Death And Love Quotes (94 quotes)
Sad Poems on Death
He was peach, Like the sunset. Or he was Amber, Pink… soft hints of Green. She was quite shy, Her waves were ripples and bare. Her colours changed, against his beam. Now she too, has hints of green.
On the opposite, whenever we feel down the necessity of emotional release is much higher. In the time of grief and sorrow, we often search for the right words to say. We look for something that could comfort us or our close ones. There are no such words that can heal the wounds in our hearts or fill in the emptiness in our souls when someone close passes away. But at least with the help of poems for deceased, it is possible to slightly ease suffering and sadness caused by the loss. Death is an inevitable part of life.
When we lose something that is precious to us, we are left with a feeling of sadness. Whether it is a precious friend or even a treasured object, the loss can be hard to bear. It is as if a part of you has gone missing. Throughout our life we amass collections of friends and treasured possessions. Having close relationships help us feel as if we are not alone in the world. When we lose someone or something that is precious to us, we may realize that there is a certain aloneness that can never be filled. Ultimately the condition of life is one of being alone before God.
Poems About the Loss of Family
If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam, And noon should burn, As it has usual done; If birds should build as early, And bees as bustling go,— One might depart at option From enterprise below! It make the parting tranquil And keeps the soul serene, That gentlemen so sprightly Conduct the pleasing scene! How wonderful is Death, Death, and his brother Sleep! There are cemeteries that are lonely, graves full of bones that do not make a sound, the heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts, as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul. And there are corpses, feet made of cold and sticky clay, death is inside the bones, like a barking where there are no dogs, coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere, growing in the damp air like tears of rain. Sometimes I see alone coffins under sail, embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair, with bakers who are as white as angels, and pensive young girls married to notary publics, caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead, the river of dark purple, moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death, filled by the sound of death which is silence. Death arrives among all that sound like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it, comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no finger in it, comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no throat.