Long Tombstone Poems
Long Tombstone Poems. Below are the most popular long Tombstone by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tombstone poems by poem length and keyword.
Song by George Jones
God your work leaves me in awe
We are birthed into this life of chaos
Some try and be good in own ways
That one might make you happy
Surely to be better than another beside them
Some just reject all your word
And the beast is seen by the tongue
Their throats have become their grave
On their back they carry this large tombstone
If only they could get rid of it to ease the path
For most we are brought up to enjoy this world
To see wealthy are the ones that are blessed
Why do so many of them live in chaos and strife
Oh how we got to try our own ways without you
This is the beauty of it all
The more we hate what we see around us the better
The quicker we just give up and seek the better
The ones that are poor in spirit and wealth
The quicker we find out we are no good
The more we hate our life that we might receive life
The quicker we see wow these people are
Becoming like walking beast
They have come out of darkness trying
To walk in the daylight to deceive
Sadly it's in blindness if they knew the source
That was leading them they would cry out
It's only the eternal life at hand no worries
Carry on as usual in ones own path
God you sent your son to be the true sacrifice
That we might receive His spirit promised
To lose the chaos of this world at hand
That we might receive treasures within
Which will make one want to be alone
This world can have earthy treasures that rot
Just instill this new joy , peace and love within
Let me die daily to my will and path
It holds me here in chains
With your presence within one shall break free
To escape this deception that creates blindness
Ella Hyde
1857- 1898
That cad with the freckle on his forehead,
That rascal man beast,
Handsome as a Greek
But devastatingly insecure,
And so deliciously young!
He was the one who stole my pride,
There, behind the Hadley tombstone in the moonlight,
And who,
Breathlessly and with trembling hands,
Unlatched the ruby red necklace
From around my naked neck that night.
It was he.
That cad who swooped down upon my innocence,
Like a maniacal Zeus
In one of his crazy costumes of concupiscence,
And carried me off to nights of brazen episodes,
Splendid spectacles in light and magic,
Of him and me embracing wildly, madly,
In dreamy dances with caresses and kisses.
Only the truly passionate
Could understand these mad scenes in the dark!
I met RS on many a night
In the long concealing shadows of Central Park.
He was my man, but he didn’t know it.
I lived my life here in this dusty town the best I could.
I believe I left my mark in some small but universal way.
At least I knew when to say no to Roscoe Settle.
Now I’d like to go back to my grave and sleep.
I am tired of this rant about The Man Beast.
At 41 I entered here after my bout with diphtheria.
The trees here are my shadowy friends now.
But I sometimes secretly wish I could meet RS.
Just as it was in 1897,
He and I kissing in the garden Gazebo at Central Park,
His hand on the small of my back.
Me trembling with monstrous want,
My ultimate Prince.
Who lied to me like a rat!
I often find myself alone,
In dark thoughts of my grey tombstone-
I am silent in my own dark solitude,
Drowning in my own loneliness,
The spirits of the dead,
Who stood in life before me,
Are again in death.
I feel there presents surrounding me,
Their shadows overtaking me,
I need not be still,
For i am not alone now in my deep dark misery,
My own personal ing hell...
The dark of night creeping apon me,
The stars above so bright,
As they give light to where my body has been put to rest,
Six feet under the ground.
Are the Angels above me,
Looking down apon me???
Will they cast out all these demons with in me???
Will they take me to the heavens above me?
Or will i sink deeper and deeper into my own lonely dark personal ing hell???
BY: SHANTAE PAPPACOSTAS
ORTEGA-ZELE (7-22-19)
Blood from blood, bone from bone,
Under the partially eclipsed moon of a burgundy-red sky,
A murder of crows gathers on the barren carcass of branches,
Whilst mist clings to a chipping tombstone.
Hardened petrichor shifts ever so slightly,
Awaiting the awakening of revenge incarnate.
The witching hour is almost upon us;
Noir-cloaked figures emerge from the passing shadows.
A High Priestess holds firm an ancient Book of Shadows.
