"sorrowed" poems
Take my hand
Let's get away from here;
Let us escape the intensity,
That is reality.
Let us wander:
Into the realms of imagination,
The spectacles of fantasy,
Stopping not once.
To reach the light, we must travel through the dark
Past the broken hearts
Past the sorrowed days
The dark is immense.
Past the antecedent
We walk through the perils of life
Of love, if it exists,
This is an uncertain time.
At last, the light approaches,
We reach the area of escapism,
But alas it's tampered
With the remnants of solace.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:41 PM UTC
O Krishna, Lord of Hindustan, I sorrowed by the lonely Jumna river bank, where Thy flute-notes thrilled the air and led the lost calves to their homes. O Lotus of Love, musing on the sad absence of Thy delusion-dispelling eyes, I saw Thine invisible Spirit take form, frozen by my devotion's frost.
Thy divine form of sky-blue rays, with feet of eternity, walked on the banks of my mind, planting lasting footprints of realization there. I am one of Thy lost calves which followed Thy flower-footprints on the shoals of time. Listening to the melody of Thy flute of wisdom, I am following the middle path of calm activity, by which Thou hast led many through the portals of the dark past into the light.
Since all of us are of Thy fold, whether moving, sidetracked, or held stationary by the fogs of disbelief, O Divine Christ-na, lead us back to Thy fold of everlasting freedom. O Krishna, Thou reignest on the heart-throne of each knower of Thy love.
From: Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
7.4k
~
*If teardrops are your jewelry
A frown drawn on your face
And sadness seems a way of life
With dark outlines to trace
When clouded days of sorrowed gray
Now cover up your sky
And questions fill your weary mind
Always asking why
Just know that as the walls cave in
Distorting every view
No matter how alone you feel
I'm always here for you*
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
Another left,
another's gone,
my brother's tears,
my sorrowed song,
time is fleeting,
time is lost,
death touched his hand,
death's final cost.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
There is a Year part from which is assigned
Asides from your Truce to cover and rest
Till then, your Crafted Show to Fame consigned
My Girl's Centenniary will look its Best
This I Pledge, by the added Fifty-Four,
Honouring the Godfather I borrowed
If still, no Sound, least Assignment for more
Shall I conclude all my Efforts sorrowed
By then, to see and calculate for once
Despite I embrace this Familiar Ghost
This Truth - to Drill my steeling nerves upon
And cross-hair your Freedom which mattered most.
By that time, I should look for Someone else
Though in my Conscience I cast the same Spell.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
weary of mothers and friends
losing their children,
before their time,
weary of failing
to achieve reconciliation
with whatever one nominates
the force that regulates,
fate, Name-Your-God,
deity of your choice,
nature, laws of physics,
the "whatever"
that controls, interferes,
that you think to believe
wills these event's occurrence
non-randomly
cessation of formalities,
one sided truce
signed and delivered,
unafraid to call this
what it is,
**** and damning fate,
for no god
could be so cruel...
If only there was a
Dislike button
for life and the poems
wrenched from death
at 5:00 am
this thought is my
sole inhabitant
once again,
nature's bosses distort,
another friend's grief
asks, cajoles me
to betray my/thy belief
banish it or me,
for we both cannot be
cohabitants
under the one roof,
of this limited mind,
where flailing
poems
never good enough,
failing
to express my
sorrowed rage
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
Willow herb floating
on silent certainty
ashes of sighs
not fleeting,
unvapoured on the
blossom of the rain,
I am too light to
pull or push
the swing of delight
through this land.
The rain left me for a
while
sun unshielding
-a thousand widows
more unyielding than the depths . .
Once shadowed whisperers
of delight,gossamer
sparkling , descending
their chains
of necromantic hope.
Lilith is no night owl
she is mother, eve
and my becoming:
sweet earth spun
at once ,
exhaling her .
The see saw
bumped gently
on my chin
it is a most gentle
form of awakening.
The silence bore no whispers
till sinking through the quicksand
-or was it quicksilver?
