Most Liked Loss / Death Poems (1,049)

I never thought you'd leave today-
perhaps a further 'morrow,
but you are gone-all that is left...
a heart heavy with sorrow.

I call your name each time
I return home opening the door,
but I don't see or hear you
welcome me anymore.

You've gone to live with angels,
but I really want you here.
I miss your eyes, your scent-
again I want to hold you near.

You filled my heart with happiness,
you filled my heart with love.
I'll hold you deep inside my heart,
though you have gone above.

I hear your voice calling to me
"Don't cry i love you still.
You filled my life with happiness,
leave you I never will."


Each day passes so slowly,
it will never be the same.
I 'll hold you deep inside my heart,
and there you will remain.

So wear your wings with pride my dear,
you shine just like a star.
for I will love you always
with no matter where you are.


-

An angel came and took your hand
"God is ready" he whispered softly
"It is your time to join us now
but you looked at him with worry "

"Your family will be fine" he said
Smiling tenderly and calmly
"They will survive you taught them well
With patience and love fully "

Your journey here on earth is over
Your pain and suffering is through
Your heavenly home awaits you now
The angels waits to welcome you

Granny you have gone to heaven
And while we cry tears of sadness
We smile in remembrance of
Your love, patience and kindness

So go softly with the angels now
And rest safely in their arms
As heaven awaits your presence
But we'll miss your precious charms

I don't want to accept the fact
that you are gone
And I will never see your smile
never hear your laugh and
never see your face again

My last memory of you is
on a hospital bed
Where I kissed you and said I loved you
Just before I left you there
The next day you died

My emotions are overwhelming
But I keep a tight rein on them
No one can see my pain
Life will never be the same
Just because you are gone now

I can no longer pick up the phone
And chat for a while with you
Like we used to do

Oh my Lord
Hide me from the world now
I don't want
to talk to anyone

You were supposed to see me married
You were supposed to travel with me

Life isn't fair
And now it is time to say goodbye
So I cry alone in my bed
Where no one can see or hear me

If you ask him, he will talk for hours
how at fourteen he hammered signs,
fingers raw with cold, and later painted bowers
in ladies' boudoirs; how he played checkers
for two weeks in jail, and lived on bread;
how he fled the border to a country
which disappeared wars ago; unfriended
crossed a continent while this country
began.

He seldom speaks of painting now.
Young men have time and theories;
old men work.
He has painted countless portraits.
Sallow nameless faces, made glistening in oil,
smirk above anonymous mantelpieces.
The turpentine has a familiar smell,
but his hand trembles with odd, new palsies.
Perched on the maul-stick, it nears the easel.

He has come to like this resignation.
In his sketch books, ink-dark cassocks hear
the snorts of horses in the crunch of snow.
His pen alone recalls that years ago
one horseman set his teeth and aimed his spear
which, poised, seemed pointed straight
to pierce the sun.


~SAS~

It was five years ago that you died
I can't believe they lied
Told a bunch of very hurtful lies
It brought unneeded tears to my eyes
All the love that you brought
Still they made sure you got caught
I will listen to your music forever
Hate that we all can't love together
Enjoying the music you made
All the awesome songs that made the grade
Thriller, Billie Jean, and Black or White too
Just too many are awesome to name just a few
I love you Michael as you wait in heaven
Just know that I thank you for all the love you have given

Take my pen and hand me a sword.
Take my sword and hand me a pen.

The Donau held its breath, turned blue, & died,
the hills could only stare & shake
their complacent heads,
the winds avoided Bavaria all together
as the pale apes butchered her shapely neck--
smearing blood upon the kiss of revolution.

I Poet, if you can hear my feeble howling,
say to me you understand;
say to me the spirit, the phoenix,
knows my name.

Do not tempt me, inferno of the mind,
to chase to embrace idols of paper.

It is not the offended world upon your ears
but the strong rush of blood
to your head,
Poet, my love.

You can only be dead,
with the spittle of laughter
shiny where your lips meet,
because we need you dead.
Alive, you are like us. . .
useless to our uncertainties.

Yours prayers I read, at night,
while metaphors hide from the day,
they echo in my scenarios,
legitimate glitches.

The horn broke the skin,
in some bar room, I suppose,
all German accomplishments begin in bars,
replaced you were not,
but slaughtered, & eaten,
I can only hope that
your blood, on impact,
did not run from the block,
or was caught in a chalice,
but splattered on everyone's
cheeks, & one of those marked
returned to the bar where the horn first rose
testified before He who sits at the end of
the bar.

~SAS~

Under bare Ben Bulben's head
In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid.
An ancestor was rector there
Long years ago,a church stands near,
By the road an ancient cross.
No marble,no conventional phrase;
On limestone quarried near the spot
By his command these words are cut:



Cast a cold eyes
On life,on death.
Horseman,pass by!






To.Miss JEANIEMAC : )

Let's go for a drink of delicious coffee!!!
With you and me and Fergus!
And Mr.Mick ; )

Oops! I'm wake up time!!! Morning : )
lisa: )

life is a winding path to trace
years filling memory's with peoples face
see where they have fallen in places
by the wish to linger in loves graces
as if one last time to embrace
that which we can not replace
yet unto the center you must brace
for this is the joy,the beauty and the sorrow of are race

"Is there no way out of the mind?"
~ Sylvia Plath

The cage of myself clamps shut
my words turn the lock.

I am the jailor rattling the keys.
I am the torturer's assistant
who nods and smiles
and pretends not
to be responsible.

I am the clerk who stamps
the death note
affixing the seal,
the seal,
the God damned seal.

I am the footman who "follows orders."
I have not got the authority.

I am the visitor
who brings a cake, baked
with a file.

Pale snail,
I wave between the bars.
I speak of rope with the hangman.
I chatter of sparks and currents
with the electrician
direct or alternating,
he is beautiful.

I flatter him.
I say he turns me on.

Poet, I tell the cyanide capsules
they have talent
and may fulfill themselves someday.
I read the warden's awful novel
and recommend a publisher.
I sleep with the dietitian
who is hungry.
I sleep with the hangman
and reassure him
that he is a good lover.

I am the ideal prisoner.

I win prizes on my conduct.
They reduce my sentence.
Now it is only 99 years
with death like a dollop
of whipped cream at the end.
I am so grateful, poet

No one remembers
that I constructed this jail
and peopled its cells.
no one remembers my blueprints
and my plans,
my steadying hammering,
my dreams of fantastic escapes.

And even I,
patiently writing away,
my skin yellowing
like the pages of old paperbacks,
my hair turning gray,
cannot remember the first crime,
the crime
I was born for.



SAS

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.