As the metaphysical clock strikes two,
Yellowed pages frantically flip to an incantation.
The underlings take their positions at the four corners,
While she takes her place in the center.
Chanting the passage simultaneously, resurrection is forthcoming,
As shrivelled nightshade blooms to ritualistic life
And the paramount witch returns from her unsettled slumber.
The Wheels of Dharma turn in their favour.
Scorched lands and vengeance follow,
As Armageddon ushers in a new era.
Just see
How fearlessly
Sunshine is seated
On the gravestone
And the caring breeze
Whispering to the loneliness
So absolute
Beneath the tombstone
A paleolithic stone
A meaningless silence
Guarding utterly alone
The desiccating non-existence
Here lies she
Neither sad nor happy
Decaying gingerly
Enriching the earth
Are all doors locked
The moment we breathe our last
Then why the philosophers and scientists say
Energy is neither created nor destroyed
Happy earth
Taking her in with mirth
Smilingly giving birth to
Green pink and yellow
Coz her face chiselled
Poetry in her dimples
Aggression in her pimples
She made the flowers bloom
Where there was just thorn
Dried hay on broken bricks
Rude words from unwashed mouth
All stared with amazement
Yes when she had her words and breath
Flow of life like a brook
Never dreamt of lying buried
Knew her life in wavelets only
In her looks
A cup of morning tea
A mug of evening coffee
Fountain pen and notebook
One who gave so much
To life and society
Will stop stay put and still
Useless skeletons?
In death too
To herself she is true
Providing nourishment to soil
Making room for red and violets
I look in wonder
You are still writing poetry
In these flowers of skeletons
Colours of desiccation
I am sure next spring
Here in this green cover
A Cypress will grow and spread
A recognition of yours rieker deeds
Now the afternoon is still here
Moments are tender and pale
Shadows are coming and going
Stillness of accumulated past
Intense is darkness
Beyond death of life
Like when a love
Suddenly ceased to exist
As I remember your face
I earn freedom from this cold ice
Your warm cheek and palm
Are still a vibrant support
In death you lie down here
Stay reassured
In life you are in our thoughts
Whenever a candle goes out
Whenever we run out of candles
We look for you at our centre
You never disappoint us
Ever lighting us a candle
This way death awakes in life
Cypress grows on lonely graveyard
This way shadows of deer and cheetahs
Rise in life to engage our eyes
_____________________________________
September 15 , 2017
Poems that paint a picture 2 Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Black Flower On Your Stone
Hah. I am laughing at our fiction, unhappened love
Yeah. Super love could not be born. Hmm. Why?
Difference. Two atmospheres. Social. Cultural. And
You are an English lady. Yes. I am a European man
Hmm. Yeah. Two worlds. Two morals. Can’t live. No
Together. Never. But I loved you. My suffering was
Your happiness. I learned. No more. With your like
Never. Contacts are cancelled. Be good. Good luck
I am honest. I was. I am. I will be. Yes. Keep you
Far. From my life. Done your monumental memory
I am walking in our cemetery
Just drink, drink, and drink
And remember my hope
The hoped love
I am dead
I loved
You
Only
You
Yes
Oh
Hoped
Love
Hmm
Time passed
No more
Love
Possibility
Is dead
You live
In my mind
Walk
Cemetery
Thank you
Your dream
I
Love You
You
I visit you
You live
Still alive
In my heart
I put, give my gift
To your life
Your face is beautiful
On your tombstone
I made a photo
Black flowers
My children roses
On your
Monumental stone
Loved you
A poor, but honest
Demon heart
Dark
Light
Rose
I am sitting
There
Please
Open
Your
Crypt
And
Let me
Love
Live
The love
With you
Immortal
As the rain trickles down the cracks of my stained oak casket
And it stains the fabric of my tattered shirt with the crimson paint they placed upon my lips
The shifting of dirt can be heard in my worm infested ears
As the skin on my thighs is being eaten away from the wood beatles
My spirit hovers above this nightmarish scene
Broken tombstone and twisted roses cover my name
Once spoken from your tongue, now just a whisper in the wind
Can you even remember the words that dripped from my trauma fueled pens
Or have they turned to ash like my sins that were thrown into the pyre
Choking on putrid soot as you lowered haphazard memories into the barren ground
Darkness can be so blinding, don't you see now
All those insomniac nights and breathless days
Gripped by panic attacks and mind numbing depression
I screamed, pleaded, wept for longing
Just to be understood, as I got on my cracking knees
Praying with bloodshot eyes for an ounce of peace
I can't breathe, lungs swelling, tears cascading likes waterfalls down my sunken face
But you refused to see the girl breaking inside this woman, invisible scars ripping open
A spiritual bloodletting
Now the final chapter can not be undone as the bell no longer tolls for a lost soul among the deaf.
