#death poetry

[cryptonature]

Death is particularly fearful in a culture that views nature as an outsider and an adversary.

In such a context, death becomes a hateful defeat and final insult.

Except nature is neither outsider nor adversary.

It is our author, keeper, and kin.

Returning to nature is not a loss.

It’s a homecoming.

[writing-for-life]

Requiem

A shroud of compassion enveloping

A mantle of dreams and regrets.

Echoes of forgotten beginnings

Etched in the Book of Destiny.

Essence unraveling.

And she whispers, "Give me your hand”,

Her touch softer than moonlight on withering petals.

He fades, not into oblivion, but into memory.

A star forever burning.

Her silent tears a requiem.

Art by Mike Choi, Jill Thompson and Mindy Lee

Words by @writing-for-life

[ardent-reflections]

Death and I have been scandalously intimate for quite some time now.

Emilie Autumn

[thoughts-of-a-caterpillar]

I was walking through the field behind our house and saw a flower growing through the eye of a cow's skull and I just,, I can't fathom the fact that in spite of all the chemicals and complex thoughts and life-changing ideas that cross our minds, in the end we're only human, a forsaken part of nature. People have thought of concepts that changed the world and then they died and from their rotting bodies grew the same flowers that grew from their pet's. For all my greif and melancholy, I could walk into my backyard and walk further and further still until I find a place worth decaying in. I could lay down in the cool, dark earth and feel the grass graze parts of me I have scarred again and again. The moss would wrap around my wrists and kiss my scars until they heal. The wind would carry moisture from the pond nearby and quench my thirst for once and for all. My misery would not matter to this earth when my body becomes one with it. Flowers will grow from the eyes that have seen the horror of human nature and then, in death, I will finally be alive.

[jacuzziwrites]

And when I take my last breath on this Earth will you tell me the story of my life? Will you tell me about the lives that I impacted? Will you tell me that I was kind? Will you tell me that I was loved? Please. Lull me into a peaceful slumber with your pretty lies. Please. Show me compassion. For tonight I have died a sinner.

[freuleinanna]

The Warrior and her Death

here's my little Poe-inspired contribution to the verna x madeline fandom because i'm feeling poetic and because i'm a bitch for metaphorizing everything i see through epic AUs. and if you like it, it's also on ao3

So then, in ruins of the world, a ruthless warrior comes forth: an ancient sword is tame and quiet, well-fed on what was once desired, but useless now.

No shame or crown. The golden helmet's flying down, revealing hair, an ashen mane, that winds are tangling with rain.

'You win,' she says. Her bitter voice is all like cracking on the walls. 'I'm old, and grey, and soon to die; you win. From you, I shall not hide.'

A joyous laughter springs with flowers that only bloom in deathly hours.

'I didn't know we were at war,' says she, whomafter, there's no' more, and gently strokes the ashen hair away from eyes, touch light as air.

'Old! what a courage there must be to call you old in front of me. As new as stars. I watched you burning the brightest gold - with pain, with yearning - and here you are at last, my love.

Be not afraid, but look above: between the dying and the falling the stars live but a single moment, but how you lived!

I've missed you, child, as beautiful, and strong, and wild as I remember you. Come near. Where there is love, there's never fear.'

A touch again, of gentle passion, warmth on a cheek, as though confession, a breath as sweet as songs of larks, and in-between, it all grows dark.

And so, among the paling flowers, the warrior remains for hours, for days and decades neverending; her sword and helmet rusting, fainting,

yet nothing touches withered lips blessed with a smile, and deathly kiss.

[um-its-ace]

literally play this at my funeral

[the-enby-doughnut]

I hope dying is like that one person who’s long since left wrapping you up in their arms and holding you tight and comforting you one last time. I hope dying is like when you were a little kid and your mom would soothe your fevers. I hope it’s like the feeling of the waves still rocking you after a long day at the beach when you fall asleep

[losermonol0gue]

Ill disguise my rot, cover myself in flowers and fruit, and Ill hope the stench of my eroding skin is masked by the sweet aroma of honeydew.

