heartbreak
They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
A Lurk Of Pain
A Lurk of PainIn the depths of the night, a circle of painLurks in the shadows, in a quiet refrainIt whispers of sorrow, of tears and of woeAnd it lingers around, wherever we goLoneliness creeps in, like a thief in the nightStealing our peace, and our will to fightLeaving us lost, and drowning in fearWith nothing to hold, and nobody nearA stolen hope, so precious and brightNow shattered and broken, in the midst of the nightLeaves us in darkness, with no way to seeThe light of tomorrow, that could set us freeWe search for a beacon, a glimmer of lightTo guide us through darkness, and to make things rightBut the circle of pain, seems to grow and expandAnd it takes hold of us, with an iron-like handWe cry out for help, for someone to hearBut our pleas go unanswered, and fall on deaf earsAnd we wonder if life, is a cruel, twisted gameWhere pain is our only companion, and nothing's the sameBut amidst the despair, and the sadness we feelThere's a strength that we have, that's buried so deepIt's a resilience and hope, that never truly diesAnd it's what keeps us going, even when we want to hideSo let us hold on, to that flicker of lightAnd let it guide us, through the darkest of nightsFor we are not alone, in this lurk of painAnd together we can rise, and feel alive again.
By Vivid Masonganyika4 years ago in Poets
We will always remember the feeling we have experienced only once in a lifetime.
Morning, the clouds block every ray of sunlight, darkness and emptiness left behind and forgotten like the wilted rose left in that empty cracked glass with an lip imprint that cannot be washed away. A sigh and a scream combined with a tear that rolls down the abyss full of thorny memories that prick and tear the heart. Memories painted on the canvas that almost burned in the fire of love, hellish paths passed like time in a thunder storm, cracked walls and ruined towers from a deck of cards blown away by the strong wind that carries the scent of everything that was and no longer exists. Leaves scattered on the old floor with words that bring back all the emotions and words as heavy as lead, poets sitting on a bench with ink and an old book in their hands ready to start a new letter, a new word, and a new page in their story. Songs written with notes that shoot the tones directly into the torn heart. Unchanged cutouts on the bench full of letters carved into a heart, marked "forever there" left behind. Wounds that no medicine can heal written in the book of the old doctor with a broken heart. Nights where the only dreams are memories of the beautiful days spent together, happy hugs and joined lips that constantly say "I love you" echoing as the strongest echo, walks and places that remind you of those two hands that were like created to fit together and never separate, mornings that no longer start with that first morning kiss served with the sweetest voice that says "I love you".
By Pro Blogger 20234 years ago in Poets
One Name That Starts With M And The Letter L.
I would start with a stanza and write a poem to describe our story, from which you left without a word. You left nothing behind but took it all, and what remained were two teary eyes. You came with happiness and left with regret, you kept me up high but brought me down low at the end.
By Pro Blogger 20234 years ago in Poets
I became a poet to write GOODBYE.
Dark gray clouds in the sky announce the rain that is about to hide all the tears shed, winds that carry all of my thoughts somewhere, somewhere far away where you are, where everything that is mine is. Thunder that echoes loudly in that endless and loud silence, a bright light that reflects your image every time I close my eyes in that long and dark night. Together, yet still alone, because time separated us, but our hearts remained together there in the same place where we were happy "in the past." Memories that play like a movie in my mind full of everything we were,everything we were supposed to be, everything we felt, and every step we took together, holding hands and stepping towards the future that was not suppose to divide or shatter us into the smallest pieces. Happiness that we haven't felt in a long time as we did when we looked into each other's eyes and immersed ourselves in those beautiful thoughts of our future. Breaths that no longer unite us, although you are far away there and I am here in this sad empty room where even the slightest ray of light barely penetrates. A harsh truth that is so painful and feels like a dagger in the heart from someone who meant everything to you, an unfinished story that continues and will continue even though it ended a long time ago.
By Pro Blogger 20234 years ago in Poets
The Dollmaker's Legacy: A Chilling Tale of Obsession and Horror
In the small town of Ravenwood, nestled deep within the woods, a legend loomed like a dark cloud over the inhabitants. Whispers filled the air, passing from one fearful soul to another, speaking of the enigmatic figure known as the Dollmaker. According to the chilling tale, the Dollmaker would abduct innocent children and transform them into life-sized dolls, their souls forever trapped within their fragile porcelain bodies. It was a story that sent shivers down the spines of young and old alike, a story of obsession and horror that had haunted Ravenwood for generations. And within this legend, the townspeople found themselves entangled in a web of fear and curiosity. One fateful night, a young girl named Emily ventured into the heart of the woods. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, she sought to uncover the truth behind the Dollmaker's legacy. She roamed cautiously, her steps whispering against the fallen leaves, until she stumbled upon an abandoned cottage, its once-vibrant exterior now decaying under the weight of time. Heart pounding in her chest, Emily pushed open the creaking door, her wide eyes scanning the room before her. To her horror, the cottage was filled with an eerie multitude of dolls, each one meticulously crafted, their eyes vacant and lifeless. The air was thick with a chilling presence, as if the dolls themselves were silently observing her every move. As Emily drew closer to the collection, she noticed a worn journal resting atop an old wooden table. Her trembling hands picked it up, revealing faded pages adorned with delicate handwriting. It was the Dollmaker's journal—a testament to his obsession. Page after page, Emily discovered the depths of the Dollmaker's descent into madness. His words spoke of an insatiable desire to create perfection, to capture the essence of innocence and beauty within his dolls. Each entry revealed his meticulous process, from selecting the perfect child to the macabre transformation that followed. Reading through the journal, Emily's heart twisted with a mix of empathy and dread. She understood the Dollmaker's longing for perfection, but she also knew the atrocities he had committed. Determined to uncover the truth and put an end to his reign of terror, she embarked on a perilous journey. Word of Emily's discovery spread throughout Ravenwood, stirring a renewed frenzy of fear and curiosity. The townspeople, plagued by the stories of missing children, joined Emily in her quest to locate the Dollmaker's lair. They armed themselves with determination and a shared resolve to rescue any victims trapped within his twisted artistry. Together, they navigated the treacherous woods, following the whispers of those who had glimpsed the Dollmaker's presence. The path grew darker and more foreboding as they neared their destination—a dilapidated mansion hidden deep within the heart of the forest. The mansion loomed before them like a haunting specter, its windows shattered and its walls consumed by moss and decay. The group entered cautiously, their senses heightened, prepared to face the horrors that awaited them. Within the mansion's gloomy depths, they discovered rooms adorned with rows upon rows of life-sized dolls, frozen in an eternal tableau of haunting stillness. Their porcelain eyes seemed to follow the intruders, as if aware of their intentions. As the group ventured deeper into the mansion, they stumbled upon a hidden chamber—an infernal workshop where the Dollmaker conducted his twisted experiments. Wooden limbs and piles of discarded dolls littered the room, bearing witness to the horrors that had taken place within its walls. And then, they found him. The Dollmaker, his once-youthful visage now weathered and hollow, stood before them, his eyes
By Tejas Arya4 years ago in Poets
