Related quotes: The glories of our blood...

From Ajax Dirge

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings.
Scepter and crown
Must tumble down
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field
And plant fresh laurels where they kill,
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still.
Early or late
They stoop to fate
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death’s purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

poem by James Shirley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

The Glories of our Blood and State

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings.
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield,
They tame but one another still.
Early or late,
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death's purple altar now,
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

poem by James Shirley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death the Leveller

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crookèd scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

poem by James Shirley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death's Final Conquest

The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hands on kings;
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death's purple altar now,
See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

poem by James Shirley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The glories of our blood and state, Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate, Death lays his icy hand on kings. Scepter and crown must tumble down, And, in the dust, be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

quote by James Shirley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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…'

The Reign of Death

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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To Them That Mourn

Lift up your heads: in life, in death,
God knoweth his head was high.
Quit we the coward's broken breath
Who watched a strong man die.

If we must say, 'No more his peer
Cometh; the flag is furled.'
Stand not too near him, lest he hear
That slander on the world.

The good green earth he loved and trod
Is still, with many a scar,
Writ in the chronicles of God,
A giant-bearing star.

He fell: but Britain's banner swings
Above his sunken crown.
Black death shall have his toll of kings
Before that cross goes down.

Once more shall move with mighty things
His house of ancient tale,
Where kings whose hands were kissed of kings
Went in: and came out pale.

O young ones of a darker day,
In art's wan colours clad,
Whose very love and hate are grey -
Whose very sin is sad.

Pass on: one agony long-drawn
Was merrier than your mirth,
When hand-in-hand came death and dawn,
And spring was on the earth.

poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In Death, My Final Part

A tower grim; a glowering darkness,
And only brown of red the other hue
– I saw it in the distant eyes –
And yes, He knew, but focussed only
On the mortal soul of mine –
After all, He had a role to play,
And wine: my shivering blood to quaff!
If only I could Him betray –
To break the seal of destiny;
Escape the lone cacophony
That emanates from wailing minds!

Damn the fate of His – it awes and blinds!
But oh! the mighty hammer strikes a toll;
The slow approach of Him upon the knoll
Commences exudation of a dying heart.
Endorsing all, I honed my final part.

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Let it Kill

let it kill me and if it doesnt let it try again and again and again till i die, then let it try again and again and finally let it kill me if not then let it try again till i die of pain cause this pain i cannot take, so let it kill until i feel death creep up the corner, let me die with honor or without it just let me die, so let it kill me again and again and if not let it try until i die, for this life i cannot take i have lost all faith so just let me die, let it try to kill me dont set me free come on kill me i refuse mercy or sympathy all i want is death so please let it kill let it send me to death as fast as things go past, let it kill, let it destroy my soul and leave it not whole for i want death, i want death again i say i want death let it kill and if not let it kill again and again till death is all that remain, let it kill

poem by Adens Kamwi
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Fate Worse Than Death

What is a fate worse than death you ask,
Simple,
Losing you,
Without you my heart would cease to beat,
My blood would run cold,
And I would become a lifeless doll,
Trying to get over you would be like trying to hide in an open area,
Not many things in life are worth dying for,
But you are someone I would easily fall victim to.
More than anything else however losing you…
Would be a fate worse than death.

poem by Silver Akira
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Whisper Softly, Stainless Lilies

WHISPER softly, stainless Lilies,
As you fold each snowy cup
Over soldiers who are sleep,
With their war-tents folded up.

Bear to them our loving message,
In thy sweet unwritten speech;
Chime, white bells, above them softly,
Echoes only angels teach.

Tell them, Roses, as you wither,
Tho' their dust shall heed you not;
Still by song and flag and blossom
We would prove them unforgot.

Show them, Pansy's purple shadow,
Through thy heart of golden bloom,
How the light of deeds heroic
Overlies the darkened tomb.

Passion-flow's with mystic meaning,
Lordly, bannered Fleur-de-Lis.
Mignonette and pale Narcissus,
Soldier dust, we give to thee.

Myrtle crown and Laurel chaplet,
Fragrant things that bloom and die,—
These, O camp of silent sleepers!
Over every outpost lie.

These we leave with loving message—
Crowns, the faithful Earth will keep,
While the sacred dust of heroes
Still she softly holds asleep.

poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems (1879)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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.

The March of Death

Death death death death death death death death death death death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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You Are Unto Dust

You are made from the dust of the earth,
And the Wailing-Wall will be there for you;
For you are unto dust and you shall return unto dust,
And this is just the journey of the spirit.

To the realm of the unknown and to the things we do for love,
And until death put us apart on this side of the planet;
For the flesh goes back to where it belongs to!
Yes, back to the earth.

Death is part of us and we need to learn from others,
For we have to be prepared as well;
For he flesh goes back to where it belongs to;
And out of the dust we were made.

The dust became flesh and today we are human beings,
And from the knowledge of the things to come;
But naked we came and naked we shall return.

