Death Rose Poems | Examples
These Death Rose poems are examples of Rose poems about Death. These are the best examples of Rose Death poems written by international poets.
Ebony eyes eclipse ripping away sun
Moon blooms of golden gloom
Lips lacking limerick’s lift
Onyx mood swings back and forth
Like grey grandfather clock
Time ticking as a blues bomb
Raining purple passionate pain
clouded by lemon lyrical labyrinth
Of love lacking it’s sweet liquor
The bittersweet longing embraced
Tastes like red regrets sifted through time
Straining to be reinvented not lamented
In black bird’s somber death song
Sacred and solemn in honor of loss
Mourning is important inked in green
Like poison ivy uncomfortable
But never worthless as it is digested
And creates cranberry calling to
Remember the fallen angels
With soft tears laid like roses
On the cold creamy colored casket
A single white rose,
stark against the scar,
left on a plinth—
pale,
pierced,
and pared.
Air drips with heavy dew—
a heady sip,
thick nectar stung by wind,
a bitter elixir on the tongue.
The faint decay of autumn bloom rises.
Petals—
crushed,
capsized on iron.
Ensnared.
Entombed.
Rusting deep in the split stone—
iron teeth gripping the grim root.
Under the rust,
a secret scarlet pulse.
White thorns wake,
weaving through the wreckage.
Wild shoots shatter the cage,
rising—
raw,
radiant,
and reborn.
For deep under the bitter stone,
beneath the winter's heavy blow,
lies the silent, secret seed.
It waits for the solstice's soft sovereign warmth,
to wake,
to break,
and build the bloom anew.
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.
As we run from the ash,
will the pyramid of peace,
save our love?
As we gasp for air,
I feel totally loved with,
"Your fingers around my soul."
As you hold me so tightly,
kiss me over and over again then,
"Kiss me when the sun sleeps..."
Here as our time is ending,
"I own your signature,"
for evermore as we close our eyes.
"I'm a vampire rose,"
is this our true death?
I can smell the sweetness of a rose,
as the vampire of life bleeds us dry.
Will we ever be found?
He died on the field, to live in the heart,
Lifted are nations by heroes that fall;
Never we’ll know on which ground he took part;
But then, the truth is, he died on them all.
He held, on that day, “No evil shall pass!
No, not today, though I die at my post!”
Courage is not just a word by the crass,
But rises with flames, when duty calls most.
What shall we think of a life cut so short?
There once died a rose, that others might bloom;
What shall that death to the living report?
There once rose a call, that lives past the Tomb:
To face every danger, never to lag,
And to embody what’s meant by the flag.
My heart, sad. A blue thorny rose.
Poisoned petals, cold. Food for crows.
Cheating from afar,
promises promises, how weak.
Liar, sliced, split among the creek.
and yet here we are.
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.
I seldom write happy rhyme
Despite my heart’s inner chime.
Perhaps a rose is just a rose,
It lies with me in sweet repose.
The tears I cry are not my own,
By my one love they are sown.
Preciously gathering each rose petal
Younger sister’s funeral come to an end
The depth of pain unbearable
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
magical roses
in summer's English garden....
first frost touches rose
romantic pale pink
iced, ready to turn dark, fall....
winter's cold fingers
barren rose bushes
remain strong during short days....
long nights strengthen roots
soil begins to warm
life returns to bush, green leaves....
buds appear, open
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
Cold morning light of misty haze.
Ground section, three dimensional rectangular gaze.
Sharp thorns on rose dead red misty tears.
Cracked leather from fisted gloves of black weaponised might.
Shine glistened leathered shoes dulled in this dead light.
Long coat warmth hanging off soulless cold.
Dark glasses cloaked glass eyes shone in glee.
Box lowered slowly.
Oh, but so, so exquisitely.
Standing witness for the joyful final act of the murdered end of thee.
a fragrant red rose, dulcet and perfumed soft
with sun kissed petals, rich and dripping sweetness
gently I carry her to you my precious and treasured one
while melodious birds sing songs in low tweets and chirps
and rose is wilting in my hand as she hangs her head dying
as I weep and lay her on the garden grave of my beloved cat
Listen to this grief I tell,
How love away from me didst wind.
And though in time, I think she’ll find
I loved her better – never mind –
The whole of life, its parts combined,
Are only sorrows intertwined.
But on the Plains, the Plains of Asphodel,
Shall it all at last be well!
The whole of life, ‘tis nothing deep,
‘Tis fodder for the compost heap.
Life laughs at us, I laugh at it,
We last through lethargy and wit.
Yet this my rule, ignore the rest:
‘Tis he who dies the first, dies best.
Untended lie the acres of my heart,
Where once a field of roses bowed and swayed.
And gladly from all sorrows shall I part!
Nor by a dismal voyage, be dismayed.
Painted daisies, baby's breath beside roses
Chrysanthemums, carnations beside roses
Red roses beside pink roses
Still, Rose is gone; Petals fresh, ... dried, and crushed.
Dawn and dusk, and melted musk
Settle upon the dust-covered roses, covering Rose