-in any case I could smell little
in my amniotic amnesia.
I made ten thousand friends,till their soap
made this place clean.
Is this a seed or a dying
hopefulness
-is my sallow sowing
beyond all shores of
reproduction;
a reflection of the child
they dared not bear?
Is my last breath like this
a forgotton yielding
will they catch me
as I fall ?
-(sweet earth)-
This moth of my ending,
a shallow recantation,
my fears-
their memories, mere
testubes of
stylish hope .
I breathe the elegant stare
you have forgotten .
Once more free
from such
rememberance
I need not ,
remained not ,
your imploded ,
wakefulness .
A thousand pardons
exhaled like silk
entwining
an unfinished race
spider of a thousand eyes .
One may say
I was
stared
to death
but surrogate air
mocks childish pity.
Taut refelexions
bear salt echoes
in silk convulsions
fresh water
a veneered hope .
Easier in death than life
is a child's sorrowed
partings ,
the illusion of
bouyancy
rippled tides
unfelt.
The oceans have not enough salt
for such shrunken sorrow.
if we could but once
have shared
unbreathed aspersion .
The room has come and gone
the pillow quite undry
unforgotten
unremembered.
A web untouched
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:46 AM UTC
In my own shire, if I was sad,
Homely comforters I had:
The earth, because my heart was sore,
Sorrowed for the son she bore;
And standing hills, long to remain,
Shared their short-lived comrade's pain.
And bound for the same bourn as I,
On every road I wandered by,
Trod beside me, close and dear,
The beautiful and death-struck year:
Whether in the woodland brown
I heard the beechnut rustle down,
And saw the purple crocus pale
Flower about the autumn dale;
Or littering far the fields of May
Lady-smocks a-bleaching lay,
And like a skylit water stood
The bluebells in the azured wood.
Yonder, lightening other loads,
The seasons range the country roads,
But here in London streets I ken
No such helpmates, only men;
And these are not in plight to bear,
If they would, another's care.
They have enough as 'tis: I see
In many an eye that measures me
The mortal sickness of a mind
Too unhappy to be kind.
Undone with misery, all they can
Is to hate their fellow man;
And till they drop they needs must still
Look at you and wish you ill.
2.6k
I don't love him but he's here and you aren't
And he doesn't ******* hold my hand, all he does is **** me
And god forbid that god forbids you from being near me
Because when I see nothing but headlights and tire tread I think of salvation
I will hold onto you tighter than my father when he came home and told me I'd hate him
We don't speak anymore except about the time you were supposed to kiss me but instead I felt my jaw shatter
And he still wishes his fist could've done the same to yours as a 16th birthday present for me
But I guess you've never liked my voice so why would you wanna hear it
My tongue falls back into my throat like words I've choked on in front of you
If you came back, even as a dream, I would fill half a glass and let you decide if I'm emptier
I have the audacity to think I meant something more to you than to your temper
And I never needed a lighter to play with fire when baby, I had you
I fear fences because the one in my front yard couldn't keep your voice out
I'd gate off my mind but I'm sure I'd still fear January the 1st and I might even miss you
I always loved your hands even when they were breaking me
Even if they've made me flinch at a raised hand or a friendly pat on the back
I ******* hated the roadmaps in your arms because they couldn't guide me out of your grasp
I knew you were dangerous but I was excited by the fear of getting caught with you
I told you, "I am too ******* young."
And I felt more electricity in your fist hitting my cheekbones than I ever had in your lips
Even when I lay my sorrowed mind on his silk sheets I cannot fall asleep anymore
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Because you needed a ***** in the House.
A sweet *****
An awful *****
A lousy *****
A dreadful *****
A lonely one,
A hopeful one,
A very very brave and powerful:
Real Hateful one.
A scarry *****
A mighty *****
A tired one...
A ****** filthy 'son of a gun' one!
The poor ***** that got broken,
AWW!
The sad ***** and pitiful,
The pretty *****
Oh my Word! Oh, my Lord!
The charming and the jumping,
The petty...
