sad poetry

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

Gentle Touch
The Gentle graceful gradual gift growing gallantly grasping good emotion effortlessly entering one encompassing the entirety of myself to witness the silent
By James Fuentes8 years ago in Poets
My Life in the Dark
I hate to show emotion because I don’t like explaining how I feel. Crying doesn’t make me weak, but tell me how you would feel
By Kaitlyn Marquette8 years ago in Poets
I Thought I Was Young and Free
I believed I was young and would always be free, then one day I awoke and realised my body had trapped me. As my heart aches and tears do fall, I start again to build up that wall.
By Bianca O'Reilly8 years ago in Poets
Bloody Rose Petals
It was like I was walking barefoot on a field of multicolored rose petals. Beautiful as far as the eye could see. What I couldn't see was the rose petals covering the thorns that lie beneath. I was so far deep in the garden of rose petals, that I couldn't turn back. The quickest way out was to keep heading forward. Angry, as I walked on, I wondered, "How could I be so blind?" After miles of rose petal covered thorns, I finally made it out. My feet left a blood trail you could see for miles. It's amazing I didn't bleed to death right there. I've fallen into rose bushes before, why should I have thought rose petalled covered ground would be any different? And so I kept walking. Bloodied, but kept walking to a safe place where I could recuperate.
By Lauren P.8 years ago in Poets
Untitled
I wish I could see land, a silhouette of firm ground breaking the horizon I’m realizin’ the nuanced conversation
By Marty Weber8 years ago in Poets
Desire of Fire
Burn the bridge Crossing to the other side Strike a match Strike a new Cut the rope who could have knew Pull the cord
By Marc McAlister8 years ago in Poets
Echoes
Is there softness in the slowest decay of blurring lamentations past, or the gentle end of a frayed photograph from one too many hasty hands.
By Jamie Wilkinson8 years ago in Poets
They Are Just Words
It's the changing of the seasons I'm sure you have your reasons you have now committed treason my world is without reason
By Marc McAlister8 years ago in Poets
Introducing Dante
What golden path was laid out for you? Was it one paved by an unfeeling teacher of nothing? Empty promises of futures filled with hope yet delivered upon a dried bone platter of dead dreams. My words might fall upon deaf ears but even a head turned away in disapproval can FEEL the agony emanating from my bones.
By Dante Holmes8 years ago in Poets
Wicked
Wicked is as wicked does. Twisting like the hands of time. Light that no longer shines. It grows fierce like thorny vines. Like a faucet. Hot and cold. Turning it off when it gets old. A candle slicker, snuffed out in a scurry. The clock ticks backwards instead of forwards. A broken and useless necessity.
By Lauren P.8 years ago in Poets
Everyday I Wake Up Different
It all starts when I get out of bed. Another day of hoping to be dead. But that probably won’t happen anytime soon because I cant stop staring at the ceiling in my room.
By Emily Ryan8 years ago in Poets
Ghost Love
Is that a lightning or just Zeus playing with his lightening bolt? How can I tell? I am drunk on Noah's grape booze. I am drunk, and all just seems blur
By Harydo Neon8 years ago in Poets