Last Commented Loss / Death Poems (1,049)

As I lay there in my bed,
I look over at that beautiful vase of flowers next to me,
Thinking to myself,
About how those flowers were once in a happy place,
Away from harm.
Until one day,
the gardener came.
Carrying a tratitional grass woven basket and scissors,
She cuts each flower one by one until there are none left in the garden.
Nowthose flowers are just sitting there dieing in a stinking vase of tap water...dieing,
Just like me in this hospital bed,
Waiting for it to be over.
But all I could think about was those flowers,
Just sitting there,
Trying to make me feel strong,
Powerful,
Beautiful,
Happy.
But all they did was make me fell sad and weak,
But the dieing flowers just kept coming.
Until one day, the last flower died...
And so did I.

Gentle winds brushing back the tides of fear

Clocks ticking never stopping moving on

Coming close remains far, not even near

Sad for what might have been, but never was



Locked and hidden put away to stay gone

All my dreams now seeming so obsolete

Content to find my way in unknown ground

Where being alone seems bitterly sweet



Tides will come and go, currents will run free

The world sometimes moves at its own pace

Sometimes dreams are just exactly that dreams

Not how fast you run just finish the race



Little girl standing by familiar shore

Not wanting to play adult anymore

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Giants of liverpool
With heads high
Tower
People
Granny rises from her bed

On tip toes
She step on the street
Slow paces tiny steps
Men on strings

They control are marionette
Granny telles her story of war that was
Pals dead millions lost
She tells her story to the people of liverpool

With joy they listen to what she tells
Of the great war
Millions dead
The struggle she faced her sons dead and husband dead

Her story her daughter she tells
Stroking her dog her compainion
She tells of death
The
Lost souls world war 1

I plead, ' Not guilty your honor cause
I was crazy when I shot that man..'
It was he who stole my rubber duck,
and I had to make my stand
My mommy gave me that rubber duck
and daddy sold me the gun
A security check was never needed cause
I'm just a loving son
The hospital said, ' the medication would
work, and that I'd probably do just fine
Funny how the laws these days were
written for the blind
O well, ' I guess I'll just stroll on home ,
no need to fear this man
Unless they mess with my rubber duck
Then I'd do it all again.

The cover of the journal
is astral violet,
& within it
are poems,
most of them
earthbound,
but for one
to the poet's
daughter
which soars
into
the heavens
on umbilical wings.

Oh we poets
are so afraid
of making babies--
& yet
of all
the fleshly chains
that bind us,
our children
are the chains
that bind
most closely
to heaven.

How can that be?

Poetry
is an astral
affliction.

Poets are always
saving themselves
for their poems.
Yet in that saving
there is no grace,
while in the child
there is distraction,
chaos, disorder

& through that fleshly chaos

peace


~SAS~

What is the widow's draw
Is it the loneliness
These women and men
With their emptiness
A coldness
Trying to work on wholeness
To sway by mirroring the hopelessness
Contacting you with boldness

As if you have some common bond
You’re only being enticed to respond
To a dark scheme spawned
In wicked hearts
Like broken parts
Oh my god we need smarts
Throw back some poison darts

Do they play on brokenness?
What’s the widow's draw
Do we have case law
Hell no!
So here we go . . .
Time to escalate this pen
Then we’ll get back to Zen

It’s a blurred picture of a flaw
Known as Ohm’s law
The equation describes the relationship
Like a sleazy, amateur porno clip!

The current through a conductor
Holding on like a f*cking abductor
Two points directly proportional
In the greedy, evil, insidious arsenal
Potential difference equals resistance
Play along with the insistence

Do they think we’re so damn easy
The ones that play on the widows
With their clever blows
Like their pros
Oh you’re a widow too
Really? Can I identify with you?

Their ego must need flattery
The emotions that are motionless
Running on a tiny itty bitty AAA battery
I cannot fathom the depth of their hopelessness

As they pretend they have lost
The love of their life
“Hello beautiful I want to get to know you”
Marital status: Widow, yeah me too!
Right! You’re my White Knight!

What’s your game?
What do you hope to gain?
From the deception inside
Pumping up your pitiful pride

The widow’s draw, so many dead
Now everyone is unwed
Looking for something to hold onto
I’m supposed to believe that’s you

Time to find our center
Return to Zen, we use our pen
To enter, as the presenter
Telling what everyone knows

About all of those
Which move us to prose
The ones that play the widow games
Under assumed pictures and names

Giant hearts
Pull on strings
Movement
Gained
Small steps

Balance on tip toes
She strides with unsteady feet
Aged old granny sleeps
Tommorow
She wakes

A story she will tell
Of first world war destruction
Her story she will tell
Of war and destructinon

Of peace that all want
To her story her story to tell
Her only daughter her story she tell
Of her sons to war they went

To fight the somme to die a pal
All lives given in lost in un marked grave
Granny weeps for her husband lost
Her sons now gone to war

Her daughter her future her only loving dog
She adore for they will tell her story of the somme

Its so hard to say farewell
And overcome this
while feeling slightly frightened
Well now what else could I have felt
As you lay there completely still and silenced
So is there a heaven and is there a hell
Were you able to cast your demons out
Are you relieved from all their weight you felt
Or are they still pulling you down

While I'm surveying you my head hangs low
Did all of our prayers earn you a golden halo
Is there a tunnel of abiding light
I really hope that you now feel alive
Just yesterday we were kids in the fifth grade
Today I lay a warrior down inside of his grave
I want to rejoice in all the good times we've had
Instead a tear rolls down my face when I try to laugh
We're taught to suppress emotions and remove fear
But It's because of you that I am still here
I'm so proud to have served with you my friend
But it's time for you to rest now the battle ends
I will always honor your courage and sacrifice
Until we meet again someday on the other side
~ JJF~

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day.Accept the fluster
of lost door keys,the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing father,losing faster:
places,and names,and where it was you meant
to travel.None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch.And look! my last,or
next-to-last,of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two ctties,lovely once.And,vaster,
some realms I owned,two rivers,a continent.
I miss them,but it wasn't a disaster.

-Even losing you(the joking voice,a gesture
I love)I shan't have lied.It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like(Write it!)like disaster.






I will not lose You ; )

In the falling light mothers standing gaunt and dry while the children cry. Father's seek between the old frail and week. Ushered into the car on rail, shouts and screams to no avail.
Standing sanctimonious with shimmering signs, drops the salute the clock chimes. Engines chuff steel grinds surging along definitive lines. Destination cold and bleak as all aboard do not seek.
Musket smell awaits the arrive for the many who shortly survive. Heard away like sheep to find their false sleep. Eye's now aware as they stare soon the fade and the final glare.
Their final place hidden in disgrace. The whole world now to face.