Murder poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best murder poems ever written. Read all poems about murder.
Ongoing the 21st century's free style massacre
The horrible morning has started there in Myanmar,
Satan is tormented by theses and has come down
To learn the massacring styles in special gown,
They should not have left him there alone,
Alone that is except for the cat.
He was only nine, not old enough
To be left alone in a basement flat,
End my life like I care,
Take this gun and shoot me,
When you take away a life
With the aid of a knife
It is murder
I'll tell you what is wrong with me
I hope you will not weep
Happy dreams of marder are enchanting my nights sleep
Five days later, Asifa's body was found.
After seeing her body:
When the Lieutenant of the Guardia de Asalto
heard the automatic go off, he turned
and took the second shot just above
the sternum, the third tore away
At last the killer’s name is...
revealed: but hides now
behind the blood on the page
Beware simple mortals
In man's stupidity
And devils trickery
Love, lust, infatuation
A poem about God who created all things and then disappeared.
On his reappearance millions of years later he reads the bible to see what has been written about him.
read the blood guilt murder in the Cain killed Abel genesis stories
the killing is wounded jealousy over who has their God's favour
not jealousy over who has a beloved lusted for woman's favour
with a twist of fermented apple juice mixed into a simmering stew!
Murder Most Fowl!
by Michael R. Burch
'Murder most foul! '
There's always the
worst cruelty in
It's something unacceptable
Murder, murder, heinous murder!
I dreamt a dreadful dream in that ominous night,
When I was deep asleep.
Being terribly afraid, I woke up immediately
There I was staring at my body on the cold bitter winter ground. The frost was glistening on my skin barely seen through debris and trash that covered my freezing lifeless body. There I was discarded on the side of a dirt road like garbage. I reached down to clear random things that people threw and dumped on top of me as they drove by not knowing I was underneath. I tried to remove the empty pop cans, plastic bags, half eaten food and beer bottles from my face and body; but I couldn't. I couldn't physically touch anything anymore. I couldn't give myself the breath of life again. I couldn't move or do anything anymore. It was too late for me. My body hidden and decaying before my eyes and there wasn't anything I could do. I tried to scream thinking that someone would hear me. I screamed the loudest I could hoping to wake from this nightmare of a dream, but I didn't. I cried for myself and wondered how long I've been there. I tried to remember how I got there. As I watched the snow flurries fall; I had a memory of when I was a little girl. I was laying in the snow positioned much like I am now, except I was laughing and making snow angels with my mom. I remember her face and that memory. I thought hard deep into my most inner thoughts of how this could've happened to me.I thought about what kind of human being could have done this to me and why. My life was taken short and I'm coming to find you no matter how long it takes because thanks to my murderer; I have all the time in the world and I won't stop until I've found you!
Murder Files Series
Some stories of local war history ought not to be told
Since they only reopen the mental scars of old
The story by historian Jack Lane on the Millstreet Website is not new one can say
Only goes to prove that bad memories of foul acts do not die in a day
Murder wears a pretty face;
Murder wears a pretty lace;
Murder bears a pretty scar;
Murder stalks you, from afar.
Where the grass is tall and green,
I mash it flat.
I watch her as she watches me,