwelled a silent eternity in my memory Thoughts once more prizing open the gate to my heart, Earthly grave the flowers looked, where love remained. Eyes struggle in the mirrors of my godforsaken world These ghostly limbs carry my weight to kiss your tomb As the...

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A candle burns beside the void, its flame a soft and stubborn cry— a whisper warm, the dark destroyed, but shadows bloom as sparks pass by. A beggar sleeps beneath a sign that sells a watch of diamond face; time moves, but stillness redefines what wealth can mean in empty space. A cradle rocks, a coffin rests— life weeps its first, then final sound. The...

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“Hey, look there Jim” the young girl said “What is this old gate up ahead? Now do you think we should go through. I’m really game if you will too.” We’ll have to clear these sticks away and find the latch - what’s that you say? You don’t think we should touch the gate? What lies beyond might not be great? Oh, come...

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I write not with anger, but with the burden of sorrow that cannot be cleansed by diplomacy nor buried beneath the noise of geopolitics. For in Gaza, the earth drinks the blood of children, and the sky records the cries of mothers, while the world—our world—calculates the cost of silence. Under the shadow of international law, we proclaimed the right to...

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A guilty man's bride was sadly taken. Heaven's gate was closed - no prayer could save. Grief-stricken, this poor man, godforsaken, saw a grim vision of his future grave. A sad, ghostly figure did awaken, groaning, "your soul will always be the slave of memories when your heart was shaken". Fate's words would on his heart and tomb, engrave. This gossamer...

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The cold, so cold ground Binding and pulling And holding me down Embraced by the crypt Confined and restrained And life’s breath stripped Stygian inked Such stifling dark And soul’s light extinct I find myself here Trussed by death’s grave Without hope, just fear In the cold, cold ground Decayed and corrupt Neath my burial mound ...

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Never again to know fresh air, Combing worms from my matted hair. No one remains who’d ever care — Tied to my grave, this lonesome baire. I must escape the sun’s harsh glare, Tread carefully down crumbling stair, Descend into my crypt just there, Where I sit alone in dark despair. Upon my ancient worm-eaten chair, Inside my vaulted charnel house lair, Such a sad...

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cold was the night and a runaway girl lay in the snow . . . soon a man found her he took her to a brothel- cleaned her up with a bath ...

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What makes it okay to bomb a nation? Kill so many who don’t have a station? Destroy a country, cities and families? Women, babies, children and men—all tragedies— Who never chose this war… suffer again and again. Across the globe, a catch twenty-two Do what I say, not as I do. What happened to the Fifth Commandment?, In a world where religion is...

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I saw a Man today as he walked the hill Tears and drops of blood did equal spill From brutally torn flesh and eyes of pain I saw a Man today my inadequate refrain I saw a Man today unjustly convicted His trial was short and clearly scripted The verdict assured without any proof I saw a Man today who spoke only...

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Conversation With Relatives Today, I feel an intense resolve. About two years ago, family members frequently shared news of someone's passing—whether it was from the village or someone I had once known. During those conversations, I would tense up and firmly request that they refrain from calling with bad news. Death is a constant reminder, glaring...

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they built a ballpark over my bones, laid asphalt like a priest's last lie— no headstone, no name, just beer guts and baseball caps spilling nacho cheese where I once bled. I was twenty-three, shot twice in the alley behind Leroy’s Bar, the paper called me “suspected.” that was all they needed. the morgue forgot me, the state ignored me, and my mother— she wept until the flies outnumbered her...

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Not only chimes moon bear with my speechless crutches Not only chimes with brass scarred by June fireflies, storm's echoes fade from my hutches — your ghost another side touches Not only chimes ...

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A Monument to a Murdered Love The walks with my ghost on beautiful mornings were taken. On late afternoon evenings, the walk goes to the sad night. “Sad nights?” Asked my ghost.“ I think the harvest was good.” Said my ghost. Yes, my ghost words always mirror the truth. His words, phrases, speeches, biography of life, the Titan. He is the...

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