PoetrybyMotion @poetrybymotion - Tumblr Blog

The American Dream

The American Dream, killed by unregulated capitalism.

Resurrected by unrestricted corporate greed, to work a few years more.

Only a shadow of a corpse left.

Until all is ground to dust, and sold for profit.

I remember

I remember, the void. I remember being nothing, being in nothing.

I remember peace, Not merely silence but the absence of sound.

The absence of pain, floating in nothingness as nothingness.

I remember.

I long for it.

Through the Black Door

Through the black door, an old friend greets us; Now neither rich nor poor, It is always thus. All material things to forswear, the dross to burn; This the cost of a thing so fair, everything else to spurn. Through the black door, we wait for those behind left; Soon with them to soar, Never more from them to be cleft. What awaits we know not, but together we will be; Never to be forgot, forever to be free.

#death #poetry

In the End

In the end, we all walk that last trail; Around the bend, all life and light to exhale. Only one can walk this path some claim, life through death to rise and ascend; Taking only that with which we came, in the end.

#death #poetry

The Death of a Friend

A close friend recently died on the 10th of March. He was the soul of our group, the life in our party, the light in this joke of a world. He always had a smile, a joke, and a laugh for any who needed it.

His love of Punk, which evolved from his early years as a Goth, was unmatched. He literally squealed when he saw that MCR was touring again. Sadly, he will never get to see them in person again.

He has taken that next step.

He leaves behind a fiancee, and son.

Nigel Wilhelm Gulden, you are missed more than you will ever know or expected.

All those who knew you mourn losing you, but I know that some day we will see you again.

Until we meet again, my brother in soul.

#death #my chemical romance #nigel wilhelm gulden

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Mary Elizabeth Frye 1932 Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

#death #embracedeath #poetry #dark poetry

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Dylan Thomas 1947 Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

#death #embracedeath #poetry #dark poetry

All Things Will Die

Alfred Lord Tennyson Exact Date Unknown All Things will Die Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing Over the sky. One after another the white clouds are fleeting; Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating Full merrily; Yet all things must die. The stream will cease to flow; The wind will cease to blow; The clouds will cease to fleet; The heart will cease to beat; For all things must die. All things must die. Spring will come never more. O, vanity! Death waits at the door. See! our friends are all forsaking The wine and the merrymaking. We are call’d-we must go. Laid low, very low, In the dark we must lie. The merry glees are still; The voice of the bird Shall no more be heard, Nor the wind on the hill. O, misery! Hark! death is calling While I speak to ye, The jaw is falling, The red cheek paling, The strong limbs failing; Ice with the warm blood mixing; The eyeballs fixing. Nine times goes the passing bell: Ye merry souls, farewell. The old earth Had a birth, As all men know, Long ago. And the old earth must die. So let the warm winds range, And the blue wave beat the shore; For even and morn Ye will never see Thro’ eternity. All things were born. Ye will come never more, For all things must die.

#poetry #death #embracedeath #dark poetry

The End

Mark Strahd 1990 Not every man knows what he shall sing at the end, Watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem like When he’s held by the sea’s roar, motionless, there at the end, Or what he shall hope for once it is clear that he’ll never go back. When the time has passed to prune the rose or caress the cat, When the sunset torching the lawn and the full moon icing it down No longer appear, not every man knows what he’ll discover instead. When the weight of the past leans against nothing, and the sky Is no more than remembered light, and the stories of cirrus And cumulus come to a close, and all the birds are suspended in flight, Not every man knows what is waiting for him, or what he shall sing When the ship he is on slips into darkness, there at the end.

#death #embracedeath #poetry #dark poetry

Death is Nothing at All

Henry Scott Holland May of 1910 Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away to the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, That, we still are. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect. Without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolute unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you. For an interval. Somewhere. Very near. Just around the corner. All is well. Nothing is past; nothing is lost.

#henry scott holland #death #poetry #dark poetry

Spirits of the Dead

Edgar Allan Poe

1809 - 1849

Thy soul shall find itself alone

'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness — for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown, And the stars shall not look down From their high thrones in the Heaven With light like hope to mortals given, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne'er to vanish; From thy spirit shall they pass No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the hill Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token. How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries!

#poe #poetry #dark poetry #edgar allan poe

The Death of Sensation

The death of sensation, the life of cessation; The stop preceded by the drop; The final void of breath.

The sensation of life, flowing to the gap; The pulse of vigor, falling with the vim.

#poetry #dark poetry #death #embracedeath

Autumn is the Beginning

Autumn, is the beginning; The last paragraph, of the story’s end.

The last gasp, before the sigh.

The dying of the light, the evaporating of life.

Autumn, is the story of the end; The last note in the song, All the brighter in the end.

#poetry #dark poetry #death #embracedeath

Death is an Old Friend.

Death is an old friend, the closest friend, any of us have.

He is there at the end, when few are; He is nary too far, and nary too near.

Death is an old friend, the first and last of these; He is there for the first breath, there for last.

The first breath a sound of shock, a new friend met; The last breath a sigh, an old friend embraced.

#poetry #dark poetry #death #embracedeath

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

PoetrybyMotion