Dead Prayers
hearts trek
feet travel to the road
leading to unknown tombs
forgotten by the winding clocks
never remembered by the heart
and troubled souls
reach the unpainted walls
of a moss decorated crypt
and the dead souls
shouts dead prayers
only the dead can understand
what are halloween prayers anyway?
for uncaring bones
became stout by the earth
addicted by the rain of forgetfullness
and drugged by dreams gone wild
of wisdom lost
in a maze of unknown heavens
in a hell never found..
yet it is Halloween
so hearts still murmur
souls still recite
dead prayers for all
dead souls
encaged on dead tombs
poem by Villiamor Calventas
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Related quotes
Sonnet: After Death
A dead person never requires praise,
Nor does rebuking help to change his ways;
What if he wins or loses any case?
His earthly tenure, none can ev’r efface.
The soul that’s dead needs no awards/rewards,
Or posthumous citations, or birthdays;
What does it matter if they be kings/ bards?
No monument, his achievements repays.
And statues, paintings too will not suffice,
To glorify his works or laud great souls;
Just prayers for the dead souls will be wise,
And pleas to God to save souls from hell’s coals.
Death is a full-stop to our life’s sentence!
Where use we must, our sense and common sense.
9-12-2002
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remembering the dead
The king has been dead.
The queen has been dead.
So are many kin;
So are my parents.
Do they live by souls?
I’m not sure of it.
Remembering the dead
Is the existence of souls.
Let us remember them
Who have impacted us.
30.01.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Post - Death Living
English language dead,
Can Shakespeare thrive?
Knowing souls dead,
Can dead souls exist?
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Dead, All Dead
Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Souls’ Day
The many ones I knew are hardly seen;
My friends, relatives are in scarce numbers;
Their memories are truly evergreen;
But death has put those souls in deep slumbers!
Most near and dear and loved ones are all gone;
This world looks empty but their graves abound;
They couldn’t be saints but sinned even alone;
Their cemeteries with time are hardly found!
Yet, most had left with venial sins galore;
In Purgatory, God cleanses souls by grace;
They need our prayers to be freed much more;
Like gold refined, souls enter Heaven’s haze!
But fiery love of God can change their roles;
The ones in mortal sins are nearer hell;
God’s mystic mercy could redeem such souls;
The living souls on earth can make them well!
All Souls’ Day comes once in a year for all;
Let’s empty Purgatory by praying hard;
Let’s fast to hasten Almighty God’s call;
Recite the rosary to stay on guard!
God, send your angels soon to fetch all souls;
Their sufferings are much more than on earth;
Let light perpetual shine upon dead souls;
Take them to Your Abode and grant them mirth!
Show mercy Lord, on every soul, we pray!
Let light divine annul the hellish spray;
Forgive them, Jesus Christ, we beg to say;
Ignore their trespasses on Judgment Day!
Lovingly dedicated to all souls on ‘All Souls’ Day! ’
poem by John Celes
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Warriors
The soul speaks from a warrior's spirit
Chants of war, execution of arts
In gruesome battle, one fears it
Death is when war starts
Agony cries god is pain
Brutality lords the field
Innocence killed hearts slain
Other hearts to ferocity yield
Strange calm, war mediation
Prayers to the brave
Tears in formation
Bodies march to the grave
Acts remembered, bodies burn
Ancient drum rolls
Human valor they earn
The valor of dead souls!
Archangels of war's path
Passion engulfs nature's law
The heart of war's wrath
The most dangerous organ man saw
Fight, fight, fight
Violence man's only right
Kill, kill, kill
The enemy and blood shall spill
Into earth's soil
Man's real home
Man's bloody ego
To live in loam
With souls dead long ago
Total war
What man's malice is for
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Are They Still Here?
sometimes i question what
has been taught about souls
are they still here?
are they in heaven, and then on All Soul's Day
permitted to visit us
here in our homes?
is there a day when the souls of the dead
and the those who are still leaving
meet and converse
and evaluate what's up?
i like to think, there is still this connection.
Papa telling me what to do and
Mama still comforting me about
what has been done.
And all the souls of my ancestors
for once on this day of the souls
Guiding me towards what pleases them
and what pleases us all,
something that is good and beautiful
and yes, levelling
when the dead and the living are still one
inhabitants all
in God's everlasting grace.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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All Soul's Day
They throng the tombs of near and dear,
To pray for souls in Purgatory;
They offer masses, light candles,
And place flowers on cemetery.
They visit tombs of orphans, friends,
And hear Requiem masses this day;
They give alms, singing hymns for dead,
Pleading for God's mercy and pray.
No soul is sinless on dying;
The soul must be freed off all sins;
The venial sins forgotten need
To be dumped in Purgatory's bins!
We ought to pray for all the dead,
Our kith and kin and strangers too;
The dead cannot do more penance,
And earn the grace of God on own!
November is the month to pray
To God to grant eternal rest,
For all awaiting Judgment's Day,
And help them pass the final Test!
Let light perpetual shine on souls
In Purgatory, where they are cleansed;
Pardon them Lord and release them;
Permit them to enter Heaven!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-11-12
poem by John Celes
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Dead Or Alive
There in the shadows, looks like a hand
Without its owner, to give it a command
Its got a purpose but I dont know what it is
Im in trouble
There in the streets, looks like a man
But something wrong that I dont understand
His eyes are open but he dont see a thing
His skin is peeling off, his bones are sticking out
Im getting scared
Oh my God (is it dead? )
Is it living? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
(is it dead? ), is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
Hiding in the cupboards, like little mice
Hiding in the frigerator, that isnt nice
Its not an animal, it dont have legs
No one else can see it
It moves so fast, corner of my eye
Look again its gone, its hiding
Wont somebody help me, doesnt anybody care?
It waits so patiently, for me to lose my guard
Im getting scared
Is it dead, is it
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead or alive
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead, is it
I remember there was a time
When dead and buried meant just that
Underneath the cold dark ground
Things stay put!
Oh them bones they make them bodies walk
Them bones, them bones
If they could only talk!
Is it dead (fade)
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sad Moments
lovers hide deep within the maze
of indecisios..disturbed by the silence
of mute emotions..troubled by the feelings
from adulterated dreams..rivalled by
the agony of nightmares
there was nothing left in between..
the criple walked down the lane
of the stony road while on
the pavement there are black holes
filled with murky tears from
blind eyes but able to see what is
within the hearts of a hollow soul
these are sad moments guarded
by crosses enshrined on tombs
of unknown souls that even
in imaginations they fail
to exist and rule what the
earth can offer
there is a tremor that leave the ears
deaf for the prayers of the anointed soul
dreams peris into oblivion
hope vanish in heaven's gate
and hell awaits for the knocking
of a doomed love affair
gone to perish on
enchanted minds where
wisdom goes astray
never to be chased again
by the doves of happiness
painful sadness
is now evrbody's game...
poem by Villiamor Calventas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beliefs of the doubtful existent
Caesar has been dead; so has been Brutus.
Gandhi has been dead; so has been Hitler.
Where did their souls, if any, go out?
Where had those souls come from before?
Beliefs of heaven and hell are there,
Neither proved, nor disproved as yet.
As such, suchlike beliefs carry weight.
27.08.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: God’s Grief’s Greater?
How much of sadness fills the hearts of those,
Parents who lost their only child one day?
How much of despair, mother feels, of course,
Seating her only son, dead on the way?
How much grief-stricken do our siblings live,
Seeing their dear ones dead before their eyes?
How can a child on earth remain alive,
When AIDS-affected, widowed, mother dies?
What grief engulfs the hearts of women all,
Who find the babe from womb is born but dead?
How sad God feels when into sin we fall;
And sadder still when to hell, we’re misled.
The Mirth God feels is more when souls return;
His grief’s ’yond compare when in Hell, they burn.
6-26-2001
poem by John Celes
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The Dead whno Died for Ireland
The dead who died for Ireland!
Oh, these are living words
To nerve the hearts of patriots —
to steel avenging swords —
They thrill the soul when spoken,
and lowly bend the head
With reverence for the memories
of all our martyred dead.
The dead who died for Ireland —
the noble ones — the best,
Who gave their lives for Motherland,
Who poured upon her breast,
In Freedom's cause, the blood she gave —
Who with their dying breath,
Sent prayers to God to heal her woes —
then sealed their love in death.
The dead who died for Ireland,
How hallowed are their graves!
With all the memories fresh and green,
Oh! how could we be slaves?
How could we patient clang the chain?
How could we fawn and bow?
How could we crouch like mongrels
'neath the keeper's frowning brow?
Be proud, ye men of Ireland!
Be proud of those who died;
Never men o'er all the earth
Had greater cause for pride —
Hope and strive, and league for freedom,
And again the souls will rise
Of the dead who died for Ireland
To cheer you to the prize.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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All Souls Day: The Faithful Departed
Today, we think of all souls dead, some dear;
Some were so near, now gone afar, we fear;
Some were our friends, both good and bad, we knew;
But they all vanished like the morning dew!
Some were our neighbours, righteous or quite bad;
Nevertheless, they’re dead, which seems so sad;
Some were just strangers whom we met sometime;
They are no more with us in life and time.
Many we heard of, now no longer live;
Some men violent to violent ends did give;
Many unknown are gone forever too;
We pray, the love of God must all souls woo.
Some bodies lie in earthy dampness cold;
Some met a watery grave or in urns hold;
Some killed by beasts or men-demonic, died;
Many were holy, in God did abide!
Some were burnt, their ashes scattered by wind;
Some as mummies in pyramids, we find;
The end of many, we can’t imagine;
For myriads dead and worm-eaten, we pine!
The world of dead exceeds the living one;
Who thinks of orphans and who lived alone?
Kings, queens, lords, ladies, paupers too are gone;
Let living pray for God’s mercy and moan!
‘May the souls dead all, rest in peace;
May God forgive sinners with ease! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 02-11-11
poem by John Celes
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Spirits Of The Dead
As the spirits of the dead
Rise from the fires of death
I feel a presence
In my minds eye
Of all the lost souls
Fighting for their lives
I hear a voice
In my head
Telling me they are dead
But then I hear
The shadowed souls
It is we who have lived
It is you who is lost
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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An Ode to Halloween
I am new to writing poems and I hope I can learn from all of you.
By the way, I learned how to write this kind of poem because of
An Ode to Christmas. Thank you very much!
An Ode to Halloween
When you see a child
In a costume scary and wild
You know it is Halloween.
When kids go trick-or-treats
And get lots and lots of sweets
You know it is Halloween.
When the trees give up their yellow leaves
And the dead give back their R.I.P.s
You know it is Halloween.
An Ode to scrumptious snacks
An Ode to skeletons that clack
An Ode to Dracula
An Ode to tarantulas
An Ode to Halloween
An Ode to the year’s best time
An Ode to clocks that chime
An Ode to Halloween
All Souls
I
A THIN moon faints in the sky o'erhead,
And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.
Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,
Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,
But forth of the gate and down the road,
Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
II
Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:
It is only their call that comes on the breeze;
Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:
It is only the tread of their feet on the grass;
Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop:
It is only the touch of their hands that grope -
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.
III
And where should a man bring his sweet to woo
But here, where such hundreds were lovers too?
Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss,
The empty hands that their fellows miss,
Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green,
Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between?
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
IV
And now that they rise and walk in the cold,
Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old.
Let them see us and hear us, and say: 'Ah, thus
In the prime of the year it went with us!'
Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist,
Forget they are mist that mingles with mist!
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.
V
Till they say, as they hear us - poor dead, poor dead! -
'Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed -
Just a thrill of the old remembered pains
To kindle a flame in our frozen veins,
Just a touch, and a sight, and a floating apart,
As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart -
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear, and the dead have sight.'
VI
And where should the living feel alive
But here in this wan white humming hive,
As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold,
And one by one they creep back to the fold?
And where should a man hold his mate and say:
'One more, one more, ere we go their way'?
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the living can learn by the churchyard light.
VII
And how should we break faith who have seen
Those dead lips plight with the mist between,
And how forget, who have seen how soon
They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon?
How scorn, how hate, how strive, we too,
Who must do so soon as those others do?
For it's All Souls' night, and break of the day,
And behold, with the light the dead are away. . . .
poem by Edith Wharton
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The Lamp of Poor Souls
[In many English churches before the Reformation there was kept a little lamp continually burning, called the Lamp of Poor Souls. People were reminded thereby to pray for the souls of those dead whose kinsfolk were too poor to pay for prayers and masses.]
Above my head the shields are stained with rust,
The wind has taken his spoil, the moth his part;
Dust of dead men beneath my knees, and dust,
Lord, in my heart.
Lay Thou the hand of faith upon my fears;
The priest has prayed, the silver bell has rung,
But not for him. O unforgotten tears,
He was so young!
Shine, little lamp, nor let thy light grow dim.
Into what vast, dread dreams, what lonely lands,
Into what griefs hath death delivered him,
Far from my hands?
Cradled is he, with half his prayers forgot.
I cannot learn the level way he goes.
He whom the harvest hath remembered not
Sleeps with the rose.
Shine, little lamp, fed with sweet oil of prayers.
Shine, little lamp, as God's own eyes may shine,
When He treads softly down His starry stairs
And whispers, "Thou art Mine."
Shine, little lamp, for love hath fed thy gleam.
Sleep, little soul, by God's own hands set free.
Cling to His arms and sleep, and sleeping, dream,
And dreaming, look for me.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Every tear you shed for the dead you love
Reminds them of the earth people who love them
And the dead are now confused
To go or not to go
To finally leave and be full-fledged souls to the other world
Every tear confuses them
And you are so cruel, you shed so many tears
Enough for the dead to be restless and crazy,
Please stop crying, let the dead go, we just buried them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Forever Lost
lost in a maze of emotions
nowhere to go in that labyrynth of isolation
eyes turning round and around
the clock gets tired and the moonbeams drowse
a soul was destined to go astray
in a world unknown for love
..gone were all the moments
of happiness in heaven gone wild
and the feet crumbled on blood stained
winding road that point to nowhewre
a heart was shattered broken crying for
another love? but no hands extended..
there were just moans and wailings from beyond
coming from dead stars and galaxies that were long ago gone
to oblivion and unwanted memories of
a love gone sour..
there was an
explosion of muted silence and war began
between the mind and the heart..
another man was lost
and footprints on the sands of time
were washed away by ravaging waves
of life..of love
unknown to an uncaring soul
lost and will never be found
in a crazy world of imaginations,
where hearts never known what love is is all about
..forever lost..
poem by Villiamor Calventas
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