Shed no tears on this love,
For death comes for all of us on this earth;
And we need to learn from the facts around us as well,
For it is better to be very righteous than to be buried with evil deeds.

Life is a long road full of sand and,
All that is acquired on this earth is vanity!
Yes, vanity upon vanity! !
For you and i are unto dust and,
Unto dust we shall return at the end of of all things.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Nightfall In The Rose-Garden

Ashes to ashes,
Meal to roots of roses:
One-way street in petals falling,
Dust to dust.

The lowering sun sucks
From blown blossoms,
Their colours that go
At last to dust.

Death is in the seed
Bud, root and leaf
Which have no choice
But dust.

From death to death,
The cycle onward blindly
Rolls its endless way
From dust to death.

I, in the falling dusk
Go slowly blind to all.
And shall too, eventually,
Be dust.

poem by Roy William Gotaas
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Death Is Here And Death Is There

I.
Death is here and death is there,
Death is busy everywhere,
All around, within, beneath,
Above is death—and we are death.

II.
Death has set his mark and seal
On all we are and all we feel,
On all we know and all we fear,

...

III.
First our pleasures die—and then
Our hopes, and then our fears—and when
These are dead, the debt is due,
Dust claims dust—and we die too.

IV.
All things that we love and cherish,
Like ourselves must fade and perish;
Such is our rude mortal lot--
Love itself would, did they not.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Coronation Of Inez De Castro

There was music on the midnight;
From a royal fane it roll'd,
And a mighty bell, each pause between,
Sternly and slowly toll'd.
Strange was their mingling in the sky,
It hush'd the listener's breath;
For the music spoke of triumph high,
The lonely bell, of death.

There was hurrying through the midnight:-
A sound of many feet;
But they fell with a muffled fearfulness,
Along the shadowy street;
And softer, fainter, grew their tread,
As it near'd the Minster-gate,
Whence broad and solemn light was shed
From a scene of royal state.

Full glow'd the strong red radiance
In the centre of the nave,
Where the folds of a purple canopy
Sweep down in many a wave;
Loading the marble pavement old
With a weight of gorgeous gloom;
For something lay 'midst their fretted gold,
Like a shadow of the tomb.

And within that rich pavilion
High on a glittering throne,
A woman's form sat silently,
Midst the glare of light alone.
Her Jewell'd robes fell strangely still-
The drapery on her breast
Seem'd with no pulse beneath to thrill,
So stone-like was its rest.

But a peal of lordly music
Shook e'en the dust below,
When the burning gold of the diadem
Was set on her pallid brow!
Then died away that haughty sound,
And from th' encircling band,
Stept Prince and Chief, 'midst the hush profound,
With homage to her hand.

Why pass'd a faint cold shuddering
Over each martial frame,
As one by one, to touch that hand,
Noble and leader came?
Was not the settled aspect fair?
Did not a queenly grace,
Under the parted ebon hair.
Sit on the pale still face?

Death, Death! canst
thou
be lovely
Unto the eye of Life?
Is not each pulse of the quick high breast
With thy cold mien at strife?
-It was a strange and fearful sight,
The crown upon that head,
The glorious robes and the blaze of light,
All gather'd round the Dead!

And beside her stood in silence
One with a brow as pale,
And white lips rigidly compress'd,
Lest the strong heart should fail;
King Pedro with a jealous eye
Watching the homage done
By the land's flower and chivalry
To her, his martyr'd one.

But on the face he look'd not
Which once his star had been:
To every form his glance was turn'd,
Save of the breathless queen;
Though something, won from the grare's embrace,
Of her beauty still was there,
Its hues were all of that shadowy place,
'Twas not for
him
to bear.

Alas! the crown, the sceptre,
The treasures of the earth,
And the priceless love that pour'd those gifts,
Alike of wasted worth!
The rites are closed-bear back the Dead
Unto the chamber deep,
Lay down again the royal head,
Dust with the dust to sleep.

There is music on the midnight-
A requiem sad and slow.
As the mourners through the sounding aisle
In dark procession go,
And the ring of state, and the starry crown,
And all the rich array,
Are borne to the house of silence down,
With her, that queen of clay.

And tearlessly and firmly,
King Pedro led the train-
But his face was wrapt in his folding robe,
When they lower'd the dust again.
-'Tis hush'd at last, the tomb above,
Hymns die, and steps depart:
Who call'd thee strong as Death, O Love?

