Cause loving you wasn't enough to be your lover
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Dear Dad,
You are gone and I am here
Oh pain whom I sought through tears that tears through in the night
Tearing through in soul and body like a sharpen knife
In my thoughts, I am lost in my own fear, gasping for breath trying to understand
Imagination, I may have and yet a mystery to life I shall have
Grief weighs heavily on one’s shoulders, expecting to bear the burden that I am given
Tell me what is a daughter to do in light of your absence
How am I to keep the family together if you are gone
Such a burden to bear now that you are gone.
I am not even sure what can be done
Now that you are no longer here.
What am I to do, Dad?
You are simply a picture, a jar of ash and tokens of remembrance
You haunt mom, did you know that?
She misses you and wanders endlessly into the dark, searching for you hands and into your arms
I sometimes tug back, onto that rope I so dutifully craft yet it’s not enough
She goes to far and I’m dragged in
I’m tried, so so tired of sadness and grief
Of death and funeral processions
Tell me Dad, what am I to do now that you are dead 💀
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Whether pre-planning your final farewell or crafting a funeral service for a loved one, everyone wants to create a beautiful goodbye. Here is an overview of what you can expect when you are planning a funeral.
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The proper scholarly way of reading the iliad is to acknowledge that there is no good or bad and that everyone must be viewed with the same complex morality, but my preferred method is to pick out a babygirl or two and cling on for dear life
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favourite poems of october
alfred starr a dark dreambox of another kind: the poems of alfred starr: "didn't you ever search for another star?
stephen spender new collected poems: "auden's funeral"
marianne boruch keats is coughing
noa micaela fields zoeglossia: poem of the week, may 17, 2021: "echolalia"
kevin young diptych
richard siken real estate
crisosto apache kúghą/home
mikko harvey for m
nathan hoks nests in air: "the barbed wire nest"
john a. holmes noon waking
crisosto apache 37 common characterisi(x)s of a displaced indian with a learning disability
oliver de la paz requiem for the orchard: "at the time of my birth"
zhang xun jiangnan song (tr. bijaan noormohamed)
paul violi fracas: "extenuating circumstances"
tianru wang after "yellow crane tower"
lloyd schwartz cairo traffic: "nostalgia (the lake at night)"
kamiko han the narrow road to the interior: "the orient"
rigoberto gonzalez unpeopled eden: "unpeopled eden"
adelaide crapsey verse: "to the dead in the graveyard underneath my window"
chester kallman night music
alan shapiro covenant: "covenant"
tom clark light and shade: new and selected poems: "radio"
tc tolbert my melissa,
charlie smith in praise of regret
carolyn kizer cool, calm, and collected: poems 1960-2000: "fanny"
julie sheehan orient point: "hate poem"
arthur sze the redshifting web: poems 1970-1998: "streamers"
joumana altallal everything here...in the voice of tara fares
abid b al-abras last simile
w.s. merwin to lingering regrets
george scarbrough music
shout me a coffee
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my fiance @stephanie-lauter drew me this for my birthday. i was thinking about ruth's funeral :( and i thought that pete would pick out this poem for her funeral, but he would be too distraught to read it so stephanie would read it on his behalf.
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Still full of blood and hopes.
Wislawa Szymborska, from ‘Funeral (I)’ featured in Map: Collected and Last Poems
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The dream
I dreamed a dream tonight
That you were by my side
We were talking it was calm
But something still felt wrong
So when I woke up I finally realised
That I stopped missing you
Cause for the first time
I was happier not being asleep
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REFUSAL TO MOURN
In lieu of
flowers, send
him back.
ANDREA COHEN
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The loss of a loved one will always be difficult. And the poems help you show your grief and create a touching farewell for those who have passed away. Here are some of the most beautiful funeral poems for you to consider.
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A Poem :)
This is the first bit in one of the novels I am working on, about a girl running away to upstate New York.
_—*⭐️*—_
Being put in a casket sounds horrible. I pity those who don't have the pleasure of decomposing in the dirt—those who will never fully and truly get to give back what the earth had given to them years before.
A body.
A home.
When I die, I don’t wish to be buried in a stiff wooden box with the rest of the trapped, damned skeletons in a crumbling graveyard.
No, when I die, I wish to be stripped of my clothes and my humanity. I wish to put in the ground—where I belong—with no mortal possessions or attachments. I won't need them where I'm going.
I want to feel my hair fall out into the soil; feel my skin melt and slide off my brittle bones. I want to be able to hear the worms crawling through me, and the flower stems weaving through my eye sockets as my bones break and fall apart under the past weight of my living and my worries
When I die, let me rot.
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