The wonderful and working.
The stupid ***** you can't live with,
The one you can't live without.
"Better dead than that bad"
The natural *****
The great *****
"You little *****
The unnaturally something *****
"My, my! The ***** that was
Is still mine!"
The healthy *****
The stealthy *****
The common *****
The extraordinary *****
A proud piece of rotting ****
Your people, chosen or not disrespect.
The rotting *****
Romantic *****
The famished *****
And thirsty, eyes wide open,
Thinking ***** the doer *****
The coldest *****
You trending *****
You want them
All !
You want them
The wealthy *****
The famous one,
The popular, loved n' hated one
The lofty one,
Superior one.
The Princess ***** you'll have to work for her and her lawn.
The never tired *****
The always hard to take,
The better *****
The one to money-make
Come true
The never wrong but needed *****
Adored, much worshipped
Set free, caught in a web,
A bottle of champagne,
A cup o' tea,
A thought for thoughtful a *****
Who used to be too thoughtful,
Too loud,
Too something this and that,
To wrong.
Oh, faithful *****
Caught by all ******* love
For Gold and money and Fame you fall,
You have to.
Oh, sick of it,
Oh, knowing-it-all!
Creative ***** what have you done.
Inventive ***** illustruous *****
My teaching a good lesson *****
Thank you for helping me around.
Because you needed an idiotic *****
A parting one,
Departing one,
An angry gal, good, sorrowed one.
Luckily a ****** one,
A greedy, thirsty for clean waters one,
A helplessly dreaming *****
A needy one, needing a good witch,
The learning for better
In sickness and health,
Cleaning the wound, help mending a heart hurt
- gal!
A helpful one,
Much funny one,
A stronger one,
A stubborn one,
One to catch worms
Like every other one.
A witchy ****** annoying bitchey
Because without ******* what would be?
Oh what this world could be?
May 14, 2021
May 14, 2021 at 3:26 AM UTC
Finger nails gnaw
Bare flesh rips
Blood spills
Over sorrowed hands
Now ribs crack
Then give way
Fingers tunnel
through flesh
Past bone
Then curl
Triumphantly
My hand pulls back
Raising up
Towards the heavens,
I hold my beating heart
Dying breath
Grasps it firm
Piercing it with
Thorny spike
And sets alight
My wretched body
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
I t seems it was my fate to be
Introduced to this addiction
Born by way of bloods descent
Mixed with generations past affliction
I have watched them sink so lowly
Into the depths of selfish little cracks
Like burdens of un-human kind
Carried on their children’s backs
Feeding on the scraps in life
Of those who struggle to survive
They care not for a child’s grief
When their addiction comes alive
It passed me by with sorrowed grins
Longing and obsessed by what it craved
I watch in mourning as your gift
Of any tomorrow was enslaved
You took the food from our mouths
To dine in the belly of the beast
On our tears and misery you fed
Addiction boasted of its feast
All of you just wasted away
Right before our haunted eyes
The depravity of selfish want
No longer wanted its disguise
I left your addiction to starve
Within its bowels I did divest
IT chokes within my bitter heart
While YOUR life he can digest
I am sickened by the display of false fault of the perverse
I won’t fall prey to your depravity or this ****** up family curse
I know it’s lurking round every corner waiting for me to descend
It's the shadow hounding at my feet and the cycle without end
There’s a needle in my hand
And a bottle of gin on the table
I would smoke this entire bag of ****
If my lungs were able
There are lines drawn out across my mirror
begging for my endless attention
There are hundreds of little jagged pills
That laugh at your impending intervention
There is heaven here
In this ecstasy and elation
Making love to all these drugs
Through oral copulation
It’s not any one of these drugs
That gives way to my endless contradiction
I have found that escaping my pain
Is my only true addiction
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 6:01 PM UTC
I miss you,
when the wind flows like music
through the trees.
And I hear it as I once did your laughter.
I miss you,
when the sun sets
and I see it as I once did your smile
beneath your now sorrowed eyes.
