Return To Myself
Dumbly you come
to the brink of a precipice,
at the point of no return.
Moving, pivoting with
a huge perception.
Knowing that life was exacting,
you are alive,
alone with a conflict.
Your choosing was a miracle.
Seeking was not ending.
Death was an inadvertent mistake.
You lie down in terror.
Deep in the bones you know, you have to move.
There was no cloud above the eyes,
history was an aberration-
rags to riches.
You become yourself
when death defines a name
and I remember a sunset.
My shaking fingers
weave a drape of sorrow.
There was no patch of green
I return to myself.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
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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Design Of Death
You said you were grief,
the marbled tears will not flow.
Was it not much softer
to accept the life
as a design of death?
You needed the continuity of the sorrow.
Why were you seeking the ending?
The visible effect was mirage,
the guilt of genocide.
We emptied our tatoos
on the road,
driving the emotions to insanity
Everything moved towards
the precipice, rejecting the sky.
Sorrow was part of joy, my adversary.
I wished to separate
the fear from the cells.
The pain of perennial setbacks chipped away the ladders.
I stood there at the level
of death, demanding rocks.
poem by Satish Verma
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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
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
Death death death death
Death death death
Death death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Hold You Once Again
Hold you once again.
To be in your arms.
To listen again the beats of your heart.
To return back the clock,
To return back my love.
Just for few minutes
To live in your arms.
Then whatever if i'll pay my life.
Being with you again
Even if will cost my life.
Who have said that i'm alive
Without you my love.
To be at the same place
To return to those days.
That have gone with the storms of my life.
There where our love was born.
There where first time you whispered on my ears confessing me your love.
To be there again may needs a miracle.
But who can refuse that whole the life is not a miracle.
So please my God return back the time,
Return back my love.
Only for few minutes with him
I can pay my life.
Just to hear his voice,
To see him smile.
To tell me again that our love still survive.
Then you can take my life,
Who cares?
Nobody will survive till the end of life.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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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
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 death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Pass It On
Even, perhaps long before my death
The ashes and bone fragments of my life
Were scattered across deserts, deep in seas
Defeated in the stakes of gravity.
My father solid, stubborn in one place
The bones of his stability at rest
In England's damp and cosy arms
‘Neath Lincoln green and local cherry tree
He knew, he used the maps of death and life
But I, with my credentials, published words
Swirled up into the never-ending sky
Descended to defeat and to defy
A follower or child to lay me down.
United still upon this lonely sphere
Helpless in the weight of our demise
Knowing we are living for a death
Or live a death already realized
We tell this to each other for a song
Father to son, we lightly pass it on.
poem by Frank Bana
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What Ending?
Could not hold it, put it down.
TIME.
The words forget you, pass by.
You remain standing on the brink.
Now, now, where to go?
Time avenges, walks on you
and you cannot catch the breath,
to fill the space between life and death
life will not move, death will not stop.
If not ready to live, death will not look like you
you will not look like death.
World changes every thing,
when seeing stops, listening begins
losing threads of me, between you and me
between me and you.
Something grows out of the mud
a new star.
Begins from end, the ending
of beginning. No ending, no beginning.
Timeless, faceless, nameless
groping in void, to catch the alphabets
Peaks are very frightening
Then where is the end? No end.
This is the end.
poem by Satish Verma
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Life After Death
(ian hunter)
Is there life, is there life?
Is there life after death?
Do you believe? oh yeah!
Is there life, is there life?
Is there life after death?
Do you believe? oh yeah!
Do you stop take another roller coaster ride
Do I beg, steal, cheat or lie? oh my is there life after death?
Oh I wish Id never smoked so much
I wish Id never felt the devils touch
All that passes through my eyes so fast. oh my.
Is there life, is there life?
Is there life after death?
Do you believe? oh yeah!
Is there life, is there life?
Is there life after death?
Do you believe? oh yeah!
Its such a sad sad song
Mother nature aint never wrong
She always tells you when youre getting on
Oh my, is there life after death?
I can hardly wait to see my face
Will I still have one in a different place
Oh youll forgive me if I hesitate, but oh my
Is there life, is there life?
Is there life after death? do you believe? oh yeah!
Is there life, is there life?
Is there life after death? do you believe? oh yeah!
Is it any wonder, I feel just a little bit under
I hear choirs filled with fenders say return to sender
Jumping information, Ive got hyperventilation
Will it help me if I walk the streets
I gotta get down search around here dragged by my feet
Oh no I never knew those (? )
Im gonna shake it, shake it, shake it, is there life after death
I cant remember when I felt so sick and rough
And now theyre gonna legalise the stuff
It sure tells you when youve had enough, off the cuff
Is there life, is there life? is there life after death? do you believe? oh yeah!
