"weeper" poems
When things get tough,
She cries a little.
….
Every single time, she contemplates it,
If it’s portraying her as weak,
Or is it okay to cry a bit?
What if it’s actually making her weaker?
What if her biggest fear is creeping it’s way out of the pit?
….
She holds herself, push back the tears,
But all her efforts aren’t worth,
All it takes is two words,
From someone, her presence who seeks,
And she lets two drops roll down her cheeks.
….
When things get tough,
She cries a little,
Then,
She buckles herself up,
In the end, only she gets a little tough.
….
Love ❤️
Jun 13, 2021
Jun 13, 2021 at 8:30 AM UTC
1
Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his grain;
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums—so shrill you bugles blow.
2
Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets:
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds;
No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—Would they continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow.
3
Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley—stop for no expostulation;
Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer;
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;
Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties;
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the hearses,
So strong you thump, O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.
4.8k
Hail, sister springs,
Parents of silver-footed rills!
Ever bubbling things,
Thawing crystal, snowy hills!
Still spending, never spent; I mean
Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene.
Heavens thy fair eyes be;
Heavens of ever-falling stars;
’Tis seed-time still with thee,
And stars thou sow’st whose harvest dares
Promise the earth to countershine
Whatever makes Heaven’s forehead fine.
Every morn from hence
A brisk cherub something sips
Whose soft influence
Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips;
Then to his music: and his song
Tastes of this breakfast all day long.
When some new bright guest
Takes up among the stars a room,
And Heaven will make a feast,
Angels with their bottles come,
And draw from these full eyes of thine
Their Master’s water, their own wine.
The dew no more will weep
The primrose’s pale cheek to deck;
The dew no more will sleep
Nuzzled in the lily’s neck:
Much rather would it tremble here,
And leave them both to be thy tear.
When sorrow would be seen
In her brightest majesty,
—For she is a Queen—
Then is she drest by none but thee:
Then and only then she wears
Her richest pearls—I mean thy tears.
Not in the evening’s eyes,
When they red with weeping are
For the Sun that dies,
Sits Sorrow with a face so fair.
Nowhere but here did ever meet
Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.
Does the night arise?
Still thy tears do fall and fall.
Does night lose her eyes?
Still the fountain weeps for all.
Let day and night do what they will,
Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still.
Not So long she lived
Will thy tomb report of thee;
But So long she grieved:
Thus must we date thy memory.
Others by days, by months, by years,
Measure their ages, thou by tears.
Say, ye bright brothers,
The fugitive sons of those fair eyes
Your fruitful mothers,
What make you here? What hopes can ‘tice
You to be born? What cause can borrow
You from those nests of noble sorrow?
Whither away so fast
For sure the sordid earth
Your sweetness cannot taste,
Nor does the dust deserve your birth.
Sweet, whither haste you then? O say,
Why you trip so fast away?
We go not to seek
The darlings of Aurora’s bed,
The rose’s modest cheek,
Nor the violet’s humble head.
No such thing: we go to meet
A worthier object—our Lord’s feet.
2.4k
Read, sailors, read
Try your best to make blinking your only sleep
Time is so tightly wound that
All the blinking, crying birds could not fathom
You have been given a mighty, starstung ship
With sails so wide they could cover your reality
Use these sheets not to sleep, but
Fly them like monster kites
Rest, doves, rest
The fear that you feel at the bottom of your breast
Will be spat out like a pacifier
In time
On time, you'll glide into familiar arms
No farms could reach you there
You're no chicken, no better but
Your claws no longer scratch earth's flesh
Your hands have no need for dust
Peace, hawks, peace
All your empty handed armies have no hands
Softly stroking your mud won't do
It has taken its own shape
Of some concern to your mould
Speaking of which, moss grows soft
It has its own place but
Beds are for sleepers
You, friend, are a weeper
Time, patience, time
There is so much time you should not rush
Rather, be pushed by the hush
Come home to your family
A weary, winded traveler
Pull up a windmill
Grind up piecemeal
Some flesh cracks
and crystals don't relax
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
Stop badgering the witness!
Love is a mysterious thing poker face
Even though we tend to think of soul mates
as a symbiotic union, we have to be open-minded
Marriage is a business transaction
*We've all had nights we can't remember...
or wish we could forget*
as we all recalled it was the mindset
that triggered strong emotion into an explosion
that separate the thing called love.