I miss you,
when the stars hang high
and I find myself cold and alone in the dark,
for lack of your warmth.
But I miss you most at night,
when I wake up in an empty bed
searching for what's not there.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
.
I choose to breathe for every breath is free
Calmly bound of tempted drizzled fears
Slow dancing on the desperate dying wind
Placing endless hope against the flow
This does come
beyond iron gates of broken trances
to sing
undying wishes upon deaf ears
Fractured in meanings and senses known,
these wrinkles form a favored mask
Donned in apprehension of a wilted feeling
Sleek and slender, along a poisoned vine they grow
Challenging
in endless streams of sorted need
Stead fast
with chains of charmed tethered truth
Cartoon headstones with scribbled crayon names
cast darker shadows beneath the edges of sanity
Ripped and tattered these empty voices scream
my name in echoes bearing nothing more than seen
As I cry
my tears sprout wings and flee from my face
I fall to my knees
finding only the jagged earth to rest
Desires cling to the massive arbors of life
Dreams falter along a winding creviced cliff
Nothing laughs like the air upon my sorrowed face
and I choose to breathe for every breath is free
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
A senseless work of art
that is what I am
a being without heart
to you I'm not a man
I miss the smell of ecstasy
desire burns my soul
my tears will acid be
ending me in whole
I miss the taste of passion
saline on my tongue
now its only ashen
like a near-dead smoker's lung
I miss the sight of jubilance
a thing for sorrowed eyes
your beauty was the evidence
reason for my demise
I miss the sound of springtime
dancing on your voice
now I see a pantomime
in which joy is not a choice
I miss the softest caress
as our lips would lightly brush
now my minds a mess
my body on a rush
I miss your vibrant groaning
as I penetrate your mind
and the sound of your moaning
when we explore the find
I miss your pulsing heart rate
felt through your tightening skin
and how I debate
our affection is a sin
but then you said you loved me
and that you were here to stay
but ripped my heart in pieces
as I watched you walk away
so now I live a empty life
always missing you
wondering if, through your strife
You might be missing me too
A senseless work of art
that is what I am
a being without heart
to you I'm not a man
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
Leaves fell
amidst snow's descent
Leaves grew
under sun's ascent
Times changed
and memories faded
Times changed
and I grew jaded
I was always concerned
am I left behind
will I yet grow more
is the deadline due
when will she get here
I am so **** late
I am so fed up
there's so much on my plate
I blew a fuse
my bell was rung
my clock ran out
there loads the gun
but before I go
I ask of time
what is your name
what have I done?
A gentle touch
an eve of peace
a staircase looms
a wreath of fleece
adorns me now
I make a vow
to see what waits
'pon yonder bow
it held my hand
and took me hence
to arid peak
to distant land
and there I saw them
low and weary
stooping dreary
sorrowed
teary
I said can't they see!
They need but wait
for their sorrows will end
by time it will be sate
and satan's hold
his clutch will loose
they shall be free
like airborne goose
but I saw myself then
like roast on the table
Thanksgiving dinner
feast for the sinner
of course they're broken
of course they don't know
because time waits for no man
man waits for time...
Another journey
to far-flung ages
where machines roam free
and lords are sages
people commune
in a peace distilled
from forgotten wars
from absence of pills
I saw them congregate
like ants in a colony
working in unison
for each other's grace
and there was a feeling
like waking from dreaming
how timeless it all was
where peace was manifest
But just like that
I was pulled from the panacea
from the vision of victory
from the dawn of destiny
a saw pain as prophecy
I saw pleasure as peasantry
I saw passion as poetry
I saw power as illusion
I saw my struggles as choice
I saw my misery as vice
I saw my vices as voices
voting down my ambitions
undermining my plans
I then strove for strength
I then fought for freedom
I then stood for salvation
I found the purpose I'd always run from
and it was then
that I heard the voice of time
It said you are my name
and you shall wait no longer
for you wait for no man
you are man no more
you are an agent of change
and the future is yours!
