Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Melanie 3d
It is I, who is shaken by the subliminal lies said through your eyes
Which are unfaithful to the truth
I'd rather feign my sadness, lest my existence disturbs you
Drown me in my apprehensions, a labyrinth of my fragmented ego
Savor my tears, for I have cried enough to **** my pride
Yet, it is I who is still shaken
My dearest friend, lover

I do not know how to mourn by the river
Taking my soul, all torn and withered
No one can tell me where I lie
Standing upon my ground, goes awry
Hastily making the gravest mistakes
My heart trembles, never quakes
Such tender darkness, so trivial
Makes my voice come alight through my upheavals

Oh, tell me if my fears mean nothing
Throwing my tears against an unknown something
Only burns, the reprimanding light of day
Night, only sense of freedom, in shape
Thunderous words strike my being
Negative washes do cleaning
To breathe is to draw in one less breath
To speak is to utter one less regret

I don't know how to mourn by the river
Drawing me in, my faults come hither
Relentless suffering that visits my head
I wish something else could visit me instead
I don't know how to mourn from the river
Secret despondence, my only killer
My dearest friend, lover
Show me how to mourn by the river
Losing a loved one or friend is one of the most devastating events that can occur in one's life.
Lexi Harwick Feb 2
I fear that time closes in;
It moves faster and faster.
A broken heart, a broken mind,
My life is a disaster.

I'd hoped that time wasn't done.
There's still much for me to do,
But the night bandit creeps up on me
As I wave goodbye to you.

I wonder what it will be like,
If eternal life exists;
All these questions cloud my thoughts
Like the spring's morning mist.

It pains me so that I must go,
But I know it's out of my hands.
There's something larger than I,
And it's all according to His plan.
In Loving Memory of Jeannie Dettman
KateKarl Jan 30
All that lies here are my bones,
A wooden box, this new gravestone.
My mind is left where it was born;
Go to my bookshelves when you mourn.
Epitaph for a creative writing course. Any criticism welcome!
don't mourn me
when i'm gone
my words make me
i   m   m   o   r    t   a   l

- katrina ******
instagram: @wordsbykatrina
twitter: @_wordsbykatrina
tumblr: wordsbykatrina.tumblr.com
Deb Jones Jan 4
We help the parents to hold their child one last time.

Sometimes it’s the only time they get to hold her while she lives

Trying to help them survive is to sacrifice human touch

When her heartbeat stops
The parents are in shock

Even knowing it’s going to happen
Doesn’t help them much

We usher them gently out

The baby lies an ashen gray
The nails of her fingers turning dark

We turn off the machine
That kept her alive

We remove the tube
That held her last breath

We gently remove the tape
That held the feeding tube in her nose

We unwrap the blanket
And take off the electrodes

We take off the sensor on her toes
No need to see her oxygen is now zero

We wash her gently with warm water
Using cold water would be cruel

We get the “Memory Box”
And prepare the plaster

We take impressions of her
Hands and feet

We put a tiny diaper on her
A little bigger than my thumb

You would think that didn’t matter
But it does.

We add a little bracelet
Of her name made with beads

We take a laminated card
Where poetry is written

We dress her in clothes the Parents have brought.

Such tiny, tiny frocks
Beautiful pastel colors

We add a little hat
The volunteers have knitted

We take her pictures
A few of them

We put everything in the box
A diaper as a reminder
Of how small she was
The plaster of her hands and feet
The bracelet
The poetry
The photos
The name card
With her birth weight and height
That hung on the incubator before tonight

We swaddle her in a blanket
Now she just looks asleep

So peaceful and serene

We call the parents back in
To see her, hold her, mourn her

To continue to mourn her

The grandparents and the rest of the family too

We give them as much time as they want.
You can only imagine they don’t want to let go

We give them the memory box
To be opened some day

Not now.
Maybe not for months or years

But someday they will open the box
And they will know we took care of their little girl

They will see all we collected
All we did
We mourned with them too.

There is nothing so quiet as the preparation of a child that will be held for the last time by parents that are unanchored and rudderless.
I apologize if this was as a trigger for anyone that has lost a baby to a premature birth or some other full term genetic issues. I wanted people to know how we suffer the deaths too. And suffer the families anguish.
divinity m Jan 6
once my time has been cut short
do not put me in a pretty box
and leave me in an eternal sleep.
don't mourn the person i used to be.
instead, extinguish the fire
that was once inside me
with more fire.
disintegrate every peice of me.
scatter my ashes
across the four corners of the earth.
or drown them.
please
make sure i won't be able
to ever come back.
Neuvalence Jan 5
The light escaped barely through the cold morning.
I found you broken—and I was too,
You healed me more than I could heal you,
I wiped the tear rolling down your cheek,
Your last word escaped the brim of your lips
So weak, so fragile;
And our love grew boundless.
Rina Jan 4
My soul turned a desert.
I can't grow a rose anymore.
I can't seek the red petals.
For, they have fallen for you
mourning for all the hope
that turned into nothing
but love deprived thorns.
ruth Jan 3
I never fully understood the meaning of the  word “mourn” until this year -
To truly feel the loss of another concentrated in its purest form.

I never believed when others would say
“I miss you more, in  each and every day” or
“There’s not an hour goes by, without a thought of you on my mind”
As if Loss is an unforgotten constant in the trails of the trivial,
We are only human after all.

But I was naive, through and through.
Loss never leaves your side once you meet
Loss is a friend for life.
The kind that shows their face in the most unpredictable moments,
Who never fades away or falls out,
Becoming more aquatinted as we go through life.

Loss is selfish, wanting our undivided attention,
Expecting us to indulge in its deep dark thoughts with strong pretension.

Love is harsh, not hiding nor sugarcoating any enemy attack,
Facing us with the reality of control and just how much we lack.

Loss is bitter, Loss is unkind
Loss is a thief, stealing our piece of mind.

Loss is jealous, Loss is sly.
Is it absent of Love,
Or has Love left it’s side?
sayali Dec 2018
My father's name means
'one who doesn't mourn'.

But  I  have seen him
Grieving for  his
Grim childhood, broken
Home, fading away of
His own father after
Prolonged sickness, his
widowed mother of
Twenty years and his
Four year old self.

Maybe sometimes your
Name isn't something
You are, but something
You should be.

-Sayali Parkar
Next page