It’s have been more than twenty odd years since
the Weeper's victims left over tears, that never faded.
the dead never felt neither pain nor anger
The jury is still deliberating long and hard with miles
to go on the public views, so once again
if the gloves don't fit you must acquit
Stop badgering the remaining witnesses America
Love is a mysterious thing, poker face
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
We are, each of us, equals
our stories capable of producing sequels
Forged in the fires of love
in the eyes of makers above
every one, from the richest of all
to the lonely weeper
we are all equal in the eyes of the reaper.
time has made us weak
and the end is what we seek
all of us, created the same
whether or not we are bathed in fame
from the mightiest beast
to the birds of the feast
we are all equal in the eyes of the reaper.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 3:17 AM UTC
Let Me Go
Let me go I'm not a keeper
I feel your touch getting weaker
No more crying, no more weeper
Even when I'm sinking deeper
Let me go I'm not a holder
I feel your touch getting colder
No more leaning, no more shoulder
Every memory getting older
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 9:16 PM UTC
I saw her sitting there
In a small round chair
Locks made of gold
Just like her soul
She looked up at me
But surely couldn't see
For to all I'm invisible
But she was truly incredible
A voice like a whisper
"Who are you mister?"
I flashed a small smile
And looked at the child
"It matters not who I am
My sweet little lamb
Your time has run out
No need to pout"
Slowly she started to stand
And reached for my hand
She wasn't a weeper
Just a girl with the Grim Reaper
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 12:33 PM UTC
Penitent weeper,
Why weep you on this dew-kissed morning
When life so justly fills every crevice.
Prostrate yourself not
Before the idols of man.
Man knows little enough
And of that,
Respects not
That which he cannot use easily
And without mercy.
Rather, dry your eyes
The better to clearly see
Stand, the better to be closer to the sun
and feel its light fill your face.
See the person who shines before you
and know who you are.
Copyright/All Rights Reserved Audrey Howitt 2011
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 7:51 PM UTC
A pact was made in a creek under the conopies of green trees
the water cool and the air fresh with life
You asked for my hand, placing it by your beating heart
promise never to let go, we'll find our way through the dark
I never questioned your intention, Believing with all I am
Every word off your lips. I the sacrificial lamb
Words in our hearts forever not to break or fade
On my heart, you carved your initials with a blade
Not the promise but its keeper not the promised but the weeper
The creek has run dry. the air thick with regret.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
Sandy Hook: When the Fates Allow...
December and the replay endless:
**"From now on our troubles will be miles away,
Here we are as olden days,
Happy golden days are yours,
Faithful friends who are dear to us,
Gather near to us once more.
Through the years we'll all be together,
If
The fates allow"**
This careless, unguarded atmosphere,
This season...this irony...
Grief besotted, Secret-weeper,
Days/hours-hours, now months later.
All of us perishable, all of us diminished.
Days pass, anguish angry persists,
the bitter herb remorse greater grows,
You, devil, in the details,
The fates don't easy permit to let
Time succor sorrow to leave.
All of us, joined, hand holding,
The living and passed,
In the valley of dried bones
Where dreams-dismembered,
Rivers of desperate-dismay
Turned aside and
And on that day when:
The breath of the fresh fates
Wash and bleach with great tenderness,
The evil put upon the broken bones.
The shrouded shadows of the valley,
Bent, banished, sundered, yet now,
Surrendering to the only
Immutable law of human emotion,
A hopeful voice.
For the radio reminds us!
T'is the season to remember
Our peculiar, American anthem,
Faithful friends who are dear to us,
Gather near to us once more,
Through the years we'll all be together,
Not if never if but when,
Please!
When the fates allow.
Dec. 22, 2012
Updated: June 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
The Grim Reaper
Is an alcoholic weeper
Searching the earth
For souls lost at birth
He lays his bare knuckle against my door
I welcome him, another sailor washed ashore
He offers a drink which I do not take
I am allergic for goodness sake!
However, I offer him an ear
Everybody needs someone to sit and hear
What he does not know is that I've been to hell and back
I have walked through his abysmal black
I have lived where there is no life
My world tends to be nothing but trife
I feel his pains, as I have felt
I cannot deliver what has been dealt
The Grim reaper has left my home
Left free to wander and roam
He walks out looking like me
Walking around triumphantly
He became me
Before I became bones
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
"Sleep no more."
The girl hangs her head in shame.
"Sleep no more."
Says the rich man in vain.
"Sleep no more."
Cries the mother in pain.
"Sleep no more."
A teenager lies alone.
"Sleep no more."
Whispers the wind all alone.
"Sleep no more."
We say as our true selves are shown.
It does not matter who or what you are.
