#widow
I reached for words, for something light,
a gentle thought to end the night,
to rest my head, to close my eyes–
then came a buzz that split the skies.
Not warmth, not love, not something sweet,
but fear that stole my steady beat.
A warning cold, a hollow cry:
Stay in. Stay safe. Survive. Don’t die.
The walls grew thin, the air turned strange,
as if the world had slipped its range,
and I– alone in dim-lit space–
felt shadows breathing in my place.
What if I fade and no one knows?
What if I’m gone before it shows?
A silent end, no hand to hold,
no whispered warmth against the cold.
What if they take the one I keep–
the one who knows me, soft and deep?
The only soul who saw my flaws
and loved me still, without a pause.
Will darkness fall, will power cease,
will silence steal what once was peace?
Will I remain, yet feel undone–
a life still here, but missing one?
And if that grief should come to stay,
and pull my fragile heart away,
will someone find me in that night,
and hold me close, and hold me tight?
Will arms replace what I have lost,
or warm the soul gone cold with cost?
Will whispers mend what fear has torn
remind me I am still reborn?
For now, the dark feels far too near,
its voice much louder than my prayer,
and I am small, yet wide awake,
with trembling hands and thoughts that ache.
Still somewhere soft, beneath the sting,
a fragile hope begins to cling–
that love, once real, won’t fade so fast….
that even fear…
won’t always last.
♡ lil-usagi
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 8:53 PM UTC
ignite the black floral veil
reveal the phantom holding the lit candelabra:
the lost widow in hell.
Dec 19, 2025
Dec 19, 2025 at 5:37 PM UTC
Unforgettable days described
on a scroll
soaked with sin.
Toxín.
Bright and smart,
she was so alive,
pure beauty of life.
He took all he could gain
showing her just disdain,
whispered words
that she wants,
getting under her skin
but toxín.
And she heard
that her fate
is a widow from now,
silent vow.
So let it begin
with toxín.
He thought that woman like her
won't be able to leave,
will be silent, naive
and consent just to live
next to him -
so relentless and grim.
Just to serve,
just to live in the shadow,
just to try to deserve.
Feigning grin.
Who is he to get those vague jokes
about toxín?
He thought he would drink to the bottom,
but drops flowed down the glass.
Why this soul is so rotten?
Why he incessantly looks at
her silhouette?
Why he's searching for rhyme like poet?
Now he lurched..
Her toxín is his end.
The stars will go out,
his rough desire to hear her voice like tweet,
feel her touch, hear her sound...
She won't be there anymore,
she will never give treat,
and he won't ignore
broken bound.
Every minute is poisoned.
Toxin.
The morning is dawning,
the wind scatters birds,
and now he is calling
to say that he loves.
A fragment of her heart will be healing,
she knows.
Infernal existence,
time flows,
and he's full of faith
whispers name.
Does he know that his distance
is passing away?
She cries and asks how to live,
she's sincere in tears -
she needs time to relieve.
He did hold her..
No way,
every hour was poisoned,
so he had once to pay.
One of them had to
take all that toxin.
Jan 24, 2025
Jan 24, 2025 at 4:50 AM UTC
Here sits the widow silent and pale,
from the heart of darkness her sorrows hail.
Mournful eyes,
shattered thoughts,
bloodless veins and soundless calls.
With her broken heart her mind would plea,
her eyes are open but unable to see.
A saddened look,
and a tired heart,
an endless journey that tore her apart.
Entrapped within avoid of time,
where the moaners sing,
and misery rhymes.
In the kingdom of grief,
the widow resides,
where the temples are haunted,
and pain abides.
In the halls of hope the grievers meet,
in search of comfort and a blissful seat.
In total humility their hearts would pray,
for peace of mind and a happier day.
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 6:48 AM UTC
What a web
Of clever widows.
The venom burns,
Acid lapped wounds,
Too early for the pain to subsist.
And of what I know,
She has yet to confess
And likely never remit.
Jun 26, 2023
Jun 26, 2023 at 6:44 AM UTC
Half of the somebody
that used to be
the widow nobody
that is me
in a whole new state
of washing up a single plate
at the isolated station
of solo occupation
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 11:13 AM UTC
How long woman is wild when she is alone?
How far woman can reach without her soulmate?
How quick woman can fall in her endless waiting!
How fun woman can die if she is alone in big house!
How strong woman can fight looking her husband die?
How big woman can dream if her husband is not rich?
Which wills woman can have if her husband is poor?
Which knot can win woman to unknot if her husband is bleeding?
Which well can be nearly for widowed **** woman?
Which well can be so far for kind widowed woman?
Which heart woman can have if her children are prisoned?
Which decision woman can take if prison guard needs her to ler her kids get out of steels?