Is there life, is there life? is there life after death? do you believe,
Ive run out of breath.
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joy Will Return
When in a pit of deep despair
And no light pierces the dark.
Remember there will be a day
When joy will return.
When hopeless tears are shed
And life seems bitter, dead.
Remember there will be a day
When joy will return
When days seem drear and sad
And you feel you'll never laugh.
Remember there will be a day
When joy will return.
Then suddenly the day will dawn
And you give that first guilty laugh.
You will know deep inside,
Though won't admit,
Joy has returned
P H Brookes Copyright 2011
poem by Paul Brookes
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Death 'married' Death To Death
Death looks at a flower and you screaming,
I am beautiful, look, look..
look here I am, come and eat me, alive.
Death hovers, smiling, never waiting, walking always
walking by, walking in side, you knowing that,
any thing that touches, it will soon also, come to *sigh*.
Death is love, love is death, what are you both, death
is your pet pink pig and deaths two flying bagged pearls.
Slapping you for ever and ever about your red face.
Death is a dry cracked nipple, sleeping, holding on
to the flesh untill it falls off, still dripping.
Death is a bullet fixed, never moving, why does the
world move you through it.
Death is a voice always quite, sounding alarms to
walk across the street knowing you look both ways,
while you come running very quickly out across,
just to stop in the middle and wait.
Death is a woman, who is crazy, thinking the world is
spinning into her coffee.
Death to all men who think they can save each woman
by marring death and eating her tuna fish sandwich.
Death fingered you, you loved it, now you finger me,
leaving my bee exposed on the flower, you buzzed it.
Death's own flower is always sweet and poignant on you..
It is always open for death to smell..............
and it's red alarms, you ignored...
still here it comes, never alone....to see you as you really are....
poem by Is It Poetry
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Death Has Came
Death you come knocking at the door.
Death you plaque us so.
Death do leave us in this time of pain.
Death you bring us suffering and sorrow.
Death will bring a darker tomorrow.
Death will leave and return again for once more soul.
poem by Dymon Sidebottom
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The Deer Lay Down Their Bones
I followed the narrow cliffside trail half way up the mountain
Above the deep river-canyon. There was a little cataract crossed the path,
flinging itself
Over tree roots and rocks, shaking the jeweled fern-fronds, bright bubbling
water
Pure from the mountain, but a bad smell came up. Wondering at it I clam-
bered down the steep stream
Some forty feet, and found in the midst of bush-oak and laurel,
Hung like a bird's nest on the precipice brink a small hidden clearing,
Grass and a shallow pool. But all about there were bones Iying in the grass,
clean bones and stinking bones,
Antlers and bones: I understood that the place was a refuge for wounded
deer; there are so many
Hurt ones escape the hunters and limp away to lie hidden; here they have
water for the awful thirst
And peace to die in; dense green laurel and grim cliff
Make sanctuary, and a sweet wind blows upward from the deep gorge.--I
wish my bones were with theirs.
But that's a foolish thing to confess, and a little cowardly. We know that life
Is on the whole quite equally good and bad, mostly gray neutral, and can
be endured
To the dim end, no matter what magic of grass, water and precipice, and
pain of wounds,
Makes death look dear. We have been given life and have used it--not a
great gift perhaps--but in honesty
Should use it all. Mine's empty since my love died--Empty? The flame-
haired grandchild with great blue eyes
That look like hers?--What can I do for the child? I gaze at her and wonder
what sort of man
In the fall of the world . . . I am growing old, that is the trouble. My chil-
dren and little grandchildren
Will find their way, and why should I wait ten years yet, having lived sixty-
seven, ten years more or less,
Before I crawl out on a ledge of rock and die snapping, like a wolf
Who has lost his mate?--I am bound by my own thirty-year-old decision:
who drinks the wine
Should take the dregs; even in the bitter lees and sediment
New discovery may lie. The deer in that beautiful place lay down their
bones: I must wear mine.
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Death part 1
Death can strike when we least expect it
Death is a significant event that will change our lives
Death will cause sorrow, depression, grief, and loneliness
Death is like the ending cycle of one's life and a beginning for another
But death can also bring new life
poem by Jeffrey Liminsang
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Death Married Death In Death
Death looks at a flower, screaming I am beautiful
look here I am, come eat me, alone.
Death hovers, smiling, never waiting, walking always
by, knowing that,
any thing that touches it will also soon, never die.
Death is love, love is death, why are you both, death
is your pet pink pig, and two flying pearls.
Death is a dry cracked nipple, sleeping, holding on
to the flesh untill it falls off.
Death is a bullet fixed, never moving, why does the
world move you through it.
Death is a voice always quite, sounding alarms to
walk across the street knowing you look while you
come running.
Death is a woman, who is crazy, thinking the world is
spinning into her coffee.
Death to all men who think they can save the woman
by marring death and eating her sandwich.
Death fingered you, you loved it, now you finger me,
leaving my bee exposed on the flower, you buzzed.
Death's own flower is always sweet and poignant on me..
It is always open for you to smell..............
and it's red alarms, you ignored...
still here now it comes, alone....to see you as one....
poem by Is It Poetry
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Death Dies Again
It was death himself
at my swords tip
shocked at his predicament
unaccustomed as he was
to insouciance
and unfamiliar he was
with his own impending ending.
How do you tell Death that
his own death comes?
He said.
'How am I to meet
alls end this way
when I am the very symbol
of the terminus;
the end for all and the other many? '
'Tell me how I am come to this end;
the irony of my own dead death
now near? '
'Death must die' I said
as life itself begins'
'Its not so mysterious Death
to understand.
You are not the end but
my own beginning
and I am life's insistence at the beginning;
that coming to the fore
youth moving to sure
and steady borning.
'That is the cycle of all things, '
I said.
'You die death;
not a sad departing
but my own new beginning.
'How sad' Death said
'I understand your glib reckoning
but my death to me is personal
and while the Great Cycle
to you is mesmerizing
for me it is my fully sensed ending.
Endings are personal and while
loves I've known
have found new loves
it has not
and did not
obliterate
old love's ending.
And that is I.
Old loves die
and their death
is not erased
by new love's
beginning;
they fade
away amid the sad
sighings
we hear at night
when alone
in our beds
in the dark
crying.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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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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For All Of Us A Last Sunset
For all of us a last sunset like for all of us there was a first sunrise
A saying that's been around for years that came from someone wise
And every sunset that we see is one nearer to our last
Our biological clocks are ticking on and ticking ever fast
This evening the sun like a huge red ball set behind the western hill
And how many more sunsets for me since time does not stand still
I watched it disappear from view where it set the sky was red
A weather sign in the twilight sky of warmer days ahead
For all of us a last sunset so very very true
No matter what we achieve in life death it will be our due
Even for the greats of human history there was a last sunset
Though they live on in memory since them we don't forget
For all of us a last sunset the facts do never lie
Since like every other form of life we too are born to die.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Death Shall Not
Death, they say
will take everyone away
but there are things it could never take
even if life was at stake
death shall not remove your laugh which still rings in my ears
death shall not erase your face with your smiles and your tears
death shall not take those years
death shall not cut off those endless walks
death shall not wipe out those honest talks
those shy looks it could not steal
only god knows how i feel
god, sorry those words are fake
but my sorrow is your mistake
well, who am i fooling
death has taken everything from me
since it has taken you
For these things surely remain
But somehow i know they will never happen again.
She is still standing there for her son.
Fire in her eyes,
Burning the sun,
Clouds Running,
Rains fear to fall.
She is standing still,
Her last sight at the yard,
Her hopes still alive,
He may return,
He is her son,
Who promised to return,
After the war is over,
It has been a long time,
Seventy one has passed,
The land has got it's freedom,
But her son have not come back yet.
Her only son, the naughtiest one.
Her breaths cry,
Her blurred vision still looks for someone,
Who will run towards her,
Say her 'everything is over,
Mama, I am back to you,
I will tell you the tales of those days,
I will never leave you again, mama.
Look here I am'.
May be her waiting will never end up,
May be death will take her to her son,
May be they will meet in another world.
She is still standing there for her son.
Still fire in her eyes,
Cursing her fate,
Burning the history...
poem by Kafil Uddin Raihan.
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Silence Of Doors
How can you salvage the theme of god
from the forbidden knowledge?
Must affinities have a reason?
The precarious life hangs
between birth & death.
Crying all the way for immortality,
I ask myself for the end. Was it beautiful?
The ending becomes a climate of personalities
from return to return.
The anonymous call of history
overthrows the silence of doors.
A hard rock strikes the clumsy head.
You cannot take a turn,
another step takes a plunge.
You don’t dare to face yourself,
It was frightening.
A text was bruised and the book was bleeding.
Mapless you tread on broken paths.
Nothing was on record.
Was your god climbing up the stairs?
poem by Satish Verma
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