Another Name
When postponed, death had no meaning.
It was lying in ambush.
Journey was imperfect without
a termination.
Behind the dust was another desire.
Another thumb on the trigger
starts shooting through the bubble
of moon. Every bone springs
to jump for final galaxy
of hidden stars.
Striving was brutal. Being
was dying for life. Profits
of morality on sale. Fragrance
without house. A memory
now invites another name.
Daughter of next life
lives hundreds of years
in death. Becoming
becomes the fear!
poem by Satish Verma
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Charity
Sometimes death lives for eternity,
a captive of silence,
or in hidden journey to flesh;
unless the body betrays the falling stars from eyes.
Dying was an appropriate thing
a festival of freedom for veils,
to leave you alone with your morality.
This terrible life ejects you
on the gravel to become a stone.
The fall from the beautiful height
was meant for charity.
No body wants to die for a toss-up
with life,
for a secret game of tears and smile.
The true thing of despair generates
a darkness, whom I owe my light.
poem by Satish Verma
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In The Long Run We May All Be Entropy
IN THE LONG RUN WE MAY ALL BE ENTROPY
In the long run we may all be entropy-
At the end of the end
We may all be scattered dust-
Ultimately after billions and billions of years
Our earth and our sun and our galaxy
may disappear -
But now
in this small time of our own lives
while we are in the middle still,
Let us love those we love with all our love-
And let us enjoy as deeply as we can the gifts life gives-
And let us be good to one another
And kind as we can be-
Let us find and make blessing of our own time here
Doom or no doom
Final death or no final death-
In our lives
Let us love and be good
with all we have to give.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Stages Of Development
Every life goes through stages,
stages of development.
It starts with our birth,
the first stage in our lives,
and ends with our death,
the final stage when we
evolve to a higher plane.
Each stage along our journey
prepares us for our final stage
and the journey
that has to be taken by us all.
18 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Death Is The End
Death Is The End,
Death Is Sadness,
Death Is Dark,
Death Is Light,
Death Is The End To Your Short Life,
Death Is The Begining To Your Eternal Life,
Death Isn't The End,
Death Isn't Sadness,
Death Is Happyness,
Death Is Your Final Rest,
Death Is Your Second And Final Begining,
Death Is Your Rebirth,
Death Is Final...........
Fear And Death
Fear could be the starter of death
Death envokes fear
Both team up to destroy dreams and lives
As life goes on death and fear multiplies
Never fear death or it may control you
Death uses your fears to quicken the pace
Death still surrounds you as your fear as well
poem by Runni McDaniel
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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.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death
The final part
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Being Dead
They came to her to tell her that she was dead-
passed away in her sleep.
But, ' she retorted, this must be a dream
and cannot be so-
I'm not dead-perhaps still asleep.'
'No', they said, 'dead and nothing to be done;
acceptance not denial is what is requiews here.'
She felt her arms and said 'See I am alive, still here.'
'Illusion.' they said The dead always try to keep the illusion of life
because that is all they know
life is gone from you now, the book is closed.
'This is absurd; ' she said 'let me out of here.
I am alive, not dead and gone'
'There is nothing to stop you leaving they said, ' he said 'you can always leave life you understand is but a tree with death as it final branch.
She got up and walked to what looked like a door paused opening it gingerly blinded by a briight white, so she shut it again turning to face again to her interlocutors.
'What is going on where am I? ' she said.
They ignored her whispering among themselves finally facing her, one of them saying;
'We can give special dispensation and perhaps...'
She interrupted him, 'Special dispensation, what is that? '
'Well' he said 'you can go, leave here if you like, but only for three days and if…'
If, if what.' she said.
'in those two days you can walk among the living but they will not be able to see or hear you
and if you can some how communicate with them,
make your self feel alive to them
and they want you to come back,
then you can perhaps go back, go back among the living,
That will be permanent until you die again,
understanding, of course, that in time
we all die.'
Convince them? How can I do that if they cannot hear or see me?
'Well you can go among them, ' one of them explained
'and even though they will not be able to hear or see you,
your spirit will be present and that will be the trigger among them
signaling their desire for your return,
then that might make your return possible.'
'Not see or hear me, ' she said 'but how then will I be able to convince them I am alive? This makes no sense.'
'Oh yes it does. You have to get them to conjure you in their memory, wish you were still alive, remember you fondly,
wish you were still with them after all this time.'
'All this time? ', she said.
How long have I been dead? '
'Well now they said 'it has been over five years now.'
'Five years! ' she said incredulously.