Mar 30, 2022
Mar 30, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC
Wind blows. Snow falls. The great clock in its tower
Ticks with reverberant coil and tolls the hour:
At the deep sudden stroke the pigeons fly . . .
The fine snow flutes the cracks between the flagstones.
We close our coats, and hurry, and search the sky.
We are like music, each voice of it pursuing
A golden separate dream, remote, persistent,
Climbing to fire, receding to hoarse despair.
What do you whisper, brother? What do you tell me? . . .
We pass each other, are lost, and do not care.
One mounts up to beauty, serenely singing,
Forgetful of the steps that cry behind him;
One drifts slowly down from a waking dream.
One, foreseeing, lingers forever unmoving . . .
Upward and downward, past him there, we stream.
One has death in his eyes: and walks more slowly.
Death, among jonquils, told him a freezing secret.
A cloud blows over his eyes, he ponders earth.
He sees in the world a forest of sunlit jonquils:
A slow black poison huddles beneath that mirth.
Death, from street to alley, from door to window,
Cries out his news,--of unplumbed worlds approaching,
Of a cloud of darkness soon to destroy the tower.
But why comes death,--he asks,--in a world so perfect?
Or why the minute's grey in the golden hour?
Music, a sudden glissando, sinister, troubled,
A drift of wind-torn petals, before him passes
Down jangled streets, and dies.
The bodies of old and young, of maimed and lovely,
Are slowly borne to earth, with a dirge of cries.
Down cobbled streets they come; down huddled stairways;
Through silent halls; through carven golden doorways;
From freezing rooms as bare as rock.
The curtains are closed across deserted windows.
Earth streams out of the shovel; the pebbles knock.
Mary, whose hands rejoiced to move in sunlight;
Silent Elaine; grave Anne, who sang so clearly;
Fugitive Helen, who loved and walked alone;
Miriam too soon dead, darkly remembered;
Childless Ruth, who sorrowed, but could not atone;
Jean, whose laughter flashed over depths of terror,
And Eloise, who desired to love but dared not;
Doris, who turned alone to the dark and cried,--
They are blown away like windflung chords of music,
They drift away; the sudden music has died.
And one, with death in his eyes, comes walking slowly
And sees the shadow of death in many faces,
And thinks the world is strange.
He desires immortal music and spring forever,
And beauty that knows no change.
1.6k
Its so much easier to cry in the dark
Why?
You may ask
Well, I feel like a black hole
Devoid of air
Everything beautiful gets dragged down
Down into the deepest hole of my chest
My greedy sorrowed soul
Searching for an eternal light
Something I can grasp onto that wont break off
That I wont drag down or push away
Flowers trying to grow along the base of my skull
Trying to sprout through the toxic darkness that lingers
Its so dull inside my head
Everything in me as charcoal gold
What I am implying is
When its pitch black I am one with the dark
And my soul.
Theres nothing I can poison or destroy
Thats why its so much easier to cry in the dark
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
~
Falling beneath dark skies
No sunlight finds my face
Lost within bramble and prickly thorn
Tearing at my heart, shredding tiny pieces
What little remains that I can feel
Broken branches splinter
Wilted blooms release no scent
Diluted hydrangea tear drops
Weeping of loss, never ending
Transparent silhouette faintly flutters
A butterfly fades into the shadows
Disappearing from this place
Where my smile once bloomed
As I cry with the sorrowed flowers…
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
what drifts between the mired lines of fate and dreams sets free the sorrowed wakening of the harrowed heart.
in cold rapture, time stands still with every word exposed and seen through touching, gazing eyes
each moment gone before begets the forward, eternal march unto dawn
the good bestows lawful effortless bounty of what was always meant to be
two hearts beckon upon each other in torment and rapture, anxiously seething one another
patience values the faithful wrought with time and humbleness
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
Like having casual tea with a casualty,
you’re boring me to death.
Can you stop wasting air talking
of your last breath?
While heartlessly seeming,
while your heart’s still beating
you should put your pulse to use
For each song cannot function without a beating heart
And a beautiful one we’d lose
Do you want to have your sheet music
buried under sheets,
never to be seen nor heard nor felt
or even worth caring?
