sad poetry
The cathartic nature of poetry makes it one of the best outlets to channel feelings of sadness, emotional turmoil, grief and despair.
What Would Not Bow
I wailed waiting too, trying to save you, I turned, and we fell apart. Hardened by your safety, you opened your arms to flame and slipped from my reach. In grief’s rising sea, you wanted something to hold; I broke that in me. Her lies filled the dark, behind your father’s name left me bone and dust. Your gaze drifted east, leaving my south‑bound hands still; your borrowed gaze held mine. In the mirror’s stillness, I stripped the love held by my string, and found no more tears. I tried to nurse hope, glancing back toward the moon’s glow; it hid me, showed you. The still bear remains — no rose can move what won’t wake, the stillness that would not bow.
By Caitlin Charlton2 months ago in Poets
THE LITTLE GOLD RING
THE LITTLE GOLD RING My mam and dad bought me a child’s gold ring when I was one, They had no savings, so I know it must have been hard for them, It sat upon a shelf inside our living room for years, I don’t think I ever wore it, but it was bought with love and care.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
Haemorrhage
There is a silence that follows me, Wherever I may go, It knows the things I never say, The wounds I never show. There is a shadow near my feet That walks when I walk too, It keeps a list of every flaw And every fear I knew. It tells me I am not enough, That I have lost my way, That all the dreams I hold so close Will slowly fade away. It counts the nights I stayed awake, The battles never seen, The moments when I smiled outside But broke apart within. It says, "Do not reach too far, Do not attempt to rise. The fall will hurt much more than this, So stay beneath the skies." And sometimes I believe that voice, I let it choose my pace, I build my walls a little higher And hide from open space. But somewhere underneath it all, Where fear cannot remain, A quieter voice is calling me Through every storm and rain. It says, "You are not finished yet. You are more than what you fear. The road may bend, the night may last, But morning still comes near." So let the shadows follow me, Let them speak of what I've lost. I have carried heavier things before And survived the weight and cost.
By Aarsh Malik2 months ago in Poets