'Yes five years.' he said.
'I know people forget, even loved ones can forget
you after five years, and they go on with their lives.'
'Yes, our point exactly, ' he said, 'then you are not only dead but not remembered, and being not remembered is true death'
Do you want to go, go back
understanding that if you fail,
your death will then be death true final test? '
She paused thinking how hurtful it would be
if she could not get anyone to conjure her memory..
'What happens' she said 'if I succeed and some one remembers me and wants me back? '
'That is the point someone can remember you yourself may not want to come back. That part is important.'
'And, ' he said 'you may not want to go back. If you do go back there might be loved ones who have moved on with their lives.'
.
'What about my husband, has he moved on? ' she said?
They did not answer.
'We can tell you nothing. These things you will have to find out for yourself.
Some, ' he said 'find out and want to come back here. Each is different-take your time.
She stood thinking about what to do.
To be continued
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Life or Death
Death is a mystery,
and life is Suspense.
The journey to death,
is unknown yet,
and Life is a dream stage.
Nobody has come back
From their death,
And life seems to be,
Chasing an invisible end.
Escape from death,
is impossible,
and so from Life.
Death is most painful,
Life is even more.
Death is frightful,
And Life is a puzzle.
So is life,
or Death,
better for a human fate?
poem by Pratisha Karki
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Raffles of Life
death fear and tremble every heart, a final
destination of every soul, of no where to
believe that death is not an exemption of
life but life after this life, it’s the end of
every beginning, nor the fate to
accept that it’s the final
happiness that man
has long waited for
in life
you don’t need to live because you want to die,
though, you have to die in order to live, the
meaning catches many stream in the
river and sea, every thing will be
happy, you may not find but you
may seek it, for in the end the
paradise is waiting
even the clouds have something to say
the night has been envying the day
the stones rushing the shore
to be seen, for in every
birds, there is feather
that flees
so why all have got there shared to be
raffle in life, the air breath has but
nothing to see, though the eyes
close vividly can feel, the
beauty of death, the
Prophets and
Messenger
always
shout
for
thee
as life comes and it may go, the raffles. seems
so easy when you’re Free.......
poem by Antonio Liao
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Death’s Too Near
Death, you’re standing rather near!
Don’t you understand the fear
You trigger deep within my soul–?
The terror sprung by such a ghoul
Of dark and hideous hue!
Now you’re rattling on my door!
I’m sure I threw you out before –
Methinks you really need to learn!
So leg it please and ne’er return
To haunt me ‘gain, now shoo!
Gain a sense of social pride, and
Keep your bearing far and wide –
Perform the deed when I am done –
Be free and loose to have your fun
When I’m too frail to turn and run,
But now I’ve living to do!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death
Death, death, nearing death
Death, death, death
Death, death
Death
Death, death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Man’s Destiny
Fear overtakes the desire to happiness,
death is an accident:
it will happen for lesser reasons.
The meaning inside the meaning.
Delay in perception was
due to, surge between despair,
and hope, between touch and go.
A transparency in truth,
is always rejected for sorrow.
Center of life was sweet.
Needs courage to go for,
a conscious death of a script.
Your existence shudders amidst,
the roar of pretentions.
I adore the bloodless coup.
The solitude becomes my timeless strength of morality
of enormous silence.
Mind suffers a smouldering fire.
The longing for the other side,
of the man’s destiny and will.
To choose was not the will for abandonment.
poem by Satish Verma
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What Is...?
What is the meaning of hate?
Is it the dislike of someone different than you?
Or is it the loathing of something simple like broccoli?
What is the meaning of discrimination?
Is it the hatred of someone of a different background?
The hatred of skin color;
Or is it the bitter taste of being different from everyone else?
What is the meaning of uniqueness?
Is it the purpose of being odd and unusual?
The adaptation to your own life and style;
Or is it the stereotypical clan that society has put you?
What is the meaning of life?
Is it that time keeps moving; leaving us in the dust is leaves behind?
The endless stream of consciousness that everything has;
Or is it the meaningless and indefinable thing we give every day?
What is the meaning of death?
Is it that grim reaper knocking at your door?
The inky blackness of nothing;
Or is it something that can’t be defined only experienced when it is time?
Many questions are asked everyday without even meaning to ask them.
They are hidden within the minds of those who are too afraid to speak out;
To let THEIR voices be heard.
So I ask you these questions in hope that you will ask them yourself;
To find the meaning of it for yourself and not what others say it is.
One final question is all I leave you with.
What is the meaning of everything that you thought you knew?
poem by Regan Meade
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Our Lives For Sale
As long as we adjust
Our lives are for sale
Like a mouse's tail
Today we are health
Tomorrow is our death
Our lives are for sale
Our ancestors could tell
Now enjoying with our wives
Later absence of lives
Our lives are for sale
Drained like water in a pail
Eating like a pig
But our clothes seem to be big
Our lives are for sale
And can fall over like a well
Today we are just weak
Tomorrow we are sick
Our lives are for sale
As we fail to exhale.
poem by Walani Ndhlovu
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Death Is The Beginning It's Not The End
From the day we are born we are dicing with death,
We have limited control over our final breath,
You may live for seconds or for many years,
Our demise is something everyone fears.
When will it happen do you wish you knew how?
Or perhaps you wouldn't if it was happening now,
When you're young and carefree you don't really care,
You tend not to think of when or where.
If an elderly relation in your family dies,
You ask yourself why everyone cries,
Why did they leave could it possibly be planned?
As a child it's so hard to understand.
As you grow older the thought crosses your mind,
It's then you realise death can be so unkind,
If there's a God is it he who chooses,
What's the criteria, who wins who loses.
Who is it that decides how you'll meet your fate,
Will it be early in life or will it be late,
Could it be through disease or perhaps old age?
To know this would take the mind of a sage.
You needn't fear death if you believe God is true,
Have faith in the Lord and he'll see you through,
The kingdom of Heaven is open to all races,
He has no interest in the colour of our faces.
A land of paradise where we're all as one,
Living in harmony, as for conflict there's none,
It may sound like a dream but God does not deceive,
There's life after death but you've got to believe.
The main lessons in life that need to be learned,
Are entry to His kingdom can only be earned,
If you wish to do otherwise your soul you can sell,
The rewards will be an eternity in Hell.
So you see there's no need to be in fear of dying,
The Good Lord has never been one for lying
By obeying Gods will to Heaven you'll ascend,
‘' Death Is The Beginning It's Not The End ‘'
The Sad Soul's Dream
Sadness and greif
Won't be found on a leaf.
By the slice of a knife,
You end your own life.
Jump ten stories high,
To give death a try.
Point a gun to your head,
Pull the trigger, now your dead.
Death is a pleasure,
For suicides's measure.
Life is a mistake
That we should never take.
But the sad soul's dreams
Are never what one seems.
For life is a gift
That is always missed.
poem by Mariah Simpson
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Why Fear Death?
Why should man be afraid of death?
When death cannot be avoided.
Man cannot stop death.
Therefore, man shouldnot fear death.
If man lives in constant fear of death.
Man has wasted away his life.
poem by Robert Kraft
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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
Death death death death death death death death death death death
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Death death death death death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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This Life Journey
This life journey we are on does have an ending
For all of us a final night and day
It may end for you in the place you were born and raised in
Or from there hundreds if not thousands of miles away
And whether you believe in a God and an afterlife or you are an atheist
To the Reaper of lives this does not matter at all
He does not differentiate between rich and poor and saint and sinner
To his sharp scythe everyone eventually does fall.
Along life's journey you will find joy and laughter
As well as sorrow hardship and despair
As we know everyone is not born as an equal
Though we all are born to breathe in the same air.
Our journey through life for us will end somewhere
It must end for him and her and you and me
And lets hope the journey for you will end happy
Where-ever or whenever that will be.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Blue Moon
Blossoming from the rock
A soul of a desperate lock
Becomes one with the blue moon
Hues of blue and gray
A due of death today
A blue moon rises in the west
It seemed so long ago
When the moon was so-so
And never went to the side of the blue
Now life is happening
And flowers are dying
The moon so blue is in the middle of the night sky
A love is a death
With a beginning and end
Just like the blue moon
With the beginning of a new day
The moon is hidden
And a new life is born
Unlike the moon of blue
Copyright 2006 Dustin Bennefield
poem by Dustin Bennefield
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God's Breath
i felt God's breath upon me
as i lay sleepless....
my soul yearning to escape
the confines of flesh and bone....
my spirit burning with the need
to unlock the simple....
that my understanding could not define....
shooting stars, flash moments of brilliance
in a sky both dark and deep....
beyond striving, beyond suffering,
to the electric pulse without barriers.
beyond fear, and all discerning....
the hidden place without
beginning or end....
the touch that opens a flower,
and heals the tear before it falls!
the breath of God upon me,
defining my smallness with infinity....
and infinity in the smallest particle
of dust illumined by the light!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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