Mightier
thou wert and art!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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No Remorse

No mercy for what we are doing
No thought to even what we have done
We don't need to feel the sorrow
No remorse for the helpless one

War without end
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath

Blood feeds the war machine
as it eats its way across the land
We don't need the feel the sorrow
No remorse is the one command

Only the strong survive
No one to save the weaker race
We are ready to kill all comers
Like a loaded gun right at your face

Attack
Bullets are flying
People are dying
with madness surrounding all hell's breaking loose
Soldiers are hounding
Bodies are mounting
cannons are shouting to take their abuse
With war machines going
Blood starts to flowing
No mercy given to anyone hear
The furious fighting
Swords are like lighting
It all becomes frightening to you
Know death is near
No remorse

song performed by by Metallica from Kill 'Em All
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elizabeth Childers

Dust of my dust,
And dust with my dust,
O, child who died as you entered the world,
Dead with my death!
Not knowing Breath, though you tried so hard,
With a heart that beat when you lived with me,
And stopped when you left me for Life.
It is well, my child. For you never traveled
The long, long way that begins with school days,
When little fingers blur under the tears
That fall on the crooked letters.
And the earliest wound, when a little mate
Leaves you alone for another;
And sickness, and the face of Fear by the bed;
The death of a father or mother;
Or shame for them, or poverty;
The maiden sorrow of school days ended;
And eyeless Nature that makes you drink
From the cup of Love, though you know it’s poisoned;
To whom would your flower-face have been lifted?
Botanist, weakling? Cry of what blood to yours?—
Pure or foul, for it makes no matter,
It’s blood that calls to our blood.
And then your children—oh, what might they be?
And what your sorrow? Child! Child!
Death is better than Life!

poem by Edgar Lee Masters from Spoon River Anthology
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mark R. Slaughter

Just like the dahlia
Death comes in all its beauty

And so I stroke her petals
Push my feet root-deep
Into the composted soil
As weary clouds unite
Coalesce
Darken through the greys
In preparation

Incontinence prevails
Lachrymose in empathy

They cry for me
Sharing tears
Mortality brings
As twilight closes

I rot
(They fade)

To be the plant
(They'll water)

I, denomination Mark R. Slaughter

Struggle thro' my fantasy
To seal the state of mind

That I of soul
Remain eternal

Back on the windowsill
A daffodil stretches
From a bulbous foot

Flirts like a ballerina

STOPS

Wonders of the world

My cat hears the brassy thoughts
From yellow trumpet
Pricks up his ears
Iridescent eyes
Focussed on the future

I'll wait
For his appraisal

A Trail of Death

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Ode

Our patriot sires are gone,
The conqueror Death lays low
Those veterans one by one,
Who braved each other foe; --
Though on them rests death's sable pall,
Yet o'er their deeds no shade shall fall.

No, ye of deathless fame!
Ye shall not sleep unsung,
While freedom hath a name,
Or gratitude a tongue; --
Yet shall your names and deeds sublime
Shine brighter through the mists of Time.

Oh, keep your armor bright,
Sons of those mighty dead,
And guard ye well the right,
For which such blood was shed!
Your starry flag should only wave
O'er Freedom's home, or o'er your grave.

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Beldame of Death

A crunch: afoot a dead arachnid
Spanning once a serving plate –
Oh! that others be alive
With such as me for spider bait!

I slunk along the silent hall
Of ancient ore attired in grime –
Feculent beyond the nose;
No bearing here, nor feel for time.

I shuddered in appreciation –
The ambience would mortify
A feeble mind, aghast, opined
Of murky thought, and typify
The will of Belial err I brought
Upon myself to loathe and dread
Exquisite retribution: to linger
Oftentimes alive, then dead.

Compulsion saw me edging on
Toward a narrow door of oak.
Behind, I knew, a greater evil
Waiting in her fusty cloak.

A choice of nil upon the table;
Aught of leave, I had to face
Alone the shrew – her flaming aura
Angling me; my deep disgrace
From ugly deeds I dealt in life,
A heinous world I honed in glee…

'Now take a crooked path to death,
For I have come to torture thee! '

Out of eyes of orange flame,
A piercing glare, then here it came –
The cackling cry of chanting song:

'You thought you'd die alone in pain
The once – nay nay! you'll die with me,
And so a catch: you'll die again
Ad infinitum - ever be!

Your soul to curse, my heart we'll gore,
Your liver to draw and quarter;
A sadomasochistic pair,
We'll slither together in slaughter! '

I answered only with a scream, from
Sensing near her craving lust.
My crimes to answer; wrongs annul;
Renounce my soul and turn to dust...

On an evening cool and quiet,
Stretch an ear to listen tight –
Are you lucky of a moment –?
Hark! my clarion call of plight.

Notes on this poem can be found at:
http: //succumbedtothinking.webs.com/featuredpoems.htm

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

From Ajax Dirge

Related quotes

The Glories of our Blood and State

Death the Leveller

Death's Final Conquest

It's Death Again

To Them That Mourn

In Death, My Final Part

Let it Kill

Fate Worse Than Death

Whisper Softly, Stainless Lilies

Disingenuousness

You Are Unto Dust

Nightfall In The Rose-Garden

Death Is Here And Death Is There

The Coronation Of Inez De Castro

No Remorse

Elizabeth Childers

Mark R. Slaughter

Ode

Beldame of Death

En.Citatepedia^®.ro