The clouds move on, the earth turns grey;
The happiness I felt, has quickly gone away;
The whisper of the wind, seems to call my name;
I try to respond, but it seems I’m not the same;
Time elapses slowly, into the universe;
It’s definitely not a pleasure, nor is it a curse;
Nothing seems to matter, no one seems to care;
I reached out to touch you, but you’re not really there;
Everything I see, and everything I feel;
Sometimes seems like a dream, where nothing there is real;
I grasp onto reality, and try to play this game;
But every single thing, always remains the same;
The mist is finally fading, the truth is here to stay;
The illusions are finally passing, the lies have gone away;
But reason cannot save me, tears will not heal;
I’ve giving it some time, to see what will be revealed;
No one has the answers, no one holds the key;
I’m wishing for a miracle, that you’d belong to me;
Until then, I’m lost with my solitude;
Lost in this window, with no view.
(by Liz Waller)
Pain stuffed inside of me
Can’t let anyone near me
Can’t let anyone see the real me
Can’t let anyone even hug me
All this pain that’s held in me
Why can’t anyone see the real me
Why can’t anyone help me
Why can’t someone just hold me
All this pain that’s eating me
Can’t let go of the pain in me
Can’t get this pain from me
Can’t get this pain out of me
When will the pain stop hurting me
Why can’t I just feel me
Why can’t I just be me
Why can’t someone take this pain from me
(by Kimberly J. Russell)
Words I can’t express
Thoughts I can’t explain
Somewhere in the sunlight
I’m destroyed by the rain
I feel so numb and empty
Maybe in this life
I’ll somehow find the ending
To my story, to my lie
He sees me as I’m beautiful
He tells me I’m his world
But something has been missing
Deep inside this girl
When I woke up this morning
I wondered if it’s time
To try my best to be myself
Stop my attempt to hide
And now I am just drowning
Suffocating once again
Not knowing what my life should be
Not knowing who I am
( by Tabitha S. Tackett )
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question ‘Whither?’
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
(by Robert Frost)
When life as opening buds is sweet,
And golden hopes the fancy greet,
And Youth prepares his joys to meet,–
Alas! how hard it is to die!
When just is seized some valued prize,
And duties press, and tender ties
Forbid the soul from earth to rise,–
How awful then it is to die!
When, one by one, those ties are torn,
And friend from friend is snatched forlorn,
And man is left alone to mourn,–
Ah then, how easy ’tis to die!
When faith is firm, and conscience clear,
And words of peace the spirit cheer,
And visioned glories half appear,–
‘Tis joy, ’tis triumph then to die.
When trembling limbs refuse their weight,
And films, slow gathering, dim the sight,
And clouds obscure the mental light,–
‘Tis nature’s precious boon to die.
(by Anna Lætitia Barbauld)
I measure every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.
I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.
I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.
I wonder if when years have piled–
Some thousands–on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;
Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.
The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,–
Death is but one and comes but once
And only nails the eyes.
There’s grief of want, and grief of cold,–
A sort they call ‘despair,’
There’s banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.
And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,
To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.
(by Emily Dickinson)
Do not stand at my grave and forever weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and forever cry.
I am not there. I did not die.
(Mary E Faye)
Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesnt matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesnt always understand.
(by Czeslaw Milosz )
Don’t tell me that you understand.
Don’t tell me that you know.
Don’t tell me that I will survive,
How I will surely grow.
Don’t come at me with answers
That can only come from me.
Don’t tell me how my grief will pass,
That I will soon be free.
Accept me in my ups and downs.
I need someone to share.
Just hold my hand and let me cry
And say, “My friend, I care.”
Love lingers. Her perfume
I smell all around me. Her voice
I hear soothingly in my dreams
where she still lives. Her touch
awakens my skin and my soul.
Her smile is etched in my mind
where it warms my heart. Her pain
speaks to me of her courage, the
strength of her last days. Her
gentleness is reflected in those
who gave her care. She vanishes.
And I am overwhelmed with grief.
But her love lingers
and gives me strength.
(by Richard Fife)