Let beauty flow through sorrowed songs,
with every breath you take
don’t bore us all to tears with such a
fatal mistake.. If life you take..
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
through shattered glass a broken mind
in one lone voice terse and cleansed
speaks unspoken thoughts of rusty will
nestled in spirit's brawny grasp
winged notions lay in wait
on woodless edges of fate's forest
relenting for relent's sake
heart-shaped clouds bleed sorrowed sheets
blanketing a clown of shame
huddled atop nervy stilts
embedded in the muck of mourn
furious fields forge fires of rage
a sweltering stench stands tall
in lockstep a ghosts parade
foggy silhouettes stop and gaze
watching, waiting, wanting
to rob future's grave of treasures past
scratched and bruised and battered lands
tattered bands of dreamscape caravans
timeless sands, spineless hands, heartless clans
among these, fate is planned
a distant city stands to fall
infidels shall cringe and crawl
brotherhood of hate begun
redemption of man undone
©Jason Cole
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
Life belongs to Monday morning.
Still, I'm haunted by Sunday teatime.
Scones in the parlour at the back of the house.
With mamma and poppa and sweet baby Jayne.
Toasted crumpets together,and drank hot cups of tea.
The crumpets were toasted upon a huge open fire.
Jayne had been sleeping in the cot by the door.
Too young to eat crumpets and scones, she's not allowed tea.
The baby still sleeping remains in the parlour.
It's warmer in there.
And so to the drawing room with round rosewood table.
Nature of the cloth thereupon changed.
It's marked with the symbols of a, b and c.
A painted on canvass that ends with a zee.
It's crimson, edged with gold.
In the centre a YES and a NO.
Centrally placed a wine glass.
Knock knock on the door.
Now there are five.
Tonight the table may come alive.
They're hoping.
A standard lamp, rather dated stood in the corner.
Had a scarlet shade with golden tassels.
They sit round the table.
It's just what they did.
Fingers on glass.
They're calling out.
"Is anybody there?"
The room becomes chilled.
Atmosphere stifling.
Glass moves around the circle.
A...R...I....E.....L.....spellbinding.
'Twas the spirit of the dark poet,Plath.
Darkness from sorrow, no more tomorrow.
Another spirit in attendance.
Takes Sylvia by the hand.
Into the light, escorted by guide.
Goodbye sorrowed poet.
Walked into the light.
Goodnight.
Sleep tight.
(c) Livvi MMCV
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
“Why not?”
The question seems so silly—childish even—and yet it is the single question we most likely will fail to answer. Why not let me have one more candy? Surely that candy would not be the fast demise of my teeth, sending me to the dentists with rotted roots and gums. Why not dance in the rain? The clothes will dry as the sun will rise and merry memories will have been collected. Why not allow yourself to open your heart?
Ah, the ever-slippery question: why not love? Even more slippery still, the answer; but though it is well known that love is great and powerful, power and greatness leave in their wake fear and destruction—for to give unto another so wholly and completely is to lose some of yourself for the sake of the other; essentially, an emotional diffusion. Perhaps it is this fear that we are losing ourselves at our own hand but for another that terrifies us.
Or maybe it is the fear that others will dissapoint us that has made this generation the lonely and sorrowed. Often, I find myself listening to the people around me put their self worth into the way another person perceives them—and only ever do they find morose disappointment. When ever do people live up to the expectations we bequeath them? The answer is never. We always expect too much; and because mind-reading is not yet a feasible science—we are washed each day with frustration and confusion. Why doesn’t he understand how I feel? Why not?
We’ve begun to whine and self-pity our mouths dry.
It’s time that we realize that it isn’t a question of “Why not?” but a question of, “Why not yet?” For we have so much potential brewing beneath us; we have literally moved mountains and charted the stars. Our virtual realities which have so often robbed us of true interaction need to stand aside as real world action and self providing takes place.
Because why not?
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:56 AM UTC