[thewaywardwritersstuff]

Death and Taxes

[poet4days]

[meekmice]

All around us

I used to think

I was invincible—

& then I lost

You.

Now I know death is here,

Even before it arrives.

& it lingers in the shadows

of the brightest days,

& most beautiful nights.

It’s in the cabinets,

& under the bed.

It’s in the words left unsaid.

Its in the rain &

wind,

It’s in the water.

It’s in you ,

It’s in me.

It doesn’t discriminate,

We’re all on the agenda.

That’s why I breathe deeply,

Live freely,

Count my blessings &

Always say I love you before I leave.

That’s why I ask you to

send me a text when you get home,

And let you know I’m thinking about you—

That’s why I

never take a moment for granted,

never delete pictures when I’m being petty

& try my best to be as present as possible.

Some day all we’ll have is pictures.

Make sure to take them.

But most of all…

Make sure you were there.

-T.R

[writing-for-life]

Ode to Death

Art: Guillaume Martinez, Words: @writing-for-life

She walks among us, unseen but ever present,

Her name all but whispered,

Her laughter a melody that echoes through time,

A reminder that even in endings, there are beginnings.

Her eyes hold secrets of harsh farewells and tender partings,

And when she comes, it is not with sorrow,

But with solace for fractured hearts,

Giving passage to realms where pain finds release.

Her touch a benediction,

Her cool embrace a quilt woven with threads of memory,

Each soul a star in a celestial tapestry,

Each goodbye a note in eternal song.

[bbybrownbat]

i hope death

is like being carried to your bedroom

when you were a child

and fell asleep on the couch

during a family party.

i hope

you can hear the laughter

from the next room

Feliz Día De Los Muertos 🏵🖤

📸IG: @bbybrownbat

Quote: IG: @ petfurniture

[bellaj1977]

Dearly Departed

Saddened For a blessed soul Who has left our realm For the pearly gates of heaven Ushering in his gracious nature Giving credence to all he bestowed While amongst our presence Embolden in each generation He impressed his knowledge Of Earth's natural substances Upon eager young minds He left his indelible footprint Legacy of enhanced education Allowing a multitude of fascinated youth To engage in exploration Standing on this planet's Magnificent landscapes Digging deep Feeling the magnitude of our lives Amongst the beauty of nature's cadence Hoping we can begin to leave behind Treasures of enlightened wisdom That he gave us to enrich our authentic selves In this journey to trapeze Into higher versions of understanding While keeping our feet firmly planted In the richness of our unique creation Reaching for the framework of being Sensitive to a time that is fleeting Seeing each other again Outside the realm of tangibility Holding close our cherished memories Saying goodbye by celebrating An exceptional scholar Who imparted his insight Freeing the narrow scope To appreciate God's universe In serene glorious wonders

I wrote this last month to honor my favorite teacher who recently passed away. I feel every child should have a teacher that not only imparts knowledge but who listens to each child's voice, allows a creative light, gives a imagination free of slight, a wondrous beginning on their journey into life. He saw us and reached out a hand to guide us. I lived all over growing up but where he taught us was a place few get to grow up, a tightly bonded community on a small naval base in the Caribbean called Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Thank you Mr. Rohe.

[lilithreb0rn]

You never knew me,

but I knew you.

Every living detail

kept in the

inescapable hostage

of my mind.

Now, the crimson in your

dead cheeks faded from your glow,

your deceased gaze looking at me with familiarity.

Reading the

unwritten novel you

wrote about me,

secrets spilled from the depths of your carcass.

The poetry

carved into your bones,

the stanzas scrawled

down your spine,

a special ballad for your knees,

Forlorn memories

of

you

chiselling the holes inside your skull,

for the slaves of mother nature to enthral the fragrant accords of your unpolluted flesh.

Collapsing into bone,

every cell singing for release,

the salt

of the sea

sodomizing your words.

My omission

endlessly lingering,

dancing

with the strings

that tug at my heart.

I forever bare witness

to the

destruction of

what your Parnassian soul left

me.