short poems about death

Death is life’s dark shadow, a frightening inevitability. It can also be a gentle release for those who are gravely ill. These short poems are about life, death, and the mystery that surrounds them both. We hope you enjoy them.

This short poem is about the phantoms of lingering grief.

will o’ the wisp

A glimmer over the bog.
An iridescent shimmer,
shaped like someone
you loved and lost,
a beckoning,
a reckoning,
a whisper
that sounds
something like
I love you,
something like
How could you?
You follow, full of sighs
and empty why’s,
cool mist mingling
with your tears,
mud staining
your widow’s weeds,
as Will ‘O the Wisp
leads you deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper into
the swamp,
a hopeful delusion,
a panicked confusion,
jumbled, muddled,
curdled dreams
that an early ending
is not what it seems.

This short poem is about cheating death during Covid-era holidays.

alive

Melting into
holidaze,
glasses full,
hearts ablaze.
Outdoor revels,
chilly cheer,
thoughts of souls
no longer here.
Rudolph masks
and furry gloves,
presents for
the ones we love.
A nervous cough,
a halting breath,
for one more year,
we’ve cheated death.

This short, humorous poem is about what no one is thinking about on their deathbed.

last breath

She savored
her final breath,
drinking in
the sweet scent of
magnolia
and not thinking,
even for one moment,
about the mess
in the kitchen.

This short poem is about the possibility of life after death, and what it might be like.

unknowing

She awakened
from a nightmare.
Her limbs were smooth
and strong again,
and her husband
was young and
handsome.
She didn’t realize
she’d slipped
past the veil.

This short poem is about the last days of a beloved dog.

dog

She hears her name
and wags her tail.
Once.
She walks on
trembling legs,
whining softly
under the crushing
weight of love.
A slow walk,
a quick lick,
a tired,
grateful sigh.

This short poem is about how death can often seem jealous of the living.

jealous

He loved her
too much,
so he followed her
everywhere.
He stole
her friends
and lovers
and children
until she had
no one.
When Death
finally came
for her,
she spat in his eye.
“Jealous bastard,”
she muttered.

This short poem is about death that takes its time.

uncommitted death

She looked for Death
in the woods
every night,
but he didn’t come.
Finally, she took to her bed,
too weak to even
stare out the window.
When a shadow
darkened her threshold,
her eyes blinked open.
Death hovered at
the foot of her bed,
regarding her uncertainly.
She coughed out a curse.
What took you so long?