Death Sadness Poems | Examples
These Death Sadness poems are examples of Sadness poems about Death. These are the best examples of Sadness Death poems written by international poets.
A point of time alone I mark,
And shine it best I may,
And plant brave flowers upon the way,
Before I must embark.
As if seeping through the paper. Words;
Just seem to disappear.
Yet absent are the memories,
From only minutes, so near..
Thinking that you thought,
as you think about the memory;
A trip to the store or
something you bought.
Quickly forgotten as you stumble mid- sentence;
A place you now reside, comes to light
In bright eyes.
A place soon forgotten, to you and you alone;
While those around you deal with each forgotten
Like another painful death has falling upon.
Yet each one now marked
Unknown....
As memories fade like the scent of cologne;
Thinking that you thought
as you think about the memories
All alone...
Shall we once more, in mountains of our thought,
Gaze down upon the vastness of our ground,
And know that for the meadows newly sought,
The flowering fields shall not by us be found?
Shall we recall that bronze took place of stone,
And then in turn to iron did yield its way;
That ships of sail no more the oceans own,
And brilliant sunlight lasts for but a day?
Shall we, in embers of the distant past,
Remember living forms that brought our dawn,
But, by that gift of birth, their fate was cast,
And we the reason that their time has gone?
O, things shall pass, and it were ever thus:
'Tis more bitter, though, now that it is us.
When someone first dies and leaves us,
It’s hard to lift that sense of gloom,
When their body is no longer with us,
But their presence still fills the room.
But within our treasured memories,
We can recollect their smiling face,
For in our heart-of-hearts we know,
They are now in a much better place.
When I was small
the starlings roosted one by one
on grandma’s party line wire
(like jittery black clothespins)
to bandy their gossip back and forth
until the wire hummed
with their inanities.
By luck my slingshot found its mark.
One toppled from the wire soundlessly
like a clothespin blown loose in the wind.
The others rattled on, oblivious,
no questions asked.
It dropped straight down.
I ran to see where it had fallen
(headlong into the trash)
expecting it to be stunned only
and I would laugh as it flew off.
There,
between a flattened can of Campbell soup
and a Brillo pad used up,
and bleeding from one empty eye
the still warm bundle of feathers
looked ready for flight.
(so fly!)
But when it did not spread its wings
or chatter any more
I cradled death in my hands
(soft and almost weightless)
and cried
as I buried both victim and weapon
in the same box.
Grief is the wave that rocks the boats in the bay,
It comes, it goes, sometimes it stays,
It can lap at your feet or drag you under,
It can come without warning, or with a clap of thunder,
It is the wind in your hair,
The chill of the night,
It is the arms you wrap around yourself when you hold on too tight,
It is darkness and pain with fragments of light,
It is the hole in your heart that can never be filled,
It is the blood in your ears that cannot be stilled,
It is all consuming; it swallows you up,
It is the yearning because you miss them so much,
It is the price you pay,
It is love.
Grief is many things, all rolled into one,
It is the feeling of sadness because they are gone,
It is guilt for all the things you did wrong,
It is the bargaining, and the depression,
It’s wishing you said all the things you didn’t care to mention,
It is ugly, it is rough,
It is way more than tough,
Grief is like a wave that rocks the boats in the bay,
It comes and it goes, but it’s not here to stay.
A surrealistic silence hangs sluggishly in the air,
as I sit upon your violet clawfoot recliner,
sorting fuchsia dresses into melancholic piles.
An opal ring glistens while the sun drapes over your portrait,
reflecting splashes of kaleidoscopic colors on barren walls.
Dust cakes the creaking floorboards as I place belongings into cardboard boxes.
A faint lullaby gradually infuses this somber undertaking.
The scent of floral perfume permeates—grief crashes over like cresting waves.
The wind whips outside, rattling the bones of a bitter house,
while a heavy heart sinks, drowning in agonized saline.
Tin plates and yellowed photos decorate mahogany tables
antiquated keepsakes, solidified moments in time.
The cerulean dusk creeps in, and the world softens.
