sad poetry

The cathartic nature of poetry makes it one of the best outlets to channel feelings of sadness, emotional turmoil, grief and despair.

Nourish the Mind in Peace and Love
Nourish the Mind in Peace and Love Nourish the mind with thoughts that bloom like morning dew, Allowing hope to gently grow in everything you do. The seeds we plant within ourselves determine what will rise, Whether gardens filled with joy or sorrow in disguise.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
Please Don’t Let Him In
Please Don’t Let Him In The smile he wears is polished bright. It hides the storm behind his eyes. He speaks in honey, soft and slow. While weaving carefully crafted lies.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
The almost or presque of between things
Aristaticostle it holds me to a different plain and I don't move that which way I want to to be the good I should be and to avoid the veering and stay the middle ground
By Paul Stewartabout a month ago in Poets
Life is Static
Muscles seize breathing stops Tension rises over the top No where to run no where to hide Beneath the facade living a lie
By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferrisabout a month ago in Poets
Perdendosi
The house lights come up No curtain call each Maestro and Maestra Lets their baton fall The halls lay empty The balconies stilled “The clarinet is useless!” “It won’t pay the bills!” Horde by horde The choruses chant No rhythm, no rhyme An ignorant lament They sing their verses In boardrooms and bailiwicks Aeolian scales Corrupted, sycophantic One by one The students depart Until the second chair’s Bereft a beating heart The house lights come up The curtain falls But no soul attends This evenings ball Concert halls closed The microphone falls Leaving naught but static’s Lonely echoed call
By Matthew J. Frommabout a month ago in Poets
The Rooftops Keep Their Fires
You can tell she didn't pick that chair for the flowers. She picked it for the window, eleven floors up, maybe twelve, the whole city gone soft and gray the way concrete gets when there's too much of it to focus on any one piece.
By Diane Fosterabout a month ago in Poets
Dollars. Content Warning.
They're supportive until their seed dries. Then it's back to the closet again. They got what they wanted between your thighs,
By CT Idlehouseabout a month ago in Poets
The Static Between Us. Runner-Up in Static Challenge.
He lives in the box Scratching from the inside Voiceless beyond control Only to distress in waves Waves I cannot understand
By Ashley Wrigleyabout a month ago in Poets
Restlessness. Top Story - August 2026.
The fluorescent lights hum lowly-- Not enough for ears to pick up, But enough to faintly make skin crawl. The itch beneath my business casual blouse Is the reckless urge to abandon Another eight hours of "circling back" to emails And "taking this offline" when attempting to "move the needle." No need to reinvent the wheel, just get the project done. As if reinventing the wheel doesn't sound So much more divine. My desk chair creaks and I catch myself swaying In an attempt to keep myself awake. I click a tab that's stuck, loading, on a black screen Forcing my reflection to become visible. Past the glare of the stagnant mirror image I try to catch the eye of the girl I was at ten. She had the world ahead of her, She could do anything she wanted With oceans of time. She wouldn't want to see that, This far along in the road, She works in an office 40 hours a week Under moldy air and toxic management Doing a lulling job Instead of being. Every evening, I press submit into the void, Attaching my resume in every job portal, Waiting for a chime or a sign. The inbox stays clear, And the quiet bounces back. Static is the sound Of everything happening All At Once. It never unfolds, Doesn't waver, And remains persistent. You can stop and stare Or reach your hand into the noise Sift for a sign, And hope that the dead air Finally starts making sense.
By Annieabout a month ago in Poets
Hard-Hearted Jasmine
Hard-Hearted Jasmine Jasmine wore a smile as sharp as winter glass. She welcomed every neighbour, yet none were meant to last. Behind lace curtains, behind polished doors, she swept away compassion like dust across the floors.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
The March of the White Man. Content Warning.
Beware, when the white man comes to your shores For from the moment his boots hit your ground He will submit you beneath his foot
By Rae Fairchild (MRB)about a month ago in Poets
The Savage Land's Touch
There's something in that story that brings you to your knees A story of wonder and despair on winds traveling from the East
By Jason Mortonabout a month ago in Poets