If you are a rich man or a lonely weeper
We are all equal in the eyes of the Reaper.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
Let you know a story of the sweepers
They were no fools, they did not take the weeper
Every dime they made
They built their own brigade
She tinkered on, she did, the sulky sailor
He dreamt another job, the timid tailor
Surely, they’ll cross paths
Where the money’s at
A fantastic sail
Carried by a gale
Gallop down the windpipe
Of the sea-coloured stripes
The beggar found his riches off the starboard
We reach for that which we can never afford
A sandy rune in time
Our happy, crooning crimes
When pruning eyes quickly peruse the wheel
The boy quickly rises to show his seal
Beyond comprehension
Beyond condescension
Do away with looking glass
Steel your ship with trumpet brass
The world will only sway for you
If you take heed and start to move
A fantastic sail
Carried by a gale
Gallop down the windpipe
Of the sea-coloured stripes
When they reached the land they became meek
The weary scrambled to seek out the creek
To drown their riches in
And start alone again
Is it such a crime they are now strangers?
Fast and loose, when you befriend for flavour
They hold the memoir
They know that they’ve come far
The fantastic sail
Carried by the gale
They galloped down the windpipe
Of the sea-coloured stripes
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
in the dark my value haunts me.
"you're a worthless failure",
"you're never going to amount to much"-
those words attack on repeat
and are only calmed by a lover's touch.
but why don't you drive your daggers deeper
and reduce me down to a thoughtless weeper
who feels nothing but despair and deep, deep anger?
all from words from the one i call "father".
don't you see what you're doing?
don't keep coming for me, don't keep pursuing
me as your daughter! i know why i'm running
away from all the pain that you're causing.
don't try to repair it,
your damage is done,
and i'm gone...
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
Oh Somnus*, tell me something,
Why not my Muse* in my dreams?
I’d long to see him for anything,
Or at least be with him in the streams.
But alas, other Muses which I never called
Kept on taking me to Lethe*.
I’d clasp my hands away from them, and behold,
Be onto Elysian Fields* where I can breathe.
I long more for his hands to reach
And take me up for Olympia*.
Maybe Hera* can permit our breach
For to enjoy a taste of ambrosia*.
But what of my Muse, you say,
That inhibits him to see me?
Is he too pure like how we pray,
Or is he really my reality?
Then decree, “Awake, O Sleeper!
Lucifer* will show the passage,
And perhaps Aphrodite* will hear you, weeper,
Grants your wish of a love lasting than age.”
So for now, I shall await for my Muse,
Even if Fate* says we’ll meet after a long time.
Then maybe to Hermes* I will fuse.
After all, is sending my blessings to you not a crime?
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
A redundancy,
I smell disdain.
No escape from the pungency.
A failure to break the chain.
A hole grows,
Inside while only one knows.
You, the keeper,
of the inner weeper.
Why wasn't there a difference?
No time to change?
A guess made from inference.
With 10 years, how strange.
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 9:26 PM UTC
Candles burn brightly guiding the sight cruising from midnight unto daylight....aforesight dreams of daily scenes, images in magazines, all at the turn of the hands of the clock.
And so the **** crows.
He gets up your nose, he begs you awake.
Strangle the noisy beast.. the tone on the cell phone that steals your sleep.
Where cobwebs hide behind the eyes of the sticky sleeper, tear filled weeper. starlight sweeper, secret keeper, chaste with tight, secrets hid in the night.
Locked inside here where shadows hid, where love's denied and shall all shall hide, for never ever rest in peace ,of raging dreams and stolen sleep.
Of parapets and parakeets that keep you away from rest,the
noisy birds they are the best.
Locked inside there was two of us now there's only one.
He melted in the heat of a vibrant summer sun.. a puddle on the pavement, a melted mess of sticky stuff, missing sleep, mourning love.
***** tonic and all that stuff.
(C) Livvi
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
On the road to self-recovery, there's a lot I discovered about me.
The different perspectives and views of my path shed the light to reveal the good and bad that I have.
On my way to self-discovery, I find out who I want to be; able to release the negativity positively.
The choices I make and the paths I take are the ones that could break any strong man and bring him to wake.
Taking a trip to transcendental realization with simple meditation is an education to an eye-opening sedation.
Finding a purpose is lifelong and never ending; mind bending along with spiritual rending and mental mending.
Different levels beyond our comprehension in other dimensions await our explorations.
Eyes are the true window to the soul; the hole to see us whole.
Look deep enough and see the journey of our being and all the beautiful things.
