sad poetry
The cathartic nature of poetry makes it one of the best outlets to channel feelings of sadness, emotional turmoil, grief and despair.
We All Die Alone.
We all die alone, The same way we're born, Company is an illusion from which we're all torn, When all the bouquets are gone,
Tommy BallardPublished 7 months ago in PoetsThe Knife at My Throat
You’re seared into my memory like a brand. I’m hidden in yours like an attic you keep locked, hoping the door will rust and seize shut. You never thanked me for holding still while you cut me out of your life as if performing an exorcism. I didn’t even scream (at least not out-loud).
Avengement
the old me some time ago died buried her so deep inside i committed murder but never meant to hurt her i just had to get rid
Kiesha’s DiaryPublished 7 months ago in PoetsDoctor, doctor
these were the cards for me had life dealt but this is by far the worst i have ever felt everyone always says “an apple a day keeps the doctor away”
Kiesha’s DiaryPublished 7 months ago in PoetsAngel of Death
When I´ve Been Closer to Death than to Being Alive Your pain is so strong that you wish you could invent a painkiller that can numb you forever. Either you fight life and never come back to it or you fight back and never let death take you. Here is a taste of my expressions in one of those moments. You already know that I fought back.
Katherine MyrestadPublished 7 months ago in PoetsI Got It from My Mama
I was taught to choose peace over stress I was taught to never babie grown men or women I was taught to be independent I will lead you to right way, but I will not do the work for you
Emily BinkleyPublished 7 months ago in PoetsTissue Paper at Sea
In Neptune's realm, where azure waves do roam, A fragile pice of tissue paper found a home. Lost in the boundless, unending abyss,
Andromeda GallariniPublished 7 months ago in PoetsSecondhand Child: The Heroine
How do you define a secondhand child? Is it like smoke: your childhood home a blazing sight and gushing fumes that obscure the pale moonlight? Or maybe a liquid: overflowing cups, reversed and downed to drown Passion’s organ in an ocean of irreversible regrets? Can it be taken in a pill or a needle: a gratuitous rush to the head that leaves the mind and body in a state of gluttonous bliss? I’ve heard it’s generational: and like a trauma response it’s triggered by a subconscious action, a kind of curse from Life.
Sofia Loren PerezPublished 7 months ago in PoetsFreedom
I tried to breakthrough Seems nothing is coming through Restless I’m Trying to escape , I’m being caged , Can someone help,
Who you Were
You could be selfish, but I thought you’d overcome You lacked will power But I thought you were fighting You were losing
Vicious AvaricePublished 7 months ago in PoetsThe Viewing Point
Sitting or standing. Cursing or praying. Orthodoxy or heresy. Limitless choice is the same as no choice. Pandora’s box isn’t a myth anymore.
Noah DouglasPublished 7 months ago in PoetsThe outcast
Memories of the now and not yet. Heart filled with songs of forever. The city that endures when all is made new. The traveller or tourist?
Noah DouglasPublished 7 months ago in Poets