Death Rhyme Poems | Examples
These Death Rhyme poems are examples of Rhyme poems about Death. These are the best examples of Rhyme Death poems written by international poets.
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I write, my heart spilling onto the page, for the alternative is the quiet death of unexamined days.
These did not come to feast or to play
They came with very much to say
These were not birds of prey
Nor did they come to stay
These hoovered above a church called Promise Land
At first, I did not clearly understand
But in a short while, I could tell that they
were not vultures of death
Rather, they were commissioned by God
to give fresh new life
These had come to preserve, protect, and extend
the life of the little flock
These had come to open new doors
that till now had been locked
These had cone to set free anyone filled with fright
And to give them new energy to finished the fight
As they departed, I could see a formation in the sky
It simply said, "Birds of life. Goodbye".
Yesterday's old woman knitting,
to a rusted old wind-screen-shield,
& the torched stranger in corn fields
produces crops none shall wield,
against the killing & the raping
but the flame-thrower of Belial's
against a knight that heralds,
a shield for which for blocking,
but the fields lay ablaze in dying,
and the starving in which eloping,
to those eager to hold on to living,
as hound bouncing glorious beagles,
eat up past boney hands cluttering....
A feast before they too become death.
woe, to my woken, winter's sleep
dark shadows chilling my hollow
springs well up, orbs forever weep
winter rings...no spring will follow
bitter is the cold, bitter so old
bitter for just...one last, first start
sprinklings of springs, so young and bold
now, ice-slick sickles, sever my heart
oh, bitter is the winter of my death
bitter keeps ring, ringing, my phone
bitter is...the hindering of breath
bitter is...my winter alone
Is it the arrow while in its flight?
That determines what is in its sight?
More likely the archer, with steady aim.
Shot not to kill, but to hurt and to maim.
At last, he’ll release his final revenge.
It’s not his choice, the flight to abate,
The target chosen as if by fate.
The arrow its damage, it will do.
The deed is done, the archer is through.
Now he can stop his honor less binge.
Revenge was not the ultimate cure,
For all the pain he had to endure.
A forgiveness path should have been taken,
A better path, be not mistaken.
Love enters in to act as a hinge.
Opening the door to understanding,
Knowledge enters and is expanding.
Two people beginning to comprehend,
Like a willow tree, they too can bend.
They begin to see hope on the fringe.
In death truth is told, the final sting.
The voice of justice begins to sing.
Those not able to make the right choice,
Understand their error from the voice.
All are harmed when the choice is revenge.
Dear mama can I talk to you for some time
It’s okay I’ll yell if you can’t come
Mama I’m in this dream that I do not like,at all
I’m struggling to cope my life’s blocked by this wall.
Everyday I wonder how to break it down, it’s so tall.
It feels like needles punched right through my heart and I can’t let that slide
Because it’s so tall that I can’t see you, you’re on the other side.
I tear down every night hoping one day the wall separating us will also tear down
But those tears have built a well in my pillow enough for me to drown.
Wake me up from this dream, it’s too filled with pain
Hold my hand, save me from my own slovenly brain
Wake me up, I don’t want to have this dream again
Until then I’ll let my tears fall down along with the rain.
Our Claim to Fame
A man is more than his name
But a name that lacks honor
Will leave a man lame.
In this life and the next,
Our struggles will define
Our life in the text--
How our immortal soul
Should be counted:
Will it pay the toll?
Spiritually speaking,
Rationality
We should be seeking.
Morally self-control
Is a vital key
To making us whole.
And, socially,
Justice must be
Sought more than vocally.
The lesser struggle--
As a final resort,
Or nothing but trouble.
Wisdom spoken…well and good,
But wisdom needs action.
This must be understood.
Without real effort,
Our life is vague
And nothing but hurt.
Live long and without regret,
In service to others--
And even better yet…
A truly righteous life
To honor our maker
Without discord or strife.
When death draws nigh
And God’s questions are posed,
Honor answers with head high.
Now clear to all our claim to fame:
A man arrived
With an honored name.
Heaven opened and looked down, making a view of all of the below, taking in the beauty of all of the earth.
Heaven was filled with all of our missed ones, the ones that were of God, and taught us all of God’s plans for our life.
Heaven is our home and it is near yet far away, we have it in our heart and in our mind, we dream and believe in all of God’s plan.
Heaven is so beautiful, we walk toward it every day, with all of our good works making the path, we pay our way with all of our works.
Heaven is the place that will fulfill us of our needs, it will make us sing happily.
Heaven is the place God made for us, he placed it in us, we can feel heaven so close, yet we cannot see it.
Never be afraid of death, death is birth of our true life, as we walk through this life, pray and love are our true mission in this life.
Heaven is our resting place, a place we will find lots of love and bliss.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
The universe appears and disappears,
depending on wherever our mind goes
but when we’re still, mist of delusion clears
and we see the light wherefrom all life flows,
substratum of existence that endows.
Verily truth is Self and Self alone,
known on ego death; the way we atone.
* Second of three in this style of classic form - I hope you like it. *
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swift, swift, the rills do run
swift from high the mountain
swifter tho', the running years
flowing through life's fountain
creep, creep, the brumal mists
creep 'midst fells and highlands
creeping 'round the peaks and years
mem'ries drowned like islands
drift, drift, my dreams to sea
drift like thought and feather
drifting toward a mortal bloom
thick with highland heather
sleep, sleep, at last to dream
sleep bides blessed and meek
sleep, come press a kiss goodbye...
so sweet now ... 'pon my cheek.
Copyright © 2021 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with GALA AI software )
soft, soft, I ring the bells
soft, the bluebells blooming
softer tho' her pleading eyes
with each breath, consuming ...
hark, hark, I call to thee
hark, so blushes morning
hearken to her linen cheek
crimson as the borning ...
haste, haste, alas the years
haste to cut the bracken
hasten to her dimming gaze
'fore the shadows slacken ...
hush, hush, I whisper yet
hush to bide the nether
hushing now, her angel voice
gone, my love ... forever.
* For the “2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 17” Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge and Sponsor. *
In Autumn chain edges destroy the trees' only air
She, while in their bark's raw breath infuse,
As if leaves underdone weren't truly everywhere
On Autumn's corset; within, her body's womb
A stolen breath
Gripped onto her corset
A leaf's first memory lasts first
The oak's years cut from giving her birth
She left in its ground spaces worth
falling for
If kiss should meet Kismet
Let not the bet be shallow
Nor all the treasure of this time
Become a promise hollow
For kisses can take 'way one's breath
In ecstasy or sentence
Choose wisely who you turn to face
Lest death become tomorrow
If time and temperment embrace
The face of what's surreal
It's up to those equipped to face
The task… before the sorrow
In the beautiful morning sunlight of May
A sacrificed lamb lays on his death bed
His life and limbs are in utter decay
In a few hours or days he’ll be dead
Outside the pink blossoms of the crabapple
Are softly blowing in the springtime breeze
They frame an outline of a small white chapel
Where his soon to be widow drops to her knees
There is a peaceful feeling in the air
The lovely scent of flowers brings serenity
A tranquil quiet fit for a lonely prayer
Because for him there is no remedy
When he awakens from his soothing slumber
His gaze wanders outside to see a lady in white
He muses that he has met his number
And this angel will take him through the light
She’s posing beneath the pastel trees
Her tripod is poised to capture the scene
A moment of beauty obtained to please
In a landscape curated for calm and serene
She is not an angel but she fits the vision
She seeks this image against the clear blue sky
The time has come for him to leave this prison
For it’s such a beautiful day to die
Her Death
-The trigger lay steady and sardonic in the hands of the ready stalker.
-She lays unaware , a spot for each grand representation of naiveness in her hair.
Full of innocence-didn’t even have chance to mature. For the hunter was to ensure the value of her fur, by stripping her bare of what she had earned.
-she was nothing more than her new found horror