Murder poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best murder poems ever written. Read all poems about murder.
I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.
there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day
and the best at murder are those who preach against it
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
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,
With promise of job,
he lured her into a cane field.
His gentleness a veil of sanity.
Lurking in his mind,
The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.
Then one of the judges of the city stood forth and said, "Speak to us of Crime and Punishment."
And he answered saying:
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,
What civilization you do draw, man!
Enlightening some too little candles,
Beneath centuries' deep darkness is seen
Which is engulfing your own existence;
A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell ! O'er stiller place
No singing sky-lark ever poised himself.
Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,
Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt!
From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song,
The honourable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong.
Oh sharp diamond, my mother!
I could not count the cost
of all your faces, your moods-
that present that I lost.
arrive. The Ladies from the Ladies' Betterment League
Arrive in the afternoon, the late light slanting
In diluted gold bars across the boulevard brag
Of proud, seamed faces with mercy and murder hinting
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deny'st me is;
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea, our two bloods mingled be;
Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
like a buttercup
upon its branching stem-
save that it's green and wooden-
The darkness crumbles away
It is the same old druid Time as ever,
Only a live thing leaps my hand,
A queer sardonic rat,
On Hellespont, guilty of true-love's blood,
In view and opposite two cities stood,
Sea-borderers, disjoined by Neptune's might;
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
My Memories In 2018
You ask what memories I have in the year 2018
There's a murder in the backyard
Come quick and have a look
Confided darkness must be on guard
And be wary, as they could all be crooks
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!
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,
Some Governments order the execution of drug runners after they have spent many years in jail
This is their idea of morality through justice but by their actions their ideas they do fail
Drug runners may not be good people but the death penalty for them or anyone unjustified
To have the death penalty in place in their constitution to any government should not be a sense of pride
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