Final Resting Place (Rictameter)
Final
resting places
beneath worm-ridden soil;
secrets bared only to demons.
They claw at tattered funeral garments,
to get to death's barterd souls.
Loved ones cry foolishly,
but nothing is
final
http: //allpoetry.com/poem/5518011
poem by Kim Schilling
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Related quotes
Our Final Farewell
To say our final farewell it happend not that long ago.
Our final farewell, I remember it so clearly.
Our final farewell, I remember your smile.
Our final farewell, I remember how proud you were
that you got promoted.
Our final farewell, happened like any 'goodbye'.
Our final farewell, you seemed happy.
Our final farewell, you seemed to enjoy life.
Our final farewell, you seemed to enjoy everything,
Our final farewell, I remember the conversation.
Our final farewell, sometimes haunts me.
Our final farewell, happened so quick.
Our final farewell, I didn't know that it was going to
be our last.
Our final farewell, happened more then a year ago
Your final farewell, happened on the 15/11/05 as you
took your own life.
poem by Nikki Hamilton
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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...........
Before Death
Before death
you wanted to kiss
the girl in the lift
whom you rode with
silently each day,
wanted to read
War and Peace,
wanted to listen
to the whole
of Wagner’s Ring,
wanted to write a poem
in Japanese,
touch the dress
Marilyn Monroe
wore in that famous film,
feel the embrace
of your late father’s arms.
Before death
you wanted to sing
a Puccini aria,
look into the eyes
of your first dead love,
make love
for the final time,
climb Everest,
drink your last
glass of booze,
see your final dawn,
hold onto your final breath,
before your death.
poem by Terry Collett
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the Hospice
'THE HOSPICE'
As he lay there in the hospice thinking his final thoughts,
Had he had a good life, or had it been just allright,
No matter how it had been his final hours were here,
Would anyone come to see him as death was really near,
He would rather see them right now, just to hold his hand.
Than them saying things so shallow at his funeral,
So go there now and see him, it will help him move along,
Help him to the next world help him to be strong,
People want to see you before they pass away,
So go and hold his hand now before he goes away!
Say nice things at his funeral!
But dont forget this thing! at that time it will be to late for him to comprehend!
David Bennett.
poem by David Bennett
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The Resonant Dream
The final dream
So resonant and pure
The final dream
Will never be at its end
Its long journey almost o'er
The final dream
Has just begun
To rattle the fate at hand
The final dream
Is as pure as gold
It is perfect and will stand
The final dream
Will never come to a close
Yet it has a happy hand
The final dream
Is a grand dream
That turns the time of sand
The final dream
Is such a dream
That it is now near its end
poem by Alex Fischer
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The Princess of Imagination
A woman’s portrait
Is falling off the wall.
There are friends
Who display cut-throat alienation,
Razor-sharp disregard
For sensitive emotions,
And love is a tattered umbrella
That does not protect
From a cold shower of loneliness.
Nightmare exorcisms
Have begun,
My demons rush me
Toward final disintegration.
And the princess of imagination
Has left me staggering
Beneath the weight of tears.
You can see people
Shatter like glass
And become dangerous shards
For others to step on.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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It seems that the more places I see and experience, the bigger I realize the world to be. The more I become aware of, the more I realize how relatively little I know of it, how many places I have still to go, how much more there is to learn. Maybe that's enlightenment enough — to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom, at least for me, means realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.
quote by Anthony Bourdain
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Final Curtain
Whats left for me to see
In my ship I sailed so far
What can the answer be
Dont know what the questions are.
And after all Ive done
Still I cannot feel the sun
Tell me save me
In the end our lost souls must repent.
I must know it is for certain
Can it be the final curtain
As long as the wind will blow
Ill be searching high and low.
Who knows whats really true
They say the end is so near
Why are we all so cruel
We just fill ourselves with fear.
And heaven and hell will turn
All that we love shall burn
Hear me trust me
In the end our lost souls must repent.
I must know it is for certain
Can it be the final curtain
As long as the wind will blow
Ill be searching high and low.
Final curtain
Final curtain
song performed by by Yngwie Malmsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Final Curtain
Whats left for me to see
In my ship I sailed so far
What can the answer be
Dont know what the questions are.
And after all Ive done
Still I cannot feel the sun
Tell me save me
In the end our lost souls must repent.
I must know it is for certain
Can it be the final curtain
As long as the wind will blow
Ill be searching high and low.
Who knows whats really true
They say the end is so near
Why are we all so cruel
We just fill ourselves with fear.
And heaven and hell will turn
All that we love shall burn
Hear me trust me
In the end our lost souls must repent.
I must know it is for certain
Can it be the final curtain
As long as the wind will blow
Ill be searching high and low.
Final curtain
Final curtain
song performed by by Yngwie Malmsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Funeral Bell
The funeral bell is ringing a reminder of our mortality
Farewelling a deceased soul one day 'twill ring for me
Ringing in the stillness of this cool Autumn day
Across the rural city in the morning damp and gray.
The funeral bell is pealing for one a last farewell
And few sounds sadder than the slow peals of the loud funeral bell
Above the streets and houses it echoes to the sky
For one bound for her or his last resting place the cemetery nearby.
The peewees in the town park distinctive in their call
And the magpie on a wattle pipe on this cool morning in the Fall
And for one who will not breathe again the eulogy is read
And the funeral bell is tolling in memory of the dead.
The funeral bell is ringing for one a last goodbye
And on the clock of our mortality the hours just seem to fly
Respect to the departed is all that we can pay
And for each and everyone of us a final night and day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Final Death Bed Redemption?
what is this vision
a human skeleton
praying upon knees?
arms outstretched palms
pressed together skull
raised toward heaven?
is this hope sought
final death bed atonement
redemption salvation?
is this pious final proof
of saint life lead consummation
or final life parted confession?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Innocence Restored
Descending from the darkness,
an angel crouches in the shadows;
purity cradled by her tender breast,
somnolent from demon’s sedition.
For this little one was The Chosen,
revered for her simple innocence;
unknowing, beautiful and chaste,
ready to be offered up to Him.
A sip from the bloodied chalice,
stripped her of her virtuousness.
She lay on the cold black altar,
and tearfully awaited her vile fate.
From out of the depths of the gloom,
she saw the angel of darkness descend.
Screams bellowed out and fire roared;
demons spoke in tongues and clashed.
Sinking into the scarlet soaked soil,
Evil and His beasts recoil into their hell;
free is the soul of the little lost girl,
and innocence restored by an angel.
She crouches in the dark shadows;
purity cradled by her tender breast,
somnolent from demon’s sedition.
http: //allpoetry.com/poem/4614797 with picture
poem by Kim Schilling
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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(Every) Warning
No way of trying to find who to be.
No way leaves such a bad old cause
A memory shall now twirl
Even though it happens as every warning
Letting you just push me to my final limit
Like trying to break myself ever free
So that's what it's like for every warning
For it hurts with an aplomb
Just as the chances are gone
Final time of never fair
Even if it's true that you couldn't even care
Letting me have secrets that I'll keep
Not sure when to break free
Just not with a bliss
Guess you'll never finally want to see
Even though it happens as every warning
Letting you just push me to my final limit
Like trying to break myself ever free
So that's what it's like for every warning
So there's no-one who can finally even see
Low as you hurt me but that's further debatable, debatable
And that'll be nothing that's ever new
No way of making love due so
Even though it happens as every warning
Letting you just push me to my final limit
Like trying to break myself ever free
So that's what it's like for every warning
poem by Rich Downes
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The sum of all his days
Lord, is this what life is really all about?
We get to You all wrinkled and so worn out
Is life what we have become on our last day?
All weakened and plagued by senile decay
My child, this is not so, I'm pleased to tell you
That I don't see your loved one the way you do
His life before me in panorama displays
And I see him as the sum of all his days
From his final sigh right back to his first breath
All is seen by me when he passed through death
I see the babe giving his parents delight
And the small boy growing up so fair and bright
The young lad entering his turbulent teens
Coming to terms with his inherited genes
All through his adulthood I see him going
Forming new friendships and life overflowing
You see the aging process making him old
But before me I see his whole life unfold
Each second and each moment of the years
I can see his exuberant joys and tears
Then on that final day as in death he lay
I see one who has walked with me all the way
The sum of all his days is what I can see
In your loved one who is standing before Me
And now with Me as his new life he begins
One that is not marred by the effect of sins
Sicknesses and sorrows shall no longer be
For he is now living in heaven with Me
Death beneath my feet
The dead brown maple leaves litter the path
Where I walk. Others of its kind dropping
From their lofty homes, victims of the wrath
Of autumns chilling gales, unrelenting
And tellingly- stark reminder of death-
Companion through life all of us must face.
I tread over brittle corpses beneath
My feet in their final resting place
And I am reminded of my sister
Poor soul! Who died one chilly October.
I remember the maple leaves that stirred
Around my feet that day she was interred.
Lifeless entities swirling, hurling down
Atop her casket deep beneath the ground.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Marathon
I'm writing myself
To death.
Care to join me
In my final voyage?
(Poem themed on Exhaustion)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I'm Dead And Gone
When I'm dead and gone
At my funeral don't play another sad song
I wanna see tears of joy not of sorrow
Remember this day for it will be gone tomorrow
I want people to celebrate my death day
The same way they celebrated my birthday
Remember the good things I've done in my life, and forget the bad
Remember our love, cause at times that's all we had
When I'm dead and gone, who would really miss me?
I would hope that the memory of me make people happy
I'd like to say I'm sorry to all those I've done wrong
And thanks to all who showed me love my whole life long
I have to get these feelings out before I'm dead and gone
Same may wonder why I'm doing this poem
Maybe I feel like my life is reaching its final storm
I rather say this right now right here
Cause later I may not be able to say nothing I fear
No I'm not ready to meet death.
But I rather for you to know now,
Then when I'm dead and gone to be thinking something else.
poem by Daniel Chapman
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