How fun is man thinking he owns her wife's heart!
What happens when he is died so?
After understanding all that I asked my mind grandpa, how dare she talks women in that way he told me "all women not like that" and again " non kind hearted woman Are married with Sky"
Nov 1, 2021
Nov 1, 2021 at 8:40 PM UTC
She is dressed in black with eyes so sad
The funeral procession is marching
She has so many regrets but she cannot go back
The finality is startling
The coffin is laden with poetry and roses
Symbolising romantic connection
She will remember this after he decomposes
This morbidly touching expression
They didn't want to say goodbye
Death didn't give them a choice
She remembers on the day he died
His soft and gentle voice
Do not fret and do not cry
I've loved you and thats enough
It is time to say goodbye
Life was good for I had your love
She is dressed in blue in high heeled shoes
On her first date in three years
His eyes, a brown hue gives her a sense of de ja vu
The reason for this is not quite clear
She feels a trace of shame everytime she says his name
While her wedding ring still sits on her dresser
Yet she can hear her husband's words within a memory preserved
That he'll support her on her every endeavour
She didn't want to move on
He didn't give her a choice
She remembers on the day he died
His soft and gentle voice
Remember to continue smiling
Remember to love again
Long after I leave this life
We will still be friends
She is dressed in white on a warm day in July
The brown eyed man is telling her his vows
It is at this time that she comes to realise
Why his eyes are so familar somehow
They are the exact same shade that got her carried away
By a different man so many years ago
As the groom kisses the bride any remaining grief subsides
Pure joy replacing the dark sorrow
They didn't want to say goodbye
Death didn't give her a choice
She remembers on the day he died
His soft and gentle voice
One day all your grief will end
One day your broken heart will mend
It is time to say goodbye
Until we meet again
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 11:38 AM UTC
Not all martyrs meet their gods.
Don't be so quick to die.
There is no glory when blood is spilled,
just widows left to cry.
Dec 9, 2020
Dec 9, 2020 at 4:43 PM UTC
Is it sweet
yet like a scorpion tail
stings?
Do you really remember
Not to sink but swim?
Warm
crimson casualties cascade
delicately down
a cupid’s bow
row row row
yourself in my boat
gently down
this fatalistic dream.
Nov 7, 2020
Nov 7, 2020 at 6:16 AM UTC
Tragedy bestows the widowed sufferer.
Lustered in the cause of sheer beauty,
forlorn masks are shared generously.
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 8:54 PM UTC
The son of heaven, erupts with rage,
The south, dare profane my land,
The court tries to appease,
But to no avail.
The emperor's decree,
Bugle the horn and prepare for war!
The granaries full, the armoury filled,
The journey is long.
The soldier,
Kneel, to their parents,
Pray to their gods,
And fly kisses to their love,
Then they march.
Treacherous road, even more the goal,
The entourage proceeds,
Joins the youth, with sickle and hoes,
To their end,
For the love of their land.
South is in sight,
This green plain, todays battleground,
The sun dazzles the land,
As it awaits without care.
The enemy a swarm of yellow,
And ours the mighty black,
The dawn is long,
Close they eyes,
Reminiscence if it's their last,
The tears of mother,
The stern look on my father,
The embrace of love,
And the playful children.
Bugle,
And they march,
The horse gallops,
And within heart blazes a fire,
Of anger and wrath,
For their country.
Clang, the shields raised high,
Roar, the spears pierce deep,
And shine the metallic armour,
And dye the green with red.
The wind bellows,
And With it carries the smell of blood,
The land a shade of green and dark red,
A beautiful red poppy.
The light of day dares not intrude the flower,
Herein lies the true hell, feast upon it,
And see what you create,
The bugle calls the end of war,
But none a soul shouts a victory call
In a serene morning,
A widow, dares interrupt my court,
Within a web of spears,
The widow with eyes of fire,
Shouts,
"His Majesty, Your imperial highness, I hear
Your country won, What about the people?"
THE WAR
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 7:07 AM UTC
This I wear
As a widow wears her ring
To never take it off
Never ready to let go
Only Being able to forget for a moment
Living with regret
Living with remorse
Never to fully recover
I wear you to show my love
I will never take you off
I wear you as a widow wears her ring
I wear you my Bracelet
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 2:57 PM UTC
The Shrinking Season
by Michael R. Burch
With every wearying year
the weight of the winter grows
and while the schoolgirl outgrows
her clothes,
the widow disappears
in hers.
