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Death Wandering Poem
He got buried six feet under
No eyes to see the thunder
He has no heart to feel sorry
He has no soul to feel any worry
He simply is and is all there will be
He would want a will but would fail a feeling of ease
He got buried six feet under rock and stones
Did his killer feel remorse? Did they see his bones?
Either way it wouldn’t matter, for he simply wouldn’t know
Even if he knew anything at all, he would know only death
For that’s what we all think when we take our last breath
Copyright © Death Wandering | Year Posted 2024
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Death Wandering Poem
Their hands glide across his skin like death
The coolness of hands, without emotion, felt by none
'It burns, it freezes, it hurts so much, make it stop'
Is what he would say had he one breath of life left
Instead he lays there with a slack, stone cold expression
His eyes closed to hide the lack of life they present
He cannot see the horrors of the embalming
He cannot feel when they change his clothes
He cannot sense the sorrow of the ones who mourn
And when it’s finally over, he cannot feel the heat of a thousand suns reducing him
Reducing him to nothing but ashes, to be kept away and as something precious as diamond
Yet worth overall, less than dirt
His post mortem will always end his humanity
Copyright © Death Wandering | Year Posted 2024
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Death Wandering Poem
How does a person forgive in a world so cold?
Do they go on walk, once, thrice, or tenfold?
Or do they simply vanquish all the wrongs they recall?
For when meaning meant nothing yet everything of all
Forgiveness can be easy if the damage is sparse
Other times harder than diamond, rough, yet so loud
Of the few rare times, forgiveness is given without a doubt
For sometimes the pain is easy, something without a pout
There are some days we simply refuse to forgive
And some days we simply apologize without forgiveness
In a busy, fastpaced world with yes, refusals, and yes many doubts
Forgiveness can be the enemy as it can also be the only safe passage out
Copyright © Death Wandering | Year Posted 2024
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Death Wandering Poem
Rage, regret, pain and mercy
Here before you are the four emotions
Dare ignore them, face every notion
Rage will thunder down like hammers
Stripping the castle’s wall of banners
Regret comes faster than an arrow
Striking much deeper than bone marrow
Pain is quite swift to follow
Opening up wounds and leaving you hollow
Alas mercy will never be in sight
The emotional trial leaves you with no delights
Copyright © Death Wandering | Year Posted 2024
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Death Wandering Poem
Trying so hard, it’ll never be enough
Splitting up lies, that’ll always be tough
Admitting the future’ll better isn’t bad
But sometimes the present won’t be too glad
Efforts in trying will at times go to waste
Leaving one wondering if they’re a disgrace
If you were to ask me, I wouldn’t know
I’m already trapped down under twelve feet of snow
Come back in the summer, when it’s much warmer
And I’ll be able to tell if you trying has gotten harder
Copyright © Death Wandering | Year Posted 2024
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Death Wandering Poem
The chain, it weighs down my very soul
Taken and shackled, till I’m very old
No one can understand what they see
Everyone’s way too wrapped up in their greed
I push and pull against my restraints
Ignoring the fear and fleeting moments of bliss
It tears my skin to crimson and bloody
My eyes tear up, my skin’s all muddied
I beg to be set free of this Hellish demise
Hoping and waiting for a better surprise
The chains grow to razors and razors to blades
The pain only cuts deeper and I’m just barely sane
For when all of the ends fall into my abyss
Nothing of me is left, nothing of me will be missed
Copyright © Death Wandering | Year Posted 2024
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Death Wandering Poem
My fox screams and yells in utter disbelief, a glass wall silencing his pleas
I can only watch in utter display as my fox slowly but surely withers away
You may ask, ‘Why didn’t you help?’ or ‘Why just watch him fall?’
But the horrid, harsh truth is, I tried everything and nothing works at all
The glass cage, is seventy millimeters thick, much too tough for even an icepick
Yelling and begging that my fox stay calm, leaves him confused and much too headstrong
For the silence between us goes both ways, whether I push or tug, it always causes us dismay
I would bang on the glass, crying out his name. Yet the fox just sits there, immersed in his pain
Of course his isn’t the only pain in the room. For my feet are shackled, in barbed wire, I’d assume
As I walk around the cage and bang on the glass, the wires cut deeper as I trespass
I’m desperate to help, for it all to go away. But the magician is still here, finding glee from our pain
And finally when the hour strikes nine, all motion ceases, except for mine
My special fox is dead, while I stand unwillingly, surrounded in my pool of red
Copyright © Death Wandering | Year Posted 2024
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