Poems About Graveyard Published by Members Recently Online
#graveyard
Paulajobi
Paula Jobi
Paula Jobi
Poem Published
6th Jan 2025 5:58am
6th Jan 2025 5:58am
Bo's Shadow
Bo was 6 yrs old when he made a full body
silhouette in class. He chose black paper and he carefully cut it out and brought it home proudly.
He called it his shadow.
He taped it to his wall near his bed and there it
stayed for 3 years. The longest our mom had ever stayed in any apartment. The building was owned by our extremely perverted aunt. She liked to touch him.
So did our Mom. The entire family was like that. He
secretly told me that he put his soul into his "shadow" to keep it safe from mom, our aunt - the entire family! ...
silhouette in class. He chose black paper and he carefully cut it out and brought it home proudly.
He called it his shadow.
He taped it to his wall near his bed and there it
stayed for 3 years. The longest our mom had ever stayed in any apartment. The building was owned by our extremely perverted aunt. She liked to touch him.
So did our Mom. The entire family was like that. He
secretly told me that he put his soul into his "shadow" to keep it safe from mom, our aunt - the entire family! ...
#abuse
#graveyard
#hate #PTSD
#hate #PTSD
91 reads
2 Comments
Thetravelingfairy
Poem Published
27th Aug 2021 6:43pm
27th Aug 2021 6:43pm
Ode to Tombstones
Wooden crosses staked in rows
Weeping in the pulse of time
Most of it, much alive
The daisies are blooming
Watered by grieving tears
Carved rocks of marble
Freshly engraved for all to see
Others older, hidden, eroding…
Begging to be read
As if to say:
“I’m not dead yet.”
Wandering inside these gates of names
Beside hundreds of bodies
Thousands of stories silenced by dirt
Some told many times
Others hardly known…
And far too many, never told
This reality, haunts me the most
...
Weeping in the pulse of time
Most of it, much alive
The daisies are blooming
Watered by grieving tears
Carved rocks of marble
Freshly engraved for all to see
Others older, hidden, eroding…
Begging to be read
As if to say:
“I’m not dead yet.”
Wandering inside these gates of names
Beside hundreds of bodies
Thousands of stories silenced by dirt
Some told many times
Others hardly known…
And far too many, never told
This reality, haunts me the most
...
#sadness
#dark
#death #graveyard
#death #graveyard
418 reads
2 Comments
Thetravelingfairy
Poem Published
27th Aug 2021 6:43pm
27th Aug 2021 6:43pm
Ode to Tombstones
Wooden crosses staked in rows
Weeping in the pulse of time
Most of it, much alive
The daisies are blooming
Watered by grieving tears
Carved rocks of marble
Freshly engraved for all to see
Others older, hidden, eroding…
Begging to be read
As if to say:
“I’m not dead yet.”
Wandering inside these gates of names
Beside hundreds of bodies
Thousands of stories silenced by dirt
Some told many times
Others hardly known…
And far too many, never told
This reality, haunts me the most
...
Weeping in the pulse of time
Most of it, much alive
The daisies are blooming
Watered by grieving tears
Carved rocks of marble
Freshly engraved for all to see
Others older, hidden, eroding…
Begging to be read
As if to say:
“I’m not dead yet.”
Wandering inside these gates of names
Beside hundreds of bodies
Thousands of stories silenced by dirt
Some told many times
Others hardly known…
And far too many, never told
This reality, haunts me the most
...
#sadness
#dark
#death #graveyard
#death #graveyard
418 reads
2 Comments
Thetravelingfairy
Poem Published
27th Aug 2021 6:43pm
27th Aug 2021 6:43pm
Ode to Tombstones
Wooden crosses staked in rows
Weeping in the pulse of time
Most of it, much alive
The daisies are blooming
Watered by grieving tears
Carved rocks of marble
Freshly engraved for all to see
Others older, hidden, eroding…
Begging to be read
As if to say:
“I’m not dead yet.”
Wandering inside these gates of names
Beside hundreds of bodies
Thousands of stories silenced by dirt
Some told many times
Others hardly known…
And far too many, never told
This reality, haunts me the most
...
Weeping in the pulse of time
Most of it, much alive
The daisies are blooming
Watered by grieving tears
Carved rocks of marble
Freshly engraved for all to see
Others older, hidden, eroding…
Begging to be read
As if to say:
“I’m not dead yet.”
Wandering inside these gates of names
Beside hundreds of bodies
Thousands of stories silenced by dirt
Some told many times
Others hardly known…
And far too many, never told
This reality, haunts me the most
...
#sadness
#dark
#death #graveyard
#death #graveyard
418 reads
2 Comments
Thetravelingfairy
Poem Published
27th Aug 2021 6:43pm
27th Aug 2021 6:43pm
Ode to Tombstones
Wooden crosses staked in rows
Weeping in the pulse of time
Most of it, much alive
The daisies are blooming
Watered by grieving tears
Carved rocks of marble
Freshly engraved for all to see
Others older, hidden, eroding…
Begging to be read
As if to say:
“I’m not dead yet.”
Wandering inside these gates of names
Beside hundreds of bodies
Thousands of stories silenced by dirt
Some told many times
Others hardly known…
And far too many, never told
This reality, haunts me the most
...
Weeping in the pulse of time
Most of it, much alive
The daisies are blooming
Watered by grieving tears
Carved rocks of marble
Freshly engraved for all to see
Others older, hidden, eroding…
Begging to be read
As if to say:
“I’m not dead yet.”
Wandering inside these gates of names
Beside hundreds of bodies
Thousands of stories silenced by dirt
Some told many times
Others hardly known…
And far too many, never told
This reality, haunts me the most
...
#sadness
#dark
#death #graveyard
#death #graveyard
418 reads
2 Comments
Josh
Joshua Bond
Joshua Bond
Poem Published
30th Oct 2019 4:36pm
30th Oct 2019 4:36pm
Story Poem, Nr.16 — Tales
And
dead men
tell no tales…
This is not true.
Returning as ghosts
they front the T.V News
telling a m a z i n g stories
which strangely people still believe
despite the much evidence
they are tales written by
the puppet-masters
who control them
from beyond
the grave-
yard.
dead men
tell no tales…
This is not true.
Returning as ghosts
they front the T.V News
telling a m a z i n g stories
which strangely people still believe
despite the much evidence
they are tales written by
the puppet-masters
who control them
from beyond
the grave-
yard.
#technology
#death
#graveyard
737 reads
18 Comments
Josh
Joshua Bond
Joshua Bond
Poem Published
30th Oct 2019 4:36pm
30th Oct 2019 4:36pm
Story Poem, Nr.16 — Tales
And
dead men
tell no tales…
This is not true.
Returning as ghosts
they front the T.V News
telling a m a z i n g stories
which strangely people still believe
despite the much evidence
they are tales written by
the puppet-masters
who control them
from beyond
the grave-
yard.
dead men
tell no tales…
This is not true.
Returning as ghosts
they front the T.V News
telling a m a z i n g stories
which strangely people still believe
despite the much evidence
they are tales written by
the puppet-masters
who control them
from beyond
the grave-
yard.
#technology
#death
#graveyard
737 reads
18 Comments
Josh
Joshua Bond
Joshua Bond
Poem Published
30th Oct 2019 4:36pm
30th Oct 2019 4:36pm
Story Poem, Nr.16 — Tales
And
dead men
tell no tales…
This is not true.
Returning as ghosts
they front the T.V News
telling a m a z i n g stories
which strangely people still believe
despite the much evidence
they are tales written by
the puppet-masters
who control them
from beyond
the grave-
yard.
dead men
tell no tales…
This is not true.
Returning as ghosts
they front the T.V News
telling a m a z i n g stories
which strangely people still believe
despite the much evidence
they are tales written by
the puppet-masters
who control them
from beyond
the grave-
yard.
#technology
#death
#graveyard
737 reads
18 Comments
Lozzamus
Poem Published
1st Mar 2019 8:50pm
1st Mar 2019 8:50pm
Grief And The Seasons
The cemetery stands silent, the flowers still, the solitary mourners perched by gravestones, alone in their grief.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter.
The seasons pass.
Each day, new mourners visit to place flowers on the graves of loved ones.
The time passes slowly at first, then quickly.
A year. Five years. Half a century. A century.
A century from now, a new generation of mourners will come.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter.
The seasons pass.
Each day, new mourners visit to place flowers on the graves of loved ones.
The time passes slowly at first, then quickly.
A year. Five years. Half a century. A century.
A century from now, a new generation of mourners will come.
#grief
#death
#graveyard
453 reads
0 Comments
Lozzamus
Poem Published
1st Mar 2019 8:50pm
1st Mar 2019 8:50pm
Grief And The Seasons
The cemetery stands silent, the flowers still, the solitary mourners perched by gravestones, alone in their grief.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter.
The seasons pass.
Each day, new mourners visit to place flowers on the graves of loved ones.
The time passes slowly at first, then quickly.
A year. Five years. Half a century. A century.
A century from now, a new generation of mourners will come.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter.
The seasons pass.
Each day, new mourners visit to place flowers on the graves of loved ones.
The time passes slowly at first, then quickly.
A year. Five years. Half a century. A century.
A century from now, a new generation of mourners will come.
#grief
#death
#graveyard
453 reads
0 Comments
Lozzamus
Poem Published
1st Mar 2019 8:50pm
1st Mar 2019 8:50pm
Grief And The Seasons
The cemetery stands silent, the flowers still, the solitary mourners perched by gravestones, alone in their grief.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter.
The seasons pass.
Each day, new mourners visit to place flowers on the graves of loved ones.
The time passes slowly at first, then quickly.
A year. Five years. Half a century. A century.
A century from now, a new generation of mourners will come.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter.
The seasons pass.
Each day, new mourners visit to place flowers on the graves of loved ones.
The time passes slowly at first, then quickly.
A year. Five years. Half a century. A century.
A century from now, a new generation of mourners will come.
#grief
#death
#graveyard
453 reads
0 Comments
Viddax
Lord Viddax
Lord Viddax
Poem Published
30th Apr 2018 10:00pm
30th Apr 2018 10:00pm
Post-poet Production
Greased gears grind as gummed up with gregarious grammar
stammering in rhyming time to the hammers of keys,
clicking in chittering chattering clattering of characters
in order to unload more unnecessary excessive essays
that can hardly be called hardy poetry.
Although mostly harmless, are definitely artless
fathered by the fearsome poem factory
churning out copious catalogues of compositions
drowning the daring delver in deranged descriptive dialogues,
each word brings an inch of woe without originality
passages and packages of plagiarism ...
stammering in rhyming time to the hammers of keys,
clicking in chittering chattering clattering of characters
in order to unload more unnecessary excessive essays
that can hardly be called hardy poetry.
Although mostly harmless, are definitely artless
fathered by the fearsome poem factory
churning out copious catalogues of compositions
drowning the daring delver in deranged descriptive dialogues,
each word brings an inch of woe without originality
passages and packages of plagiarism ...
#NaPoWriMo2018
#WritingPoetry
#graveyard
562 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems About Graveyard Published by Members Recently Online
