sad poetry
The cathartic nature of poetry makes it one of the best outlets to channel feelings of sadness, emotional turmoil, grief and despair.
Don't Wake
Keep your hand in mine Just one last time. Don't let go. Hush down now. Rest your head. Close your eyes. Relax against my flesh.
Shelby HillPublished 7 years ago in PoetsBecky's Bright Boy Billy
Becky's bright boy Billy went away to war. He left willingly, didn't ask what for. Told to look for weapons. Told to set people free.
T.A. PhillipsPublished 7 years ago in PoetsVoices
I’ve got these voices In my head And They are Taking control of every shred Of sanity that I have left These demons They just won’t leave
Kyle StumpoPublished 7 years ago in PoetsLoved Ones
To my loved ones who I've hurt in life: Yes, I will always remember the wrongs I've caused in life. I relive it every day, I know that's why I don't like who I see when I look at me.
Crystal KorpanPublished 7 years ago in PoetsSleepless Nights
I can't put my mind to rest. My eyes are wide open, My mind is overthinking. I am daydreaming of my future, And what things I must get done.
Karri DuperronPublished 7 years ago in PoetsIn Bed With Myself
As I lay here and reflect upon these last few months, I try to weave patterns from memories already worn thin Grasping at threads to make a quilt of thought
Alex OdinsonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsEndure
My name is Lindsay. And Heroin is my game. Suddenly became the only way to stay sane. Hitting the same vein multiple times in a day.
Lindsay TathamPublished 7 years ago in PoetsSend Me Anywhere, Just Not There
"Send me where you need me,where I can grow," I say,yet still I stay.I don't go.My ears are closed. Even when I open them,my mind says no.You show me and call mebut, though I hear,I don't listen.
Danni GreerPublished 7 years ago in PoetsPrisoner 6593-4
I don’t have a name I have a number Will my kids ever call me Dad? Will I know when they call me? Do they know I’m not that bad?
David AlemanPublished 7 years ago in Poets2017/07/27
the birds are growing ever quiet, now the cats have come inside. the evening sun once drowning, now slips beneath the clouds and dies.
Bradley NeedhamPublished 7 years ago in PoetsPlaying With Fire
Playing with fire is not something you want to do. The beauty should be appreciated from a far. Please don't come any closer,
Rebecca Morin TorresPublished 7 years ago in PoetsDave
Hey Mr. Reaper, I know you're hangin' around. Waiting for the hanged man in the cemetery grounds. Hey Mr. Reaper, I know your name.
Dakota LanePublished 7 years ago in Poets