Death Atheist Poems | Examples
These Death Atheist poems are examples of Atheist poems about Death. These are the best examples of Atheist Death poems written by international poets.
i seem to view the world in black and white despite my rainbow soul
my skin seems to seep the moisture of ones misfortune goal
i sharpened my broken fingers regardless of my rusty bones
in hope to fight all misfortunes and hell’s unwelcomed call
instead, i cut myself to pieces until there’s nothing left
then my rainbow soul escapes my flesh to find vengeance for my death
but i heard the screeching sound from hell shouting out my name
still i looked upon the heavens to search for the almighty fame
i raised my hands beyond the skies to get a hold of his love
but the void sucked my soul away in the absence of above
An atheist living soul was floating above on deathbed,
because if he touched it, he would leave this world.
He let the pain out and screamed through his dying soul.
A guy who was once drenched in every bit of gold
comes to him and says:
“I want to make a compromise with your soul and body—
I will save you, but for the rest of your life,
you have to serve me.”
But then suddenly the man who created every bit of the universe
comes to him and says:
“I will save you, but for the rest of your life,
you have to believe I am real.”
Then the living soul thought:
It’s no different. Both are slavery,
but in different ways.
But he thought,
since he questioned God in the life he lived before,
he would face judgment for that.
Either way, he was going to hell.
He was thinking of every possible possibility
that would grant him some life.
But he died in his imagination while sleeping.
– THEBLOODYPEN
Yes, indeed we have a new Pope.
I wonder, however, if we have a new hope.
As a matter of facts, we have two popes:
One is active and the other is passive,
Which means that one is inactive,
The latter was a hell of a man who shocked: folks,
Foes, rivals, parishioners and cardinals,
By resigning his post,
By becoming a different host.
He is still a holy man, in accordance to the latest polls,
A courageous priest, who reminds us,
That man is immortal and fallible.
Pope Benedict is enjoying his golden hiatus,
His retirement in a humanely divine castle.
I don't know much about the new one.
I can only hope that he is someone,
Who's at least similar or equal,
To the former, who was wise and simple.
May God bless his soul,
‘Cause he was able to realize
That he was becoming unable
To lead effectively, and to prioritize.
As a matter of facts, habemus duo popes,
Yes, indeed, habemus duo pontifices.
Hebert Logerie Sunday, March 17, 2013
excitedly injustice
awakening stampede
stopping as imbibes
desperate necks
heeling creeks
jumping dashes
merciful joy
i am not there, please hold
the bridle and the hoof
i see nothing of blunders fray
you have fickled my merriment
daring jester
come once again telling me your terror
in what age did god befall as visceral death
teaching young heretics as you
slavery's daughters lost
was rights and lost not providing in class
or dutifully sworn soldiers appearance
castling late blooming testimony
Why is that so ?
One should come and go,
To the end we can't say no,
In Front of reality, all should bow.
If we are here to die,
For what reason and why ?
Had to leave in the middle the delicious pie,
Happens all of a sudden can't even say bye.
Gotta leave because of our sin ?
I've seen the god ones have also lean,
So, why be good all the way,
If it's already written, "that's what they say”?
Is this the simulation are we on ?
Born with the truth death and born,
Starts with a voice and ends with a mourn.
So, why be a servant? Why be ruled ?
By being good, if death can't be fooled ?
If it's easy to be worst then be good,
I think that's why becomes so, I would.
Watching Them Wait
Lola's fingers tremble around her beads,
Her lips move, soundless prayers;
While outside, weeds
Push through cracked leads -
Life finds a way, who cares?
I can't grasp their dread of death,
This urge to bargain, plead;
Each day's a breath
Of joy, of meth -
Why beg for more to heed?
What bugs me most: they're wasting time,
Eyes fixed on pearly gates;
While church bells chime,
They miss life's prime,
As if it's heaven that waits.
They're blind to now - the pub's last call,
A friend's impromptu gig
The night's free-fall,
Some stranger's sprawl
Moments both small and big.
I want to yell, "Oi!! Look alive!!!"
But who am I to judge?
They'll strive and strive,
Half-dead, half-alive,
While I down another fudge.
So let them pray, let them dream,
Of some grand aftershow;
I'll grab ice cream,
Watch a Dota 2 team,
And all this messy now.
I’m angry that you’re gone, and
I’m angry that I don’t know where you are;
although you were definitely made of stardust,
or whatever glistens on the moon.
Regretful, confused, perhaps because I don’t know
if I’ll ever see you again
and the indefinite promise that you’re gone
is quite honestly terrifying,
mesmerizing, I get lost in the thought
of you being anywhere, somewhere.
I’m angry with the promise of a “better place” -
that you were always sure of -
but that I cannot fathom.
What better of a place,
than here with me,
instead of in the uncertainty
that follows me around like a lonely ghost.
I hope that it’s you that follows me, but then again, I don’t
because I’d rather feel you in the summer rays,
in the wispy wind
in the watercolor sunset, feathered with clouds
in your favorite songs while I fly down the freeway
with tears slipping down my cheeks
as quickly as you slipped away.
I’d rather feel you in my heart,
in my bones,
and in each beautiful part of life,
because I know that’s where you’d want to be.
Sometimes a breeze can be
a pleasurable presence.
It makes the curtains shimmy as
it creeps into my room.
They ripple with a twitch and flutter now,
pleasant with a warmish ruffle.
But that breeze becomes a wind,
the curtains wobble, riffle, ripple.
Warmth has become wintry:
a wobble and a ruffle bestow
violence now with a blow.
Close that window and tell
that gust to go, quit, take leave.
Yes, it does have a name I try not to utter.
(30 Nov 2024)
Fear no ghosts, nor demons in the night,
Nor werewolves, or shadowy spirits of light.
It's men I fear, whose hatred knows no end,
Whose rage and prejudice no bounds defend.
Fear not for rakshasas or witches of the past,
Animals die where go their souls at last?
Folklores, cleverly written to tell,
To bind generations in centuries old spell.
Indulgences were sold in the erstwhile time,
Not paying alms and tithes was deemed a crime.
To stop you from thinking, hearsay was invented,
Thus, critical thinking was strictly prevented.
Centuries old darkness continues to plays part,
Hiding the truth, spreading lies with art.
This devil resides in their mind’s deep pit,
And priests just fuels the fear to fit.
What seems great, full of years and much to taste, later proves that time is not to waste.
Pass your time sojourning with trembling and fear, some of us may not have much time left here.
Considering then and now, all that’s ever been under the sun, I can still hear many ask, “what’s wrong with some fun”.
Curious we became, searching out this and that, posing as some great thing saying, hey look what I’ve got!
Forgetting our souls for which we will give an account, there’s no money that can pay for this required amount.
Covering your eyes and ears to this never changing truth, taking the broad road that doesn’t bare any fruit.
Swiftly without warning, one is plucked from this path, plummeting into a place that is so, so very dark.
Prepared is a great supper, you’re invited by the King, Jesus is the only way to enter therein.
Give thought I beg of you, stop living on the edge, look around its evening now, we are drawing closer to the end.
I'm enduring the longest winter's nightfall
that sends shivers to these chilling bones,
I sleep very soundly wandering in the remotest places
of childhood in which I left many traces;
I'm living in the past responding to the call,
stupefied by landscapes beneath a dashing waterfall!
Waking up before sunrise, I stumble upon
the unbright gleams of exuding stars, I inhale the deepest breath,
believing that a radiant light always brings on
an awareness of continuous life often ending in unexpected death!
Night owls' barred sounds still resonate to impose their power
continuing to dominate a constant atmosphere of endless fear,
but crows persist and defy them: they are vicious adversaries;
it's not only humans who fight for the supremacy of the skies!
How hilarious and ironic is the assumption of wild creatures and Man!
They deny the Maker of bodies and souls, the Creator of every universe
yet to be discovered by powerful nations competing in a mad rat race;
yes, we have built great civilizations, but not fully developed our brain.
Tears fall by,
There is no wipe off.
The Limited joys too,
Seem stumbling.
Why?
'cause I am begging for happiness.
What is Demanded from me?
Tears? or my hardening?
There is no answer,
There is silence.
And the silence speaks-
"You don't matter."
The sun rises again
The leaves fall again
The flowers blossom again
The clouds rain again
Thy desires continue,
Thy thirst remains,
The crying ceases with death.
The suffering continues ahead.
Love’s infinite cliches glue me to this earth.
In the end, we are, yet, nothing but dirt.
For what it’s worth,
Entropic defiance is life’s tender hurt.
I have heard it said
That lives flash before our eyes
Seconds before we're dead
And then we're on the other side
But there's an interesting phenomenon
Where when we die in dreams, we wake
We know not how to go on
So we cannot dream a fate
But what if in our final visions
Our mind has nowhere to go
So death is just transition
From that we do not know
What if eternity is seconds long
Forever is how we imagine it
Lucidity births our gods
And only the guilty burn within
My hypothalamus is haunting me.
An empty crib.
A bump that will never grow.
Love authenticity, you will always be a part of me.
A ghost in the hallways.
Your heart beat in my deepest quetiapine dreams.
A scan that will never show your sweetest echo.
Father, why would you make me bleed the love so pure?
I lost my voice from speaking you into existence.
He runs his fingers over my stomach my breath hitching, hoping yours is too.
My hypothalamus is haunting me.