Ashes poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best Ashes poems ever written. Read all poems about Ashes.
Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the
Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Nothing mattered or had a name:
Had we but World enough, and Time,
This coyness Lady were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long Loves Day.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
HOLD it up sternly! See this it sends back! (Who is it? Is it you?)
Outside fair costume--within ashes and filth,
No more a flashing eye--no more a sonorous voice or springy step;
Anna who was mad,
I have a knife in my armpit.
When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages.
Am I some sort of infection?
HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre
Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire.
The day is ending,
The night is descending;
The marsh is frozen,
The river dead.
We walked beside the sea,
After a day which perished silently
Of its own glory---like the Princess weird
Who, combating the Genius, scorched and seared,
I had my dinner and
Slept around 10 of night
After a couple hour or so
I found myself dead
When I die
I don't care what happens to my body
throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East River
bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B'nai Israel Cemetery
If down here I chance to die,
Solemnly I beg you take
All that is left of "I"
To the Hills for old sake's sake,
Here is a wound that never will heal, I know,
Being wrought not of a dearness and a death,
But of a love turned ashes and the breath
Gone out of beauty; never again will grow
For standing by me all the way..........
For helping me through the awful day..............
For being always there for me...........
I can hear screams from the back of the barns
"somebody help, someone help, call 911,
my daughter is bleeding".
Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.
Bring the lost back to the right path
Desert rose with the silence voice
This, no song of an ingénue,
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Followed ever her natural bents.
I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look for the sunset over the box house hills and cry.
Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery.
We all go through fire.
burning in our lives.
We all have ashes,
What reason, what reason
What possible reason, repeating over again
I sit by my fireside and gaze at the embers
I look and I ponder, not one can I find
Handful of ashes
To be immersed in,
Handful of ashes
To be immersed in,
Whose asthi-kalasha is this,
Though in ashes lies peril
Yet in ashes we are beloved
Unto ashes we belong
And to ashes shall we return
Ashes awaits too long outside our bedroom door
Hearing owners' voices, she scratches the door with her paws.
At first, she scratches her paws gently
But, the door is still closed after a long wait
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