Best Poems About / On DEATH
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133.
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Meaning of Death
when a poet writes of death
don't take it literally
death has many meanings
which differ significantly
to a poet death might mean
death of a past
which is a new beginning
one that might last
death to a poet is life
time to start a new chapter
turn the page
turn sadness into laughter
to a poet death is a new start
ending of strife
closing, locking the doors
of their old life
death has so many meanings
not only for a poet
all parts of life leads to death
some just don't know it
death means change
chance for a new beginning
put the past behind
stop losing, start winning
so to a poet
death is not always bad
we must write our feelings
whether good or sad
p.s.not sure this makes much sense
but i was buzzed ;)
sandy nobody
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134.
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Aspects Of Death
Looking at death, I do not accept it.
Seeing death, I know it is inevitable.
Knowing of my eventual death, I accept it.
Death will happen, there is nothing to be done, no preparation for it other than being good while I am alive.
There is no way for me to be sure of my body position in death, until the mortuary bends and twists me to fit the mold of death in my coffin.
There is no way of knowing the mode - the how - of my death until it is upon me and I will not know of it, being dead already.
The 'why' of my death will remain always a mystery clothed in human reasons, but it will offer little consolation, because no one can know the reasons 'why'.
Aspects of death are always unknown to the dead, and beyond human explanations no one can truly say what it is or why we even accept it.
Through all the sorrow it brings to loved one's hearts, death cannot be accepted, yet it is.
RoseAnn V. Shawiak
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135.
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Finding Life In Death
I spend so much time doting on earth and what it has,
Enjoying what's mine to use, to take, to squander.
I keep modeling myself to what I think will work,
But for my mistakes there is no remedy.
All my light, no matter how hard I shine,
Cannot overcome these stains of dark, of perversion, of guilt.
I look around and am without excuse, there is success, there is right,
But where does this over powering light, that is not subdued by death come from?
Nothing I have within me can overcome me,
Who is this intercessor that magnetically pulls me towards him?
This light, somehow familiar with death, a death, many deaths,
my death.
How is his death on my hands because of my death?
My death, my dying, my deeds deserving death...
For my death he died?
How redemption suddenly eclipses all other pursuits,
I switch from seeking sin to seeking salvation.
And it is found.
Benjamin Feliciano
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136.
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Fascination
Death fascinates;
Life can be cruel.
Death is my morbid but most-loved obsession.
Life is hard-
I am out of control.
Death is my relationship to reality-
Life is not fair.
Death is an entity of beauty, though
Life is strange
Death is veracity, although it can be
The facet of my delusions-
I live my life while
Thoughts of death are so often invasive.
Death is mysterious, and
Life is a river refracting light-
Death is dark but intriguing.
Life is amazing.
Death in turn- is amazing as it can be.
I live my life in a dream world.
Death is indeed mysterious, although-
Life
Is
Stranger
Claudia Krizay
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