sad poetry
The cathartic nature of poetry makes it one of the best outlets to channel feelings of sadness, emotional turmoil, grief and despair.
Palestine: A Cry for Freedom, A Poem of Survival
Oh land of olive trees and sunlit skies, Where dreams are born but often die. A cradle of faith, of hope, and tears, Your story echoes through the years. Palestine, your soil runs deep, With ancient roots that refuse to sleep. Your hills remember songs of old, Your valleys whisper tales untold. A land divided, a people confined, Yet hearts unyielding, spirits aligned. Through rubble and ruin, your children play, Their laughter defies the darkest day. They build castles from broken stone, In a land they’ve called their own. Each grain of sand, each blade of grass, A testament to struggles that surpass. Borders drawn by hands of greed, Chains of power, walls of need. But no wall can cage a people's fight, No force can dim their sacred light. The world may turn a blind, cold eye, But truth persists; it will not die. For justice doesn’t fade with time, It beats within, it’s sublime. Oh Palestine, your story aches, A land of giving, yet what it takes! Still, your people rise with might, Their resilience a beacon of righteous fight. The cries of mothers pierce the air, Lamenting lives lost to despair. The streets remember every name, Every martyr, every flame. And though the skies may darken with smoke, And voices falter, hearts won’t choke. For freedom’s call is loud and clear, A melody only the just can hear. Let nations stand, let truth prevail, Let justice rise where it did fail. For Palestine’s spirit cannot be sold, Its worth exceeds mountains of gold. One day the olive branch will bloom, Replacing shadows of war and gloom. The rivers will flow with peace anew, Under skies of liberated blue. So let us not forget their song, A people whose rights have been denied too long. For Palestine deserves to breathe, To live in peace, without reprieve.
By Aysha Akhter about a year ago in Poets
Before the Final breath
They say death is our finality, The moment all things end, But it’s isn’t always thunderous, Not a scream, not a crash, not a fall, A quiet disappearance before we know it’s begun, A slow, steady, fading of life. It’s the death of dreams once yours to hold, The loss of love, of trust, of moments now cold, Each loss, not just a thing gone, But a piece of oneself, slipping silently away. And in the midst of these small deaths, You wonder if you’re still alive. We live as if death is distant, A final breath, years away, But it lingers in the corners, hidden in plain sight, It doesn’t wait for you to be ready; it takes what it will. A breath, a heartbeat, a soul……… Left behind, you feel the weight of absence, A presence no longer there, yet never truly gone. Death doesn’t always cry out, It whispers softly, a smooth, calm breeze, That shifts and stirs what once was, It begins long before the last breath, In unnoticed moments, Until the chair where you once sat, Sways gently in the wind, Dusty, empty and untouched. You think you’ll recognize death, when it comes, But it is a descent into the shadows, So slow you don’t see it at first, The silence that prepares you for goodbye, Fading laughter, Eyes growing distant, Memories losing their shape, Until all that remains are echoes of the things you knew. It leaves you with a space nothing can fill. Still, you’ll breathe, Still, you’ll move through the days, You’ll carry the silent weight, The loss of pieces you didn’t know were fading, Until the final breath comes, And it feels like nothing at all, Because so much had already gone
By Peace Oputaabout a year ago in Poets
Analogy for Hens
What’s it say about me that returning to my rejections is the first time I’ve felt normal in a week. That despisement holds my hand and tells me when it’s clear to walk. That I show up at last call and get a meal for two. That I can’t feel my teeth after the first drink and I admire the ocean of friendship I already have in this new glass shack. It’s cold like the last one but I know it won’t be forever. They installed a heater for me and the hens out back so we can hatch the double yolked eggs in time for breakfast. What’s it say about us that providing life for life is just giving thanks. That we equate normalcy with any day the pain stays in one spot. Tell yourself it’s easier to ignore that way. Easier to walk with your eyes closed and let God decide your fate. Easier to go back to clay floors when glass straw just makes an eerie view from all sides. At least now you don’t have to look at the dirt. At least now you can say it’s all in your head.
By Olivia Dodgeabout a year ago in Poets
