Language death poems and poems about death for Language. Read and share these heartfelt Language death poems with loved ones, friends and family members. Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for non-death related poems or Language Poems.
abuse, age, art, business, career, change, class, color, computer, conflict, death, depression, devotion, flower, green, happiness, introspection, irony, jobs, language, loneliness, lonely, longing, metaphor, nature, pain, philosophy, political, poverty, self, simile, slavery, social, society, spiritual, stress, technology, time, today, together, truth, urban, visionary, wisdom, work, world,
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
beautiful, language, poems, poetry, school, sympathy, teacher, teen,
Energy and passion,
excitement breeds attraction;
a brilliant work, a masterpiece
explored in true love fashion.
Traversing plots with disregard
for clear-cut truths,
it must be hard
Our cartoon minds
the words she spins,
the twist; the end.
I walk out the door
and know my thoughts mean
beautiful, change, death, dream, gothic, language, lonely,
Winds and lust
Hanging on, even the dust
Storms rage inside my head
Oceans calm breeze arrives
To find me dead
Jour de la météo
La mort par le métro
art, death, family, language, life, love, poems, political, religion, social, success, trust, truth, wisdom, words,
words words words
and more words
space and time
silences and breaths
spoken and written
make as we go
to give meaning to all
death, gothic, imagery, language, metaphor, old, sleep,
Count not a minute gone past,
Scurrying 'neath the brush at our feet,
Nibbling on toes and morsels of flesh, lying
Inside this box we now call home,
A strange miasma hovering above us and squinting
To examine the white in our hair, the wounds in our hearts,
A head with no body now mouths pretty words,
Looking so tired, so tired,
As Death turns for a second look, another laugh,
Appalled at the distance of years,
Driven mad by a life cleanly wasted,
By this drum in my head,
Beating seconds into a frenzy, giving birth
To the minutes and hours, paving the way
For an ancient future that silently stutters
And finally knocks at the door. Come in.
Consuming brain waves from plentiful touch
Exchange of sorrow, mirth, and incredulous dirges
Following the sign of the times
Discourse as it reeks from chest cavities
Angsting bloated bodies barrelled into walking murmur
You sleepy disease fungal fortunes run amiss
Runinous with divisive claims
appreciation, beautiful, beauty, bereavement, black african american, blessing, destiny,
The Hat is an unspoken language
Every lady must learn
It will give you a voice when it's your turn
Your Hat will speak when you don't have a voice
It will talk the whole time, Remember diva you are
The boss, and get your message plainly across
Hold that Hat down, it's your choice.
My language says I'm all that unprecedented,
unparalleled, untouchable and second to none
Classy, intelligent, and sexy to no return.
The preacher has his sermon, but my hat has its address,
let's wonder who communicated the best.
My language has fortitude, latitude, gratitude, attitude, and a smile.
This case I rest!!!
Ernesto P. Santiago
life, love, peace, people, sympathy
No shouting at all
If let little fingers speak
Deaf hears, loud and clear
care, cheer up, emotions, grief, sorrow, woman,
By Kerinth Campbell
For each tear is a pearl of anguish
Which God Himself tenderly catches
And gently places in a golden bowl.
Cry…For words fail to tell of the
Searing pain and grief
Which twists like hot sharpened knives
Into the core of your being.
Cry, my dear, For if truth be told,
God understands the language of
He, too, cries with you…
He feels the same grief…
He knows that womanly pain.
He understands the bereft moments and
He agonises with the intensity of your emotions.
Yes! God knows the sound
Of a woman’s language of tears…
Two dazzling balls which speaks with art
A glimpse of deep pains from thine heart
It shines the gloom as dimming moon
And take a weight of million tons.
But lo my friend the time will pass
And all your burdens will be in trash.
age, death, earth, language, literature, today, writing,
Please translate my poems into
other languages if you can;
share 'em, if you will,
to the earth's end.
People may still tell each other
about what has been
before the heavens upon us