sad poetry

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

your soul's quiet exit. Top Story - August 2026.
142 days since my name rolled back along your tongue only to be swallowed by the void that endless ravenous hole unraveling your mind bit by bit a brazen thief plucking thoughts and memories time and experiences until you've nothing left and I'm grieving your demise while you stare vacantly on I try to steal them back stuff my ears, my mouth, my hands with fistfuls of promises and moments between us push them gently into your sagging mouth and hope... but they crumble to dust lost to you as you're lost to me It's cruel you still look like you but also not an empty doppelgänger left in the wake of your soul's quiet exit and I'm left loving your ghost while you wonder who I am and I wonder that too in every moment of the now what I'll be like at the end when we're both released from this daily torment for now I kiss your brow as you sleep thoughts of what's to come laid to rest for a few short hours today is all I can manage
By Heather Hublerabout a month ago in Poets
She's a know-it-all
She carries herself like a statue in a museum display case Never changing Her stance and demeanour remain the same As they were five decades ago
By Sun Beeabout a month ago in Poets
The Tuner
He kneels before the upright, ear pressed flat against the wood that hums before it rings, and turns the pin by feel, degree by fraction, the way a blind man learns the weight of things.
By Aarsh Malikabout a month ago in Poets
F*CK OFF
We come into this world soiling ourselves and rest under that same shitty soil once the lights go out for good. When you see me, do not ask me, "What do you do for a living?" I exist in my mortal shell for the time being, nothing more, nothing less.
By Armand Slayerabout a month ago in Poets
Somber
coat, in lowercase, with a conspicuous power, a night befallen on a downtrodden failure, cosmic misers deal lightly anything but cruel fate, it’s midnight and for this sad being not yet late, but like a bug dying under a cool and barren Sun, by a misery he cannot understand, he is to be undone,
By Gambitabout a month ago in Poets
What Lies Beneath
The world stops being a constant and I try to breathe. My world gesticulates to something new, breath tilting on an building axis
By Logan Stanislawabout a month ago in Poets
Dark Poetry
Grief came thick as winter fog, blackened breath and hollowed song, ghost-white fingers, cold and long, wrapping where my bones belong.
By Yulia Tess about a month ago in Poets
old fragments #2
i sit, worried, listening to lyrics. an attempt to soothe. little simz says, "time will heal you." how odd, i think, because i once wrote a haiku, when brand new here: time will tell, they say. or, in time you will heal. but time does not serve you. i wrote it, but often write things. the question is, do i believe it? i was sad then. am i not sad now? i am. yes, and... not sad like i was some time ago. but yes, i believe it. despite the sadness, in that time, having changed in more than name alone. the grief, as i call it now, was wild once. when i was young and more certain, my grief was the decider. which is to say, my grief called the shots. my grief didn't leave room to assess, run a cost-benefit analysis, or even think more generally. my rational mind was absent, hardly at work, unless you consider the work of wild grief a rationale equivalent to the caliber of my stable and contented mind... i don't. is the work valid? yes. but reasonable or measured? hardly. what is all this grief for, you might ask? what is it that acts as tether to this potential weight? death, i suppose. to put it simply. loss, more broadly. the loss of self. the loss of loves. the loss of our planet and entire species, en masse. the loss of compassion from people and of empathy for things that don't happen directly to loved ones or us (whether complicit in their occurrence by choice or not). you know, perhaps by using time to patch all wounds, we liken ourselves to the concept. perhaps the world is so heavy, that we prefer the indifference of omnipotent measure. perhaps our hearts are opened, but lose the heat of emotionality. perhaps our minds are quieted, but lose the clarity of connection. you see, time isn't concerned with memory, or preference, or truth. you see, time isn't concerned with convenience, or perception, or linearity. you see, time isn't concerned with people, or flora or fauna, or any conception of mother earth gaia terra. you see, time isn't concerned. but i would hate for that to be me.
By kpabout a month ago in Poets
The 28 years
This poem book the 28 years is based on something I went through. I hope you enjoy reading it. I was only ten When I fell for you then
By Danielle Mosleyabout a month ago in Poets
I Suffered In Love (part 1)
I suffered in love I’m a amputee once I opened my eyes my heart was gone and I couldn’t see. Then I walked my first steps I heard a couple in glee the pain hit me like a rock so negatively. Made it home half of the man. As I looked in the mirror I couldn’t see her apart of me. Then I laid down to close my mind and embrace the newly missing parts of me.
By Arlo Wyseeabout a month ago in Poets
When Nobody Notices Your Tears
When Nobody Notices Your Tears You smile for the world though your heart feels tired, Pretending you’re strong when your soul feels expired. Nobody sees the battles you fight in your head, The nights full of worries when you lie in your bed.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
Static. Top Story - August 2026.
close, so close, close enough to almost touch the space between us, our breath crackles, violet electricity settles prickling my skin,
By Ellie Hoovsabout a month ago in Poets