I am about to commit the worst sin
I am about to abandon my own life
Just lie in the bed and die
This compulsion to write dark things
Thoughts or even feelings
Maybe that is what has me living
Giving me the strength to keep going
But really is it even worth it
I feel like for the longest time
I have been screaming and screaming
But I already stopped drowning
I am at the bottom of the sea
I stopped sinking
I can’t breathe yet I am still feeling
I can't live yet I am required to keep breathing
What about this is really worth it
Up day in day in day in
And death keeps missing
Left with not choices, my worth keeps dipping
My belief is gone, my will to life fleeting
only remaining with one instinct
To jump from the tallest building
Without warning or any thinking
Without crying for my family
my mother, she really loves me
I can’t think of her without tearing
At times she makes it really worth it
I am here still scribbling
But very soon it is coming
I am waiting for my very last day
I can feel it my pathology is exhausting
Please help me I am tired of suffering
Or at least help me to die a little easy
Help me help me help me
I am finding very few things really worth it
Even my writing has lost all its beauty
A place of peace and calm
Miles upon miles of graves sites
Memorials telling their life stories
Souls lifted up to glory
Lived in the flesh
Endless rest
Sleep on in your years
You lived to preserver
Their tomorrows arrived
Now they slumber
Days, years and nights numbered
Their names gathered
Eternity mount
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
The Sun rises casting shadows over each tombstone
Smiles seen through their spirit
No longer mortals
Chosen ones
Time schedule
Heaven Hotel had their roams ready
Heaven was waiting holding steady
Observation lives Earth
Surrounding their birth
No more worries, pain nor sickness
Tombstone Manor
Strangers to each other
A community of its own.
the tattoo on her eyebrow frowned
at the sight of yesteryear’s cutlass
the well-rounded blade had become
blunt dull and worn down from overuse
and yet straight to the point of salvation
the pain cut unceremoniously deep
like a double-edged sword that
protracted the kill in anticipation
of slicing from a lacerated mind
saw teeth serenaded an ode to demise
one more incision and the blood flow
would take her across the river of tears
lacerated dreams punctured and carved into
her epitaph a forgone pleasant conclusion
the point of no return loomed un-capriciously
her wounds had festered in purulent beauty
and she appealed to her inner resolve
why prolong the inevitable release
and she was calm with no tremor
as she faced the extinction of terror
her glance fell upon the scalpel
next to the toothbrush and lather
and the mirror liked what it saw
cracked glass a few shards missing
a borrowed fantasy and reflection
of a bloody life unwanted as she
pondered upon what message
to inscribe on her tombstone
the shower curtain ready for a last splash
cheered her on ‘don’t you worry’
‘I’m easy to clean the mess will abide’
grout bleach and tiles lured a whitewash
and the toilet brush smiled in applause
cacophonous bristles caked in foul smell
took her closer to the crappy memories
which had darkened a life not worthy
of living and she let out a flatulent moan
ultimate and terminal the fizz pounced
and she gripped the rapier with
surgical precision and intricate joy
then Occam’s razor pleaded for parsimony
and she went back to self-laceration
prolonged suicide suited agony’s hurt
much better than a knife in her heart
17th May 2021
Knife’s Edge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh