Prose death poems and poems about death for Prose. Read and share these heartfelt Prose death poems with loved ones, friends and family members. Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for non-death related poems or Prose Poems.
anxiety, dark, emotions, fate, grief, pain, sorrow,
Hope, A Little Remained
She walked the creaking floors of the rat-infested room,
trying to remember what tragedy had sent her to this shabby place.
Her heart felt the desperate pains, that lost love sends in aching waves,
praying her sleeping infant does not wake and cry out from its feverish thirst.
He paced the cold cell, languishing in deep misery, heart shattered,
each step an eternity echoing curses, a testament to his broken pride.
Although thousands of miles apart, he felt her loss, never-ending sorrows,
dawn would come, priest would take his last confession, yet Hope remained.
For Silent One's, eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late.
Surely, I shall recall my death as well as I fail to remember my birth.
October 13, 2016
bereavement, betrayal, confusion, devotion, divorce, emotions, heartbreak, hurt, love, love hurts,
How does my body
This flesh that withholds my soul,,
manage to bear the weight from the chains that have been embedded upon my bequeathing heart?
Where does one hide the pain that is encrusted upon these eyes that are dreary and now fail to sleep?
Why cant my mind acquit, my heart adrift, my skin ache for the touch of another?
Does it have to be me that has to live with this night, because happiness is the other side of this mirror?
allegory, analogy, black african american, eulogy, imagery, inspirational, remembrance day,
Standing at The Mountain
There stood the great mountain—
A Sisyphean challenge;
A Job’s journey;
A deferred dream’s destiny;
Indeed, a Draconian feat.
But there also stood the dreaming King;
Tutored prodigy of the King of Kings;
With eyes stayed on the prize,
He smiled at death with God sent eyes.
Yes, the King is dead
But we’re looking ahead!
We are the dream’s vision;
Our children—its reality;
Jacob’s ladder rises before us;
Let’s get to climbing!
“Only the dreamer dies…”
conflict, courage, grief, growth, strength,
Like a stubbed Toe
Uncontrollably and sometimes close to a
Devastating fear of permanent failure
Until we accept
Until we accept
And grin for the favor
Of the full torture of
Again, and again...
death, loss, music, sad, uplifting, day,
Today, I had a chance to ask his widow, Laurie, about this story. She
confirmed that it did happen, and he came home from work that day excited, and
told her and their 3 daughters about the event.
And sure enough, shortly thereafter, the song became a hit on the radio, and
M.T.V., in those ancient days when they actually played music.
This news brightened my day considerably, and I'm happy to share it with you;
so when you next hear that song, remember my good buddy, Mark Trotiner, the
uncredited genius behind it.
One too many poems: Like a barking dog at
The Garden gate: Oblivious to the beauty of the Garden, and
Unwilling to let anybody in it to enjoy it.
beauty, bereavement, death, death of a friend, eulogy, sister, sympathy,
An angel returned to heaven today
deployed to erase gluttonous hate
from envy's grasp love is pulled away
To bring order to disarray
supplying hope while replacing sloth
An angel returned to heaven today
Armed with beauty, charm and compassion
pride is now faced with a trained assassin
whether with song, a smile, a shoulder or ear
greed, anger and lust is sent running in fear
An angel returned to heaven today
after years of service in the field
from the mission never did she stray
In our hearts she will forever stay
so, let us remember, let us rejoice
cause our angel returned to heaven on this day
M. L. Kiser
allusion, conflict, death, health, introspection, philosophy, psychological,
that in-between where,
life stares down death.
One minute you’re facing eternity;
the next the realization that
you’re not in control.
In that reality,
life seems insignificant,
like dust escaping in
the winds to another time.
Yes, surreal transformation
only it’s reality,
yanking you back to mortality.
Still, you know one day
it’ll change its mind.
I see the yarn and I remember
I bought it for my mother to knit
But she went to heaven in January
Her fancy never used tropical paper napkins
Are a reminder every time I open the drawer
My mother is gone. My mother is gone.
I pick up the phone for the hundredth time
To tell her something crazy that has happened
Something she will never believe, something funny.
The yarn and the napkins smile.
Remembering what I do not
As I listen to the phone ring and ring.
grief, loneliness, lost love, memory, mirror,
I write with a hand you once held how I love to recall,
I look into a mirror where once we saw ourselves reflected,
Now my hands shake and the mirror lies.
I walk alone along the seashore where once we did together,
Our belief in our innocence we were safe in the bosom of our land,
Now I know that we were fooled.
Now my legs ache and I tire easily so I walk home alone,
I sit in my old armchair though it is now threadbare with age,
I gaze through a closed window.
I have cried more tears that can be counted, for you, for me,
They fall silently for there is no one to hear my cries,
And our portrait still hangs on my crumbling wall.
Poetry Is It
death, dedication, depression, devotion, education
Each field is barren white with snow,
around me blind, they know.
Darkness brings the haze of dawn,
how many must it show.
While many miles of web it's barb,
it tastes and grows.
Bringing home the wheat,
and powdered souls,
spread open far and wide.
Touching only youth,
Each gem from stone,
pours out and lost our seed it keeps.
Is It Poetry
absence, abuse, addiction, allah, allegory, angel, anger, angst, april, art, august, baseball, basketball, best friend, birthday, books, cousin, culture, dad, death, depression, desire, dream, drink, education, emo, eulogy, faith,
They say the sun shines on the skin of a goddess her hair dark filled with flowers and her skin of silk,
When you see her don't let her go she will treat u like a god and run her silk hands against the ruffness of your skin she will show u the right way to enlightenment her eyes golden brown so deep you can get lost she can see right through you and know the depth of your soul she will speak words so smooth softer then the wind
Skin so smooth the sun follows her every move.
africa, black african american, children, death, faith, simile, war,
CRY THE BELOVED CONTINENT…
(Apropos The Ripping Veil of Pan-Africanism)
In all her blackness
her soils run red
with the blood of her children
Whose bloated bellies
mock the pregnancy
And her breasts
sag in union
of hopeless hopefulness;
While hollowed eyes
gaze into the wholeness
Smiling death stalks
the narrowing corridors of
life---echoing souring laughs
to virgin wombs
screaming from the shadows
of the valley of death:
But believe brethren---
mock not the gods---
for in the theism
of this imposed dystopia,
a wretched mother
tenaciously clings to time
blessing, death, dedication, emotions, i love you, life, mother,
We sing a song to our Mother's soul who has passed and gone
she sings back as an angel from beyond and drops a tear
as we sleep so we won't wake and weep
On earth she gave us birth and strength to shine in this universe
and to remember family comes first for even in death
we have rebirth and a life of worth
So, we sing a song to our Mother's soul who has passed and gone
we will remain strong and will carry on for this beautiful angel
from beyond who has bygone for our mom.
T Reams 2/10/2015 to my sweet sister Jenny in memory of our mother Barbara
death, peace, me,
laid me down
within cold tomb
light capture me
neath baying tree
feel thy warmth once more
white spirit of feathered down
lay upon my soul
pray set me to rest
Written to accompany one of my photographs.
This is the link to the image...
abuse, bereavement, betrayal, brother, death, death of a friend, words,
My brother’s hand regarded not my words for, they go unheard, as the silence grows my brother’s hand clinches cold and my last words fall to the ground pooling, congealing into an unsatisfied thirst. The devils on horseback are led to the water, but never drinking, as the blackened house lies in ruin. I wonder about the tree in the forest and the forest without ears to hear and the tree never seen, but alas and alas every man. How does a machete make more noise and fire be heard on the other side of the world? It may have been bearable, but I am not alone and I know their words will never be heard for they are in my brother’s hand. 11/5/2014
You hear that knock on the door
And you dont want to open
You know what's on the other side
Its there, already in
Ready to steal, ready to rob
Its ready to take away the loved one
Squeezing out the last air
But that loved one, in their young and old
In their strength and weakness
Leaves a fountain of beautiful memories
That will always flow
To all the survivors whether in death or life
death, eulogy, future, goodbye,
Send me no flowers,
Cry me no tears,
Just send me your love,
To last the years.
Remembering and embracing,
Love speaks all languages
Love has no limitations.
Send me no flowers,
They will only die,
Send me your everlasting love,
Love forever be mine.
Time has no boundaries
Life is too short,
Our stay on this earth,
Depends on our ability to hold on.
creation, encouraging, environment, fantasy, feelings, life, love,
I am alone on the island of death
Around the bodies of hundreds
Natural disasters happened a little earlier
My enemies, allies, relatives
Some of the most intimate
I am on mass of ruins
Loud noise...Moaning...Unbroken silent in a trice
I am just at the end
There are no tears in my eyes, no fear in chest
I am speechless
I am in the midst of so much death, destruction
Creation is alive
It's my responsibility to rotate the wheel again
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
allegory, analogy, black african american, conflict, grief, hope, simile,
The Last Supper of Hope
Grief has exhausted itself
And pain has abandoned the heart;
Emptiness now lives where joy
Once called home.
Our streets have become cisterns
Of blood—death quenching its thirst—
Flashbacks of the belly bowels of slave ships
Flying flags of crosses and crescent moons alike.
Hell remains without fury—never discriminating;
And Dante smiling—spits in the face of justice.
Today Armageddon sits at the Last Supper;
May hope be the Bread and Wine. And
Judas forgets to RSVP.
allegory, death, life, loss, nature, sad, sympathy, time,
Somebody’s Baby, lie still
Embalmed in pure white cotton,
Cocooned securely, like the babe in arms
within the shroud.
Seraphim cavort no more upon a form
once touched with shades of youthful innocence.
Somebody’s Baby, be sure.
Your time for dreams now spent,
No future beckons only time captured frame by frame,
Frozen in vulgar technicolor;
Close Up; Explicit, depicting genre yet unclassified;
The epic over exposed.
Somebody's Baby, be silent.
Grey and gnarled imposter in the cot
Metamorphosis contrives a landscape dry and gnarled.
No more seductress of tender ministry;
Solitary, silently; endures the travesty
Of human demise.
The dead are refugees
To an immortal caves,
Hidden in the pockets of the earth,
They are escaping from sins
Exhausting by the pain .
We are the dead
But we are walking.
A poem by : Saad Mohammed Al-Husseen (Iraqi Poet)
Translated by :Laith Seher
analogy, child, death, faith, grief, joy, onomatopoeia,
Father To Son: Part II
(Apropos The Visit—Part II)
When you left
the lingering void sought
to shackle me
in the silent dungeon
of stoic grief.
Faith melted away remorse
and the psalms of reality
in living dreams spread a table
laden with a plethora of left joys
the God’s shared creation
that you past this way in your going;
ancestors cheered your chosen coming.
Where tears once watered
the flowers of your resting abode,
now laughter peels away the leaves
releasing petals of budding love;
and we’re now at peace
with your spirit forever here.
God is not mocked.
Take care we judge not.
Rest well, my sweet Prince.
We said :What are all those feathers ?
When we walked for the funeral of the kid .
His father raised his hand ,
picked up a feather
and cried :This is the word "a dove"
He learned to say since two days.
we forget to take it out of his mouth .
The poem by :Maithem Radhi (Iraqi Poet )
Translated by : Laith Seher