#grief poems on Hello Poetry

Melanie 1d

part of me feels so ashamed
and I can see their faces now
corneas coated in pity
but they didn't expect anything else,
not really
it's never different,
it's just me
a sad exhale, it never changes
I'd stop trying if it meant
escaping their cassette-recording speeches and sorries
but part of me desperately wants,
aches to prove them wrong
that I'm not cursed
that it can be me
that I deserve it too

#self #image #perspective #guilt #grief #relationships #breakup #breakups #friends #family

Sara Martinez 2d

Entropy of the heart

Heartbreak is emotional entropy,
an inevitable unraveling, where love's warmth fades into the void, leaving only the cold, scattered remnants of what once was whole.

And as time stretches,
the heart begins to wane
it’s capacity to give, to hold,
to burn with the same intensity
growing dimmer and dimmer with each heartbreak.

For like energy lost to heat,
the heart's strength dissipates,
Unable to return to its original state.

#heartbreak #sad #physics #entropy #love #time #grief #heartache #loss

anna 2d

Marshmallow Wings

It's 2015, summertime, with
an afternoon sunshine
gently roasting the cheeks
of a little girl into a
healthy flush. The sweet
sanctuary of the cafe after
school; a fresh playground
amidst the summer heat.
Familiarity, an endless finality of
every poster and notice
memorised through timeless
hours, teaching her
how to read through adverts for
baby sitters
ballet instructors
late-night knitting groups.
School tie discarded, slung
over the back of a squeaky
cafe chair, the usual, she drags
her mum to the counter,
towards the fiery face smiling
behind the till. Warm eyes,
sparkling with stories and life,
already talking to her mum about
her new school teacher
the new muffin recipe
her dad's latest gig.
Her face, bronzed by foreign heat
folds as she guffaws across the cafe,
careless, laughing , at a joke
the little girl doesn't yet
understand. Handfuls
of pink marshmallows,
sweet and pure, exchange hands
with a wink and a 'don't tell your mum'.
The girl sticks two together and calls them butterflies.
The broken clock near the door
shows the same time
as it did an hour ago, hands suspended, never-ending.

I carry flowers, an expensive bunch
of lilies and roses,
tilted in towards my chest - like
a child in a green paper blanket - to protect
them against the gale as
I carry sympathy home. The rain
soaks through the paper. I nip
off a dead leaf between my forefinger
and thumb, thoughts lingering,
nose turning numb. Four years
since I spoke to Mandy, at
'Mandy's Cafe!'
whisked away by time briskly slipping.
Moving house, growing up.
And yet, when
the sun comes out later today,
I see a little girl with scooter-hit
ankles, and glitter in her hair
reaching out a tiny ink-stained hand
for a warm buttered roll
from a hand memorised
through timeless hours.

May you rest in peace ❤

#mourning #childhood #growingup #change #grief #bittersweet

tasnia khan 2d

I Want to Make Sense Of All Of It

I want to make sense
of the life we had,
of the fight we fought,
of the battles we braved,
where grief stood like a wall
too high to climb.

I want to make sense
of what we went through—
the endless nights that stretched,
the days eating felt like a chore,
something we forced upon ourselves
to survive.
And our laughter vanished
into the cracks of silence.

Were we too fragile for the storms?
Is that why we chose to let it go,
leaving behind the pieces of her?
Do they not matter to us?
Or are they too heavy for us to carry?

I want to make sense of all of it.
Because if I can’t,
then all the miseries go to waste.
Why did we take such roads
that led us to destinations
we never planned to reach?

Why did we fight so hard?
Did we hold on too tightly,
only to end up making ourselves bleed?
Was it grief?
Were we trying to find echoes of her voice,
trying to keep her alive
in the ways we thought were right?
Were we trying to build a house
out of her memories?

I want to make sense of all of it.
My head hurts, my heart aches,
because now it feels like a big waste.
We went all the way
only to end up leaving it all behind.

Why didn’t we accept it sooner—
that home wasn’t a place?
It was her.
And when she left,
home dissolved like a dream
in the harsh truth of reality.

Were we too slow to accept
that the waves had already swept her away,
taking pieces of us with it.

I want to make sense of all of it—
the goodbyes,
the lost connections,
the betrayals,
the broken promises,
the pieces of our hearts
we lost behind
in search of meaning.

Will I feel at peace
if I can just make sense of all of this?
If I untangle the knots of grief,
will the ache in my chest finally lighten?

Will I sleep again,
or will I carry her absence,
a weight that feels lighter
but never disappears?

i wrote this poem about how it feels like after loss of a loved one... the house doesnt feel the same if that loved one is your mother...i hope everyone would like my first poetry...thank you

#grief #poetry #selfdiscovery #life

Maryann I 3d

What Remains

Your hand in mine, a fragile weight,
a thread unraveled, pulled too thin.
The clock still moves, the seasons change,
but time won’t weave you back again.

I speak your name, the air stands still,
as if it dares not let you go.
But silence hums a bitter truth—
some echoes fade, some rivers flow.

So take this breath, this fleeting glance,
before you slip into the past.
For love remains, though you depart,
a haunting ache that’s meant to last.

10. The Final Goodbye

#farewell #grief #death #legacy

Immortality 4d

her

her eyes wide innocent,
fur so soft.
even moon paused to admire.

her love so soothing,
only lucky would know.

she left today,
this world so cold.
oh, must be in pain,
her eyes told.

"lord give her heaven"
i pray.
may she see,
a life more wild and free.

I have two squirrels (well, now just one).... I found them in my terrace when they were only 5-6 days old, their eyes still closed.
Over time, they became more than just squirrels, they became part of our family, like true one.

But on Feb 12, one tragic incident took her away from us.

I never ever imagined that a tiny, 7.5-month-old squirrel could make me cry and scream this much.... Bbbbbut she did. Many of my poems were inspired by her. And now, writing feels so heavy, as if I have just lost my fav muse.

She was the fiery one. One wrong move, and you’d earn a bite from her,
but moments later, she’d love you like nothing ever happened... funny....right??
Love you, baby. I hope we meet again someday.....

Now everything, feels void, unknown, empty.... I don't know why.... is it common to feel that way???
Well all I know is that she was not just a squirrel. I saw myself in her. She was so much moreeeee.... I have one more, now I'll try to love and protect him more...

#squirrel #loss #love #grief #farewell #innocence #animals #heaven #prayer #sorrow

Thisura Perera 4d

What the Tide Owes

When you were little,
we wandered the sunlit shore—
your laughter a bright echo
mingling with the rush of waves.
I watched as the sea snatched your red ball,
a tiny planet swallowed by surging tides,
whispering, “Hold fast to hope;
the tide always returns.”

That battered sphere, salt-bleached at dawn,
washed ashore like a small miracle,
a promise that even loss
might be reclaimed from the deep.

But the sea, vast and unyielding,
claimed more than a toy—it claimed you.
Now your towel stripes the dunes,
your slippers lie silent,
and those oversized shades, once crowning your smile,
are but faded relics of innocence lost.

Men in boats cast their nets
through dark braids of kelp,
hauling up relics—a bottle cap,
a stray shoe—
fragile tokens from an endless blue
that keeps you hidden away.

Here I stand upon this lonely shore,
my heart heavy as the crashing surf,
knowing all too well you are gone.
Yet I strain to catch the tide’s murmur,
hoping against hope
for that final, silent deliverance—
for your body to return,
so I might hold you once more
between loss and love.

The horizon hangs an empty ledger,
the tide’s cold arithmetic clear:
what it steals, it subtracts;
what it owes, it forgets.
And in that barren sum,
I remain to cling to a hope too fragile,
to let go.

#death #grief #acceptance

Cynthia 5d

Being Weak Makes You Strong

“Never love anyone more than yourself,”
Mom always said that to me.
When it came to relationships,
she always saved 10% of herself.

That’s where I got it from—
my issues to trust,
to give, and to
fully envelop myself.

She taught me to be cautious of
those I let into my life—
those who held knives behind their backs
and drew me in with sweet words.

She also taught me to stay strong,
that even if people left my life,
I was never alone.

…

Ma had her own struggles.
She never talked about it openly,
not even to Dad.
She kept the facade of a strong woman
and rarely shared her vulnerability.

It made me feel so invalidated
in my own struggles.
I felt isolated because I thought
I wasn’t supposed to feel this way.
Since she never shared her experiences,
I never knew she too
suffered.

She did a hell of a good job at it though,
better than me.
When it came down to it,
she never cried.
Not even when the dog died.

She wasn’t much of an emotional woman.
“Crying is for the weak.”
The worst part is…
I believed her.

The only reason she felt this way
was because, as a young girl,
she was never to share
her wars.

But when I see her dance—
oh, she shines so bright.
Her radiating aura
surrounds her.
I can feel it.
In the flicker of her eye,
in the rasp of her laugh,
I can see it.
In the lines of her smile
and her white hairs.
She’s just as young as she was
yesterday,
and the day before,
all the way to the little girl she used to know.

She’s everything she claims not to be…
Human

#mom #grief #sad