Yet grief cloaks nocturnal restfulness,
as your sentience has been reduced to ash.
Merely confined within an engraved urn.
Let us start at the end because that is where it all began
Ashes
I clinched my fist because I did not want to let go
I literally watched you slip through my fingers
I cursed the day
The day I looked into your eyes, lying there
On a bed that represented hope
Until that moment
The moment I realised that you were actually sleeping on your death bed
You told me that you wanted to be cremated
And you wanted to be scattered in the ocean
Since you never got to go when you were capable
And you made me promise that I would make sure it happens
I blindly agreed because l did not have time to digest it
As l watched you take your last breath and expire
Now I am standing on the beach thinking about that day
And I rue the day l made you that promise
I foolishly agreed because I did not realise that it meant I would have to lose you twice
I was clinching my fist because I knew letting go would be losing you all over again
But I had to fulfill my promise
So l let you go
Ashes
That is how it ended.
An angel sent to visit us on Earth,
The realm of bliss to this of grinding woe;
What must she think to dwell in love's sad dearth?
But angels need not think, for all they know.
Perhaps she knows the meaning of it all,
And softly beats her wings to sooth our cries;
Perhaps she knows that mortal crises fall,
And all shall seem but little when one dies.
But we, who cannot know, and sadly think,
May feel a great divinity beyond;
And wonder why it is that we must sink,
And why it is that dirt must be our bond.
There is, perhaps, a better world above,
But even here, we can a little love.
Sadness
I don't need you
Bring me happiness instead
Because it is happiness that I need
Badly in my life
Yes I am sorry for feeling grumpy today
That is because I didn't get enough sleep
Yes I went very late to bed
I broke some rules
That my Father made for me
He made a sleep schedule
It is for me to go early to bed
If I do that i will get plenty of sleep
I can't survive with little sleep
That is the whole truth
AIso I am not a morning person
That is the truth
Father bring peace to my life
Because I have no peace in my life
I am always worrying sick to death
About my life
Yes I know the morning will end soon
My Father
I am looking forward to the afternoon
I want so bad to have a little nap
Father you don't have to worry
About that
I made the choice to have a afternoon nap
I look to my right
And there’s a bin of stuffed animals just like the one you bought me
I look to my left
And there’s your favorite flavor of ice cream
I look down
And I see your Nebraska sweatshirt I couldn’t let them throw away
So I think maybe
Just maybe
And I look up.
But there's no trace of you in the sky
Just the harsh grocery store lights
Reflecting off the tears streaming down my face.
It was a strong opponent,
it fought against us very well.
Many of us were slaughtered
before it finally went down.
Again and again it tried to run,
but we chased it down each time.
We will never give up the hunt.
We will always persevere.
But this one had surprised us;
it flashed its hardened steel.
It cut down many of the pack
and deflected our attacks.
Eventually we brought it down.
We got in behind and hamstrung it.
Then when it fell to its knees
we leapt for its throat.
We did not revel in victory however,
too many of the pack had died this night.
Instead we lamented our dead
by howling at the moon.
Tonight, the hunt went wrong.
Tonight, we lost our kin.
But tomorrow will bring a new hunt.
We will never give it up.
she reads the day's news
and learns of her new sadness~
notice of his death
Note: inspired by "The Gun", Dragnet, season 1 episode 15, April 27, 1967
We are all travellers,
moving through time,
walking roads we did not choose,
carrying stories no one fully knows.
Life gives us no map,
only moments
some soft as morning light,
some heavy as storms.
We meet people along the way,
some stay, some leave,
some become memories before we are ready.
We build, we lose, we love, we break.
We hold on, we let go.
Sometimes, we run,
sometimes, we stop and wonder
what was the point of it all?
But the journey does not wait.
It pulls us forward,
whispers that there is more,
even when we are too tired to listen.
And one day, we step beyond the last horizon,
leaving behind the footprints of our existence,
while the road continues without us.
A mark of scarlet was the first,
Fitting of inferior character.
He was associated of plagues,
The name given of a tragedy.
The dead made a bottomless pit on him,
Rendered executed, the title of foundling.