Find a poem about death

Looking for a poem about death? Here is a poem about death dedicated to all who mourns the loss of loved ones to road traffic accidents.

Picture of a young man riding a quad on two wheels
A bit too much fun on the roads

This is a poem about death on the roads and highways, and it’s dedicated to all who are left to mourn the loss of loved ones to traffic accidents of all kinds. We empathize with you in your great loss. So if you are searching for a poem about death to reflect on during your time of grieving, this might be the one for you. Feel free to use this with my permission as the author of said poem. Here I insert the words to this poem for you use.

The Road

Lilly white roses yellow pink and red, freshly cut flowers piled high in bundle

Monuments of sacraments amidst the flickering lights of many burning candles

Heartfelt offerings from strangers and friends, for one who’s life “on this very spot” met its fatal end

I see them there a teddy bear on well-carved lawn corner lots, I see them everywhere

Bouquets and crosses marks the sites of loved ones loses, that bridge once crossed means innocence lost, and another mother cries, papa sighs, crying, sighing for a child who’s not coming home, much too soon gone.

Ghost cycle painted white, chained up against corrugated lamppost beneath city lights, there on the corner where his last ride ends; in doom, it’s an exhibit there in memory of one; gone too soon


Holes burned black in asphalt that marks well the spot, twisted metals and debris there I see, fragments of the impact, which sends unsuspecting souls to yonder homes never to return here, danger they say lurks on every roads; some real, some imagined, beware users beware. 

Firemen’s hoses powerful beams washes the bleeding down a sewer stream,

yet while one walks these shiny streets, the bloodstain whines beneath the feet,

Trucks and cars with flashing lights, as seen from far through the still dark night, weary troopers fast losing sleep, must reopen these roads so with brooms they sweep, and mop, and wash, and scrub the surface clean, of all that’s left of a mother’s treasured dream.

Calvin drove his Cherokee jeep, down a ravine sloping steep, and into the icy cold water it sunk deep, nose first down, and the bubbles came up, then snow fell down, and cover him in.

And yet the road just keeps on twisting, turning, winding along,

She marches to the beat of her own tam, tam, she doesn’t care much about all that zoom, zoom zooming along. Honking flashing, flipping, crashing; rolling up in mangled wreck/less abandoned of foolish exuberance wrapped up in the hearts of the simple and the young.

She’s just the road, friend and foe of the way-faring man, she takes one from point A to B and all points in between them, other than that; she don't give a damn. 


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