#desth - Hello Poetry

Is life worth even living what are any reasons Hope? Joy? Love? Fun?

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May 4, 2017

May 4, 2017 at 9:11 AM UTC

Tbeth

Reasons to live none

Is life worth even living what are any reasons Hope? Joy? Love? Fun?

5

I miss you Don't know how many times I can say it Sometimes I wish I could hear your voice So I could save it and replay it Remembering the laugh that roared out Nothing but faded memories now The times you've visted me at my house Or the times we stayed up late and you talked about buying your Mom a house These are the bittersweet moments I cherish If only I knew you would perish Why couldn't I have spoken up sooner Maybe I wouldn't feel so blue I would've said something better if I knew Devastated when I saw your picture on the news I remember when someone said it was an accident But accidents don't just happen

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Mar 19, 2015

Mar 19, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC

sandra-alexis

Dear Old Friend

I miss you Don't know how many times I can say it Sometimes I wish I could hear your voice So I could save it and replay it Remembering the laugh that roared out Nothing but faded memories now The times you've visted me at my house Or the times we stayed up late and you talked about buying your Mom a house These are the bittersweet moments I cherish If only I knew you would perish Why couldn't I have spoken up sooner Maybe I wouldn't feel so blue I would've said something better if I knew Devastated when I saw your picture on the news I remember when someone said it was an accident But accidents don't just happen

16

The shadows have been cleared through watery eyes A soul well fed by creativity beyond measure …you fed me well my friend with grace, ease and peace As the sun cleared the rain I ceased breathing the sorrow poured from my depths I honor the words, the love…dark and light you are the bearer of many truths I honor you and our words. Eternal peace Friar⭐️ From your TLC💜🙏🏻

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May 19, 2023

May 19, 2023 at 7:39 AM UTC

tracey-sivek

For Joel M Frye

The shadows have been cleared through watery eyes A soul well fed by creativity beyond measure …you fed me well my friend with grace, ease and peace As the sun cleared the rain I ceased breathing the sorrow poured from my depths I honor the words, the love…dark and light you are the bearer of many truths I honor you and our words. Eternal peace Friar⭐️ From your TLC💜🙏🏻

11

I give up my humanity, With each heart beat, defeat. Each time I draw breath, death. Morals left on the pew. I'm more than rules, More than the age of trust, More than kings and fools, Nothing more than dust.

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Mar 18, 2018

Mar 18, 2018 at 8:15 PM UTC

IsaacSpencer

Changing

I give up my humanity, With each heart beat, defeat. Each time I draw breath, death. Morals left on the pew. I'm more than rules, More than the age of trust, More than kings and fools, Nothing more than dust.

8

Since the miscarriage you are aware of another presence about your ankles, ghostly touches, soft brushing of skin. You look out at a wintry day, bare trees, dull skies, mist at the end of the garden. The nursery prepared, but unused. You enter there most evenings and mornings and gaze into the cot unused, but prepared, and if you stare long enough, you can imagine the baby there, if you are silent and stare. Your husband tries to understand, says he does, but there is that gulf between you, that gulf of feeling and not feeling, of sensibility and insensibility. Since the miscarriage you are aware of an emptiness within, a stolen being, beyond that, that big perhaps, the big question of if it's elsewhere some place, a small finger at night touching your face.

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Feb 13, 2018

Feb 13, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC

TerryCollett

Since the Miscarriage.

Since the miscarriage you are aware of another presence about your ankles, ghostly touches, soft brushing of skin. You look out at a wintry day, bare trees, dull skies, mist at the end of the garden. The nursery prepared, but unused. You enter there most evenings and mornings and gaze into the cot unused, but prepared, and if you stare long enough, you can imagine the baby there, if you are silent and stare. Your husband tries to understand, says he does, but there is that gulf between you, that gulf of feeling and not feeling, of sensibility and insensibility. Since the miscarriage you are aware of an emptiness within, a stolen being, beyond that, that big perhaps, the big question of if it's elsewhere some place, a small finger at night touching your face.

28

0

Feb 11, 2018

Feb 11, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC