Funeral Poems, Poetry about Funerals

Black death, Dark Night

Black death,
Dark night,
She bade me follow her.
Into death,
Into Night,
And risk my soul for her.

Searching for inner light
Through her death and darkness,
Held to her bosom tight
My back against the world’s curses.

Black death,
Dark night,
She bade me follow her.
Into her death,
Into her night,
And give my soul to her.

This poem was written/submitted by Lamont Haywood.

A Burial

Today I had a burial of my dead.
There was no shroud, no coffin, and no pall,
No prayers were uttered and no tears were shed
I only turned a picture to the wall.

A picture that had hung within my room
For years and years; a relic of my youth.
It kept the rose of love in constant bloom
To see those eyes of earnestness and truth.

At hours wherein no other dared intrude,
I had drawn comfort from its smiling grace.
Silent companion of my solitude,
My soul held sweet communion with that face.

I lived again the dream so bright, so brief,
Though wakened as we all are by some Fate;
This picture gave me infinite relief,
And did not leave me wholly desolate.

To-day I saw an item, quite by chance,
That robbed me of my pitiful poor dole:
A marriage notice fell beneath my glance,
And I became a lonely widowed soul.

With drooping eyes, and cheeks a burning flame,
I turned the picture to the blank wall’s gloom.
My very heart had died in me of shame,
If I had left it smiling in my room.

Another woman’s husband. So, my friend,
My comfort, my sole relic of the past,
I bury thee, and, lonely, seek the end.
Swift age has swept my youth from me at last.

This poem was written/submitted by Keith Rowley.

A Burial

Today I had a burial of my dead.
There was no shroud, no coffin, and no pall,
No prayers were uttered and no tears were shed
I only turned a picture to the wall.

A picture that had hung within my room
For years and years; a relic of my youth.
It kept the rose of love in constant bloom
To see those eyes of earnestness and truth.

At hours wherein no other dared intrude,
I had drawn comfort from its smiling grace.
Silent companion of my solitude,
My soul held sweet communion with that face.

I lived again the dream so bright, so brief,
Though wakened as we all are by some Fate;
This picture gave me infinite relief,
And did not leave me wholly desolate.

To-day I saw an item, quite by chance,
That robbed me of my pitiful poor dole:
A marriage notice fell beneath my glance,
And I became a lonely widowed soul.

With drooping eyes, and cheeks a burning flame,
I turned the picture to the blank wall’s gloom.
My very heart had died in me of shame,
If I had left it smiling in my room.

Another woman’s husband. So, my friend,
My comfort, my sole relic of the past,
I bury thee, and, lonely, seek the end.
Swift age has swept my youth from me at last.

This poem was written/submitted by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

A HUNTING MORNING

Put the saddle on the mare,
For the wet winds blow;
There’s winter in the air,
And autumn all below.
For the red leaves are flying
And the red bracken dying,
And the red fox lying
Where the oziers grow.

Put the bridle on the mare,
For my blood runs chill;
And my heart, it is there,
On the heather-tufted hill,
With the gray skies o’er us,
And the long-drawn chorus
Of a running pack before us
From the find to the kill.

Then lead round the mare,
For it’s time that we began,
And away with thought and care,
Save to live and be a man,
While the keen air is blowing,
And the huntsman holloing,
And the black mare going
As the black mare can.

This poem was written/submitted by Arthur Conan Doyle.

Because I Could Not Stop For Death

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Some one had blundered:
Their’s not to make reply,
Their’s not to reason why,
Their’s but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre-stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

This poem was written/submitted by Alfred Tennyson.

Because I Could Not Stop For Death

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

This poem was written/submitted by Emily Dickinson.

Death

Death is forever, so dont flirt with death
Death is painfull, so stay away from knifes
Death is not for lovers, so dont die
Death is not for me, so dont even try
Death is never clear, so be carefull
Death is never fun, so stay away from strangers
Death is never pleasing, so dont get caught up in the hype
Death is never fair, so get use to it
Death is always occuring, so dont forget it
Death is never what u expect, so expect the unexpected
Death is not for you, so please dont give up
Death is forever, so dont forget that

This poem was written/submitted by Jc. Verro.

Death

Once it comes it is here
now one can stop the fear
every one dies one day

Don’t fear it now
don’t fear it ever
death is just a part of life

Accept it in life
accept it in death

Its creaping near
and it won’t creap back
time of death
it is unknown

Your time can be chosen
by suicide and murder
mostly it is the spirit of death
mostly it is yourself

Death is us and we are death its a part of life .

This poem was written/submitted by timothy van cleven.

Death

Death is forever, so dont flirt with death
Death is painfull, so stay away from knifes
Death is not for lovers, so dont die
Death is not for me, so dont even try
Death is never clear, so be carefull
Death is never fun, so stay away from strangers
Death is never pleasing, so dont get caught up in the hype
Death is never fair, so get use to it
Death is always occuring, so dont forget it
Death is never what u expect, so expect the unexpected
Death is not for you, so please dont give up
Death is forever, so dont forget that

This poem was written/submitted by Jc. Verro.

Death And Peril

Peril, Has Hands
Death, Likes Numbers

Peril, Reached over to Death and shook his hand
Death, Shook the hand of Peril, with his digits

Peril, Exchanged conversation with Death
Death, Exchanged thoughts and glares

Death Loved Peril
Peril Loved Death

When Death watching Peril walked toward him, he shuttered
When Peril, walked toward Death, her body swayed from side to side

Death Loved Peril
Peril Loved Death

This poem was written/submitted by Shiv Singh.

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