Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join us to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
Will you yearn for me?
Will you be there to weep and call my name?
Will you reminisce the remembrance of what we are?
Will you still wish for me in every shooting star?
Will you still pray for me during Sunrise?
And feel my warmth when you lull yourself at Sunset?
Will you still give me a part of your heart?
And revere the mark I left in your soul?

Will you? When I'm gone?
D Letwixt Oct 14
All the things we neglect to say or feel
are stored up somewhere
swirling and undulating in the deep

Eventually, they all rise up--
in a single violent urge
it exits our cowering bodies all at once

and there's nothing one can do but shake
D Letwixt Oct 13
There is a place, before the kings keep
Where those looks of solemn dignity
Go resignedly to weep
Between the gray trees and under gray canopy

To the place where wildflowers wilt and muses mutter
Little words, falling like white feathers in the muddy water

If one walks between the trees
There is a basin, and liquid of silvery green
Imbued with the mutterings of agony unseen

It is the words of those sorrows frail
Spoken with a breath and then a look of fright
And then a frantic run from faces clothed by night
Dissecting looks unrelenting judgments
upon the unredeemed

all who have felt the pain such as muses sing
And cried at night or betwixt the thorny leaves
have drunk of this basin green
And felt the hot swell of sorrow rising from the deep
crevices of our frail corporeal shells

And the voices of all those who filled it up
Violently swell in undulating liquid wail

From those who walk betwixt the trees
Is sounded the great collective scream.
Kimberly Sep 28
Sometimes my unshed tears form an ocean
                Trapped inside my chest
Drowning with dry eyes
                 I slowly sunk
When breathing is navigating
The stormy seven seas
                Cry to clear the storm
                Weep to better breathe
If it helps
                Weep and weep
Crying is good for your body.
Maxim Keyfman Sep 11
weep weep weep the whole world
cry the whole cycle of darkness and light
and the whole azure of heaven and all the azure
and all the books that were on the bookshelf
on the shelf that burned then in august
when attacking death on our house

scatter the same voices last fatal
be carried away and carried all around
do not give air to all this here
do not give the sky and do not give more papers
do not dictate any more of these strange words
perhaps the land is worth and it will be necessary to stop

and right now and at this very moment
and it is at this hour this month in this year
all stopped what it means stopped even then
then when august was next to me when the books were
when the whole world was not even in the flames at all
when the bookcase was with me and the leaves did not sob

Sarah Sep 2
Everytime I see a ballerina
It sparks a sense of yearning within me
Yearning for something that shall never be mine
Dance moves I shall never learn
And I'd feel my heart weep
As it recalls the child who once asked her mother to be a ballerina
And her mother said no
A 'no' that gave me a weeping heart, and a murdered dream.
True story
O joyous world
for which I weep,
what splendid treats
you share with me.

For I've seen your
beauty in green mountain side,
or in soft blue skies as far as
my eyes reach.

I've been entranced by mirrored lakes
and natural silence.

I weep for the people
who will not see,
the elegance carved before me.

I weep for the world
encased in sin,
a concrete evil that shackles our will.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
veritas Jul 25
and you will fall to your knees

(as petals fall to the ground, so soft)

and it will part a way

(if buttery light could cleave so)

and if ever gods thundered
quaked wrath shook perturbe d

so shall you weep

like rain and a sigh of mist that followed.
Wided Ben Jul 16
When the feared day came, I roamed the city looking for traces of your scent, the city is big and my lungs are small,  
I inhaled whatever my pores could take in, the Kebab of every street, a whiff of the pomegranates of the South, the dust of the North, but you were not in the air, you were gone.

Cities have no honor, but this one is no traitor,

you flee anyway, and I,
I weep over your streets.
Blake Jul 8
So now I weep tears of dashed hopes.
The dreadful sorrow cracking and snapping my teasing mind apart as I say a final and tardy goodbye.

But not for you,
But for the man I met all those years ago.
And for the woman that met you.

My one last wishful thought,
Is the greatest of all...
That somewhere our old souls are still prancing carefree and smirking to the pleasure and gift of our love.
When you lose yourself...that grief will always be eternal.
Next page