Death hath so many doors to let out life.
quote by John Fletcher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death hath a thousand doors to let out life: I shall find one.
quote by Philip Massinger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death hath so many doors to let out life.
John Fletcher in The Custom of the Country (1647)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suttee
LAMP of my life, the lips of Death
Hath blown thee out with their sudden breath;
Naught shall revive thy vanished spark . . .
Love, must I dwell in the living dark?
Tree of my life, Death's cruel foot
Hath crushed thee down to thy hidden root;
Nought shall restore thy glory fled . . .
Shall the blossom live when the tree is dead?
Life of my life, Death's bitter sword
Hath severed us like a broken word,
Rent us in twain who are but one . .
Shall the flesh survive when the soul is gone?
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Hall Of Doors
You walk through the hall of doors
With life in sight with death in mind
You watch people open their doors
And you think of how the doors and fate bind
You watch waiting to see your exit
As you see others turn down their path to their end
You know that the paths can not change
You know even with time fate shall not mend
Down the hall you walk
Doors lining each side
Every person holds the key to one of those locks
All around you people stride
Doors open
As people come to their door mats
You walk by doors just hoping,
hoping the next isn't yours, isn't your mat
You watch parents and children leaving eachothers sides
You see love being torn, hate being sewn
as the doors open wide
Some people leave together, some alone
You wait to see your door, your fate
You watch to see which door your key fits
You watch to see if your heart is with love or hate
You watch untill you find the mat at which you shall sit
You walk through the hall of doors
With life in sight, death in mind
You watch as people open their doors
You wait to see which door your fate lays behind.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin Box
there are bomb? doors and there are revolving doors doors on the rudders of big ships and there are revolving doors there are doors that open by themselves there are sliding doors and there are secret doors there are doors that lock and doors that don't there are doors that let you in and out but never open but there are trap doors that you can't come back from
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pull / Pulk Revolving Doors
There are barn doors
And there are revolving doors
Doors on the rudders of big ships
And there are revolving doors
There are doors that open by themselves
There are sliding doors
And there are secret doors
There are doors that lock
And doors that dont
There are doors that let you in
And out
But never open
But there are trapdoors
That you cant come back from
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pull Pulk Revolving Doors
There are barn doors
And there are revolving doors
Doors on the rudders of big ships
We are revolving doors
There are doors that open by themselves
There are sliding doors
And there are secret doors
There are doors that lock
And doors that don't
There are doors that let you in
And out
But never open
But they are trapdoors
That you can't come back from
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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 ;)
poem by Sandy Nobody
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Mothers Day2007
She hath my heart, she is my mum.
She hath my heart, she is my only, she is my one.
She hath my heart, though rough winds may blow.
She hath my heart, still her love will flow, her love will always show.
She hath my heart, I thank my lucky stars.
She hath my heart and i have hers.
She hath my heart, i long for her presence.
She hath my heart, her name is essence.
She hath my heart and forever she will.
Lifetimes will come and go, i will love her still
She hath my heart, this fact i cant conceal
Our bond is like sentiment you just cant kill
She hath my heart in times of sorrow.
She hath my heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
She hath my heart, my voice will sing.
She hath my heart, she makes the bell in my heart ring.
She hath my heart, in times of trouble.
She wont stumble no i will not let her crumble.
She hath my heart in each and every way
And my love for her grows with each day
She hath my heart for we were once one.
She hath my heart, the heart of the boy inside the man
I hath her heart, the heart we once shared.
Though separated in body the hearts still paired.
She hath my heart i need her near.
She hath my heart my mama dear
She hath my heart and she already knows
In a world of thorny bushes she stands out like rose
She hath my heart for she is always by my side
When the sun sets she is my light, she is my guide.
poem by Soul Child
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Learning to Die
Death is not sudden, death does not grieve,
Death takes a while to achieve.
Death comes in layers;
Death is the mouse
From under the couch
At three am, and from under the stairs.
Death is the tumour on my mother’s skin,
Death is a jackhammer pounding in.
Death is a scrabbling crab on all fours,
Death is a jaguar on rough padded paws,
Lurking in the oven doors,
And hiding in the bureau drawers.
Death is the lump within my breast,
Death is the invited dinner guest.
Death is the cadaver,
A slab of cold meat
That lies on a plate.
Death is the wall of frozen sleet.
Death to me comes much too late.
poem by Caroline Misner
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XXXVI Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of the Life: 36. Life-in-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Who Hath The Courage?
Who hath courage? Not the hero
Leading in the strife,
To receive a nation's plaudits,
For his waste of life.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He alone who dares
Act up to his own convictions,
And the right declares.
Who hath courage? Not the tyrant
Boasting of his skill,
To enslave and bind his fellow
At his simple will.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that doth proclaim,
Unto all their right to freedom,
Every man the same.
Who hath courage? Not the sober,
Or untempted one,
Who hath never had his stomach
Eaten out by rum.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He who though he may
Have been using poison freely,
Throws the cup away.
Who hath courage? Not the daring,
Reckless pugilist,
Who for wager smites a brother,
With uplifted fist.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that won't resent
Every little insult given
With a base intent.
poem by Benjamin Cutler Clark
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Sonnet XXXVI: Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all,
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That lived but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanished hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stored apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimmed in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sonnet XXXVI: Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all,
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That lived but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanished hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stored apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimmed in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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My Friend, Death
Suicide
An escape from the world
From all the sorrow
The pain
The hurt
An escape from the darkness
Into the darkness
Never to come back out
I've looked for other ways
I've found other doors
But all of them were locked
The only door opened is death
Death will cradle me
Death will wipe my tears away
Death will comfort me
Death will love me
Death will do what no one else could
Death will understand
Death will be my friend
poem by Rachie West
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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From doom and gloom to ecstasy
The body had been wrapped and firmly bound
as it lay dead and lifeless underground.
The stone rolled over shutting out the light
and the doors of death sealed so very tight
Outside the grave all hope has been shattered
despair was rife, His disciples scattered.
Where will they all go and what shall they do?
For all their hopes had been centred on You.
All forlorn, they did not know what to say
defeat and disappointment filled their day.
Then Mary came running into the room
with this wonderful message from the tomb.
He's alive! He's back from the dead!
He has risen just like He said.
Conquering death and the grave.
Risen with mighty power to save.
He's alive! Come with me and see.
For He has won the victory.
Rejoice with me as the good news I tell
that He has triumphed over death and hell.
Death's been conquered by Christ the crucified
for the doors of death He burst open wide.
Risen in the power of an endless life
conquering Satan by His sacrifice.