Look deeper and gaze upon the weaker, inner weeper silently accompanied with the reaper.
Various vibrations and universal sensations connect all creation in abstract deviations.
To feel so deep, to laugh and to weep, to close your eyes and see all the beautiful things are what set us free.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
Heartbreak and disappointment
dimmed by the laughter that escapes
and jokes that are made
letting me escape
the aching pain.
Forming a defence of
flowing endorphins
preventing it from sinking deeper.
Although I am sure by night
I would be a weeper.
Which is alright,
pain and disappointments
are a part of life
there is no harm to feel,
to acknowledge to heal.
But one must not dwell
for it is a part of a
better plan that
awaits for ones fate.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Youthful One, Blessed God's Fingered Hands Youth
How we met in this White Dimension fill
And read your Verses with Roads of Fine Truth
Does mend my Doubtful Moments for the ****
Such were the Visions imprinted at Hand
Which the Gun and the Weeper beg for Place
Yet *** these Minuses for Creation's land
Your Fashion by purpose ignites my face
Now, for your friend's Warring Moments let Balm
So your Connection induce their own Growth
Just let those same Verses promote their Calm
And see how long will Inspire their Worth.
Then she arrives. And your Gift no longer kept
To feed this Dying Earth after she wept.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Does it not Make sense,
To want to end
Your own life?
To comence the deed
That for you,
MUST be done
To undo the life
That was so carelessly
Bestowed upon you
Does it NOT MAKE SENSE
That all these 'Little things'
Are causing my miseries
That they have written my ending?
That these DRAMA'S
Have destroyed the beginning
Before it has begun!
The Bell! The bell!
The bell has been rung.
And down they slide
A poison a knife
More tears for sacrifice
Help! Help!
The Heart is gone!
Anguish has taken,
The lights been forsaken
The song...the song!
The song has been sung.
No going back.
To smiles and cheers.
All that is left...
Is pain and tears.
Because the DEAD cannot DIE
Without leaving behind
More hurt to be sold.
Leaving love to cry Why
And letting it shrivel away
Inside.
The bell...the bell
Yes the bell hath been rung.
A beginning Destroyed
Long before it begun
This is no prayer,
For the lovers and weeper
Or the pleaders and mourners.
This is no prayer at all.
For death and the Dying ,
Now in their coffins they lay
Have made their beds,
So you see
This is a poem for the dead.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
Squint your eyes and wade a little deeper
cry a lot and next time,
hold on and you will keep her.
'Loser, weeper
wade a little deeper
drown your goodbyes in the sea,
perfect but not
perfectly.
Salt and water mixing well,
squint your eyes and they will tell
of sunlight bouncing off the night,
you might be deep enough right now
cry some more
see how it feels,
if time heals everything
you'll be okay,
the sea weighs nothing on your mind
find yourself and
squint again as you wade out
once more.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
"The Fallen Star"
Upon a storm-torn eve, when thunder roared,
And lightning danced with heaven’s silver sword,
A star, once bright in midnight's velvet dome,
Was struck and flung far from its starlit home.
It plummeted through clouds in tearful blaze,
Its brilliance lost in fire’s cruel embrace.
To Earth it fell, to fields of emerald grain,
Where fireflies danced in quiet, warm refrain.
No crown of light, no golden rays remained,
Just stardust weeping where its soul was chained.
The worms and beetles welcomed it with grace,
And taught it how to smile in that dark place.
It learned to hum the songs of moss and dew,
To cherish stars not only born, but grew.
It wandered paths where twilight softly crept,
And in the arms of humble earth, it slept.
But lo—one eve beneath the willow tree,
It glimpsed a silver photograph set free:
A picture of the moon, so high and wide,
Reflected in a puddle by its side.
Its stony heart began to throb and ache,
A thousand memories did swiftly wake.
The songs it sang with sisters in the skies,
The glow it wore—a jewel in night’s guise.
And from its eyes, long dry, the tears did stream,
Each drop a loss, a wish, a shattered dream.
The fireflies blinked, confused by such a sight,
As grief eclipsed what once had learned delight.
It cried until the morning broke the dark,
Its final breath a whisper, soft and stark.
Then stardust rose, in shimmered veil and gleam,
To where the moonlight weaves the weeper’s dream.
There, in the sky’s embrace, its soul took flight,
And kissed the Moon—a reunion of light.
No longer bound to Earth’s forgiving crust,
It lived again, in love, in stars, in trust.
Apr 19, 2025
Apr 19, 2025 at 4:45 AM UTC