Death Memory Poems | Examples
These Death Memory poems are examples of Memory poems about Death. These are the best examples of Memory Death poems written by international poets.
When shadows lengthen and the day grows still,
I lean into the quiet, soft and deep,
Just pulling up the blankets for a sleep.
It feels like resting after years of work,
Like sitting down when all the chores are done,
No heavy doubts or fears that try to lurk,
Just watching out the window, the fading sun.
My breathing slows, a simple, steady rhythm,
And all the noise inside begins to clear,
I leave the weight of everyday right with them,
And find a strange, gentle stillness here.
No dramatic exit, no pain to fight or mend,
Just letting go, and letting darkness blend.
A single white rose
remains in her garden
as if guarding her last breath
and the laugh that lightened
a garden into a legendary
sanctuary of sacred place,
lengthening time
and creating memories
of precious moments
that passing time cannot erase~
still marked to remind
by a single white rose.
Remember me when life moves on
But not in sorrow because I'm gone.
Remember me when you need to recall
Your value to others [ though you think it small ]
Remember me when you need advice.
You always said my words were wise.
Remember me in times of laughter
And how we thought we couldn't be dafter.
Remember me when you feel rejection.
Remembering my love will be a protection.
It's hard, I agree, but you need to know
I am within you wherever you go.
Don't make my memory a reason to be sad.
I had you in my life and for that I'm glad!
Although the wedge of death has broken us apart,
Close your eyes. Feel that squeeze? I'm hugging your heart.
I saw a wild daisy, and it made me think of you.
Standing tall and strong, out of rocky soil it grew.
A sadness crept over me like none I ever knew.
I missed the nearness of you.
Your smile, our chats, holding your hand.
When I saw that flower defiantly stand,
sunny face upturned towards the sky
I am reminded that death is not goodbye;
perhaps this is you come to say hi.
oh, grief...
it's indeed true what is said
about you.
you're an arc
that keeps looping your way back
to yet another circle.
all it takes
for your long-smothered flame
to once again ignite...
just one reminder,
a painful one at that;
old funeral service bulletin.
they ask the condemned
what they desire for their final meal.
comfort.
nostalgia.
pleasure.
memory.
something to remind them
of life.
if you ask me---
i choose flesh
and blood.
i choose the meal
that conquered death.
By Phan Tan Hai
Writing poems endlessly—my hands grow tired,
so I sit down to rest my feet.
White clouds return to the doorway;
we remember each other, a few tender bonds.
Dust settles upon the page,
blurring last night’s ink.
Lifting the pen, I want to weep—
the homeland’s story lies far away.
Seeing clearly the shore of birth and death,
one day I suddenly wish to lie down;
seeing, hearing the joy of stillness—
Being and Non-being both are mind.
Split open the poet’s heart—
in the Lý–Tr?n age, flowers rained from the sky.
This realm feels strangely distant,
mountains and rivers cold along the far road.
— For the birthday of poet Nguyen Luong Vy
A box of memories deep,
a shoebox where the inside makes me weep.
Photos, and things of those above,
all of my family . . . . that I still love.
I trace images with my finger,
and my memories of them still linger.
Death cannot destroy our bond,
though, they are in another realm beyond.
Come September,
I remember
Pete's piano.
Seventy-eight -
year that went straight
into my soul.
Eighty-eight keys
played Mussorsky’s
brooding rondo.
Why did he go
so long ago -
Pete's piano.
They lined the streets with bodies ~ we'd been cursed with a modern day black plague.
American sentence: 17-syllables
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Cold leather, false armor.
A corpse with Intangible bones,
exoskeletons linger among the dirt,
An overwhelming scent of decay.
Memento Mori.
Dread it, run from it,
it follows, so it goes.
You cannot escape Hades’ curse.
Sleep quietly, bask in your former glory.
Ashes of maroon candles,
rusted black chandeliers,
paintings of bleeding yellow roses.
Whispers cease in stone chambers,
Spirits demanding life from a fading fireplace.
Empty halls with echoes of violence,
Unruly noise of former faces.
Now you too will roam in silence.
The way I need you
is a loneliness I cannot bear.
~ Carson McCullers
Her chair sits quietly in the corner
of the empty house
and remembers the overtures of Kraus
filling the air with sound and sometimes
a crescendo of fury,
and in those moments the room was starry,
as if creation delighted in the music
before his frailty grew thick,
causing sound to succumb to silence,
and silence has become the loudest memory
in her life’s solitary reverie.
If you boil water - you get steam.
Boil my life - you get a dream.
So it is, when I look up
from an empty cup,
at a softly winding curl,
I think I see a girl.
Life in the Graveyard
Death is not the angel of eternal life
Never, never
The world of the dead is alive, not just remembrance
Never, never
The walk in the cemeteries is a path
The grave garden’s walks are my way
The graveyard is the way
The life there
There
A new
A new creation
The soul of the cemetery gave me a new life
Forever, forever
The dead are lives. Life comes
Yes, always in time
The walk through the cemetery is a memory, locked in eternal time
Lives in my life the soul and the memory of the graveyard
Forever, forever
The loneliness of the past lives
of the graveyard lives in my heart always
In
Eternal
Time
My life there
is a new life
The gate of the graveyard
Wreath in my life
Loved
Accepted
Evertime
Poetry to be had in most
everything -- the ceiling fan for
instance, it's off now; heat slicing
blades silenced --
a ticking clock becoming more
apparent, poetry in the on-wall
antique as well; thinking that if only
crystal moderns we could have outlawed --
keeping strong the heartbeat refrain of old pendulum
swingers....a wind, a fond nudge
when needed, and animation resumes rhythmic
and unimpeded. I miss you.