Originally published by Angle. Keywords/Tags: schoolgirl, outgrows, clothes, widow, disappears, winter, time, shrinking, season, atrophy, emaciation, bone, loss
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 5:12 AM UTC
My words are but shells of emotion
poorly imitating my thoughts
so why return to poetic devotion
and warmly embrace all I've fought
How do you decipher the incomprehensible
the unfathomable side effects of existence
what god resides here must think me dispensable
may it fear my thrashing and resistance
these stoic shells have returned presently
and like death they stubbornly prevail
when I fade into the unknown pleasantly
these words shall live on past my last exhale
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 9:17 AM UTC
i want to peel off
all my skin
out of punishment
for knowing it was once
touched by you.
tear away
bit by bit its memories
out of jealousy
that you’re gone
and it remains.
i will then
hastily tape it back
piece by piece
the only remaining artifice
of your earthly exploration.
it will be ugly-
it is ugly.
without your touch-
it is useless.
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 11:21 PM UTC
The silence it deafens me
with violence they threaten me
to carry me off to an asylum
unless I can provide them
with an ulterior motive
till I hand in my notice
relinquish the chains upon my bed
the fiendish brain inside my head
deviously plotting my own demise
take leave from this place to warmer tides
bathe my body beneath calmer skies
naked like the day I drew breath
naked as I stare upon death
one hand holding a crooked scythe
the other beckoning to me, my life
did you forget to count the die?
or forgo the countless lies
that made the Countess cry
neither man nor mystery could change her path
so it's left to me to rearrange the past
jigsaw pieces scattered upon my pillow
connecting dots to draw the willow
who could forget the weeping widow
that cried herself to sleep.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 6:52 PM UTC
It won't hurt like this forever.
One day, you'll wake up,
and the pain won't take your breath away.
You won't fear the coming day
that you have to do alone
and before you did it together.
And you'll pass their picture in the hallway
or the shoes you still can't throw out
or the cinnamon candies that you never liked
but that you'd give anything to smell on his breath,
you'll pass and look at them fondly
and you'll swear you can feel their arms around you
just for a second.
And it won't hurt so much when the feeling passes.
People will stop looking at you with pity,
and you'll enjoy lunches with friends again.
You'll all laugh as if nothing ever happened.
But the empty chair beside you
will be a testament that you just can't shake
although you'd never try anyway.
The pain you have and harbor
is proof that you loved
and lost
but loved, all the same.
It will never stop hurting
but you'll embrace the pain.
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 11:35 PM UTC
I am your wife,
I do not have your courage,
I have a soul which cries,
Which is restless,
When you are sent on the Front Line,
Not knowing if you would return alive or dead.
And if you return home,
Wounded,scarred with traumatic
stress disorder,
I become not a wife nor your widow,
Just your caretaker,
My soul bleeds.
19/2/2019.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 5:15 PM UTC
Do you hear the suffering,
and cries.
Do you see the desperation
in my eyes.
Do you see the drowning
of your lies.
Can you feel, Mrs. Black Widow?
Or is your heart black as coal,
and your mind void of hope?
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
I started with my dress,
The white one with the black flowery design.
I added my black scarf, draping it
Casually around my head,
Trying to stop my thoughts from drifting
To what I was dressing up for.
I slipped on my sandals and then
Slipped out the door,
Not slamming it because that felt like
An ending.
I didn’t want another ending.
Walking into the church,
The temperature went up 50 degrees,
And my anxiety went up 100.
I shook hands with the extended family,
Hugged your widow,
And comforted your grandchildren.
I made it through the opening liturgy,
Your favorite hymn, and the obituary.
I even stopped my tears from falling
During your granddaughter’s touching eulogy,
When she started sobbing up there on the altar.
Afterwards, I sat through the meal,
Everything tasting like cardboard in
My mouth as the temperature kept increasing.
Near the end of the night,
When the church was clearing out,
I went back to the food,
Craving a final bite of cheesy potato casserole
Before I could finally leave this night behind.
Yet when I get there,
The tray is cleaned out,
And there is no more cheesy potato casserole.
That’s when I finally break down and sob.
I didn’t get that last bite of
Cheesy potato casserole.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
Irate Woman
The woman was irate because she had received a Dear John letter
It stated that her husband's ship had vanished and he was MIA
The military was looking for it but it was an active war zone
Any in-depth search would have to wait till the battle was won
By then it could be too late for her dear husband and his buddies
What was their fate?
Were they even now clinging to life rafts
Or were they at the bottom of the seabed eaten by fishes
The cost of the most bitter war in human history
A conflict bigger than Jesus and ignored by God
Heathen men fighting religious men all killing one another
With equal efficiency and lethality for their respective governments
One result of this was the irate American woman who was now crying
Sadness replaced her annoyance and anger
It dawned on her, the fact: I'LL NEVER SEE MY HUSBAND AGAIN
She became more than irate
Decades of tears started to fall
That letter changed things forever...
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC