Sorrows cannot all be explained away in a life truly lived, grief and loss accumulate like possessions.
quote by Stefan Kanfer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Survivor of My Griefs
I admit...
There is much in my own hometown,
I am not aware of that exists.
Most of my time spent,
Has been done healing from grief.
And growing into adulthood.
And the other part of my life,
Has been lived far away from sorrows.
And today I can say,
I have been blessed to have lived that way...
Far away from sorrows.
And growing into an adulthood,
I can now live knowing...
I am a survivor of my griefs.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Beyond the grief.
It seems as if we are stalled by our grief,
unable to move away from it – and I wonder
if we will ever get over the loss of you. In time
they say we will, that one day we will finally be free
of the sadness that burdens our hearts, and we will dance
in our remembrance, and there will be no more tears.
But if that's true, I must admit I will miss the tears
when there is an eventual easing of the grief.
I am not as eager to begin the dance
of life without you, for the world has lost its wonder
for me, some of its shine - and being free
seems awfully relative - I suppose just like time.
I can still so clearly recall the last time
we were all together - the tears
we shared, even laughter, when you were set free
of this earthly pain - and even in our grief,
we were filled with such wonder
as we witnessed the end of life's dance.
When I was a little boy you used to let me dance
on the top of your shoes, moving in time
to the music on the radio. Is it any wonder
that music, to this day, brings tears
of joy, mingled with the ever-present grief,
which still has not set me completely free.
I now realize there is a cost to love; it's not free -
for when you love, you buy a ticket to the dance
of life - which comes with joy and pain, celebration and grief.
And if you have lived a long enough time,
as I have, even when the loss brings never ending tears,
with a broken heart, it's worth all of the pain, and it's no wonder
people love so fiercely - so much so that they cease to wonder
about the why, when or where - and now I realize that I am free
to love, and to lose, which will bring with it many tears.
But each tear is worth it - and seems to make the dance
more authentic. In the end, I will measure my time
by how much of it was filled with love, and with grief.
No longer will I wonder whether or not I should dance,
I will just be free, stepping in and out of time,
wearing my tears like a badge of honor as I move beyond the grief.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Our Lady of Sorrows (Feast day: September,15th)
O Lady of Sorrows! Please hear
Our grief and add them to yours, dear;
With swollen eyes and bloody tear,
You showed to farmers near.
‘To farmers two,
At Milan’s Rho,
When they came to
See you! ’
The blessed pieta
Became a miracle
Bringing millions to
The Griever’s Basilica!
The blood-stained kerchief lies
In a silver reliquary;
As proof of the miracle
To world today, it stays!
With dead Christ on her lap,
His mother seated, grieves;
Besides her sorrows own,
Mankind’s too, she receives!
O heart of Mary pure,
What sorrows, you endure!
For love of Christ and God,
You suffered for our Lord!
Mary’s most holiness
Won her the grace of God,
To bear her sorrows all,
And sufferings, so odd.
None could predict ever
Or gauge her sufferings;
Since Simeon’s prophecy,
She suffered silently!
The Virgin bore a Son
By Holy Spirit’s power;
She had to see Him die
For man’s sins on cross!
What pain had filled her heart!
How anguished she felt from start!
Her Son and Lord, her life and love
Had to suffer and depart!
Despite her immense grief,
She lived obeying God,
Unafraid of sin,
For glory of the Lord!
By Will of Heavenly Father,
She whole-heartedly agreed
To be Christ Jesus’ Mother –
Her Son divine, she loved.
She witnessed Son suffer:
Flogged and crowned with thorns;
Spat at, rebuked and mocked;
Bleeding, thirsty and fall!
His pain went through her bone;
His bruises cut her skin;
The lance that pierced his side
Brought bloody tears like tide.
All things, she had to bear,
Though Son’s life was so dear;
With God’s Will always near,
From obedience, she didn’t veer!
Her heart bore, her Son’s cross!
His death was greatest loss!
Yet, He was Lord and Boss,
And on third day, rose, because!
“O Lady of Sorrows, Pray for us! ”
Copyright by Dr John Celes 15-9-11
poem by John Celes
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Today I Had to Forgive Myself (My Life Is Meant to be Lived)
I saw something I had never seen before,
Once I looked beyond my own sorrows.
I lifted my head and saw an open door.
A light was shining through,
To show me tomorrow.
With promises I once wished,
But had not pursued.
I lived with a stagnation...
That came and overstayed,
A temporary reservation...
I made when feeling down,
And knocked out!
Drugged on self debasement.
Feeling nothing could replace...
This empty space within me.
And I knew then...
If I was to walk through that door,
Today I had to forgive myself...
And not let my burdens feel too welcomed.
As I had done countless times before.
Tossing my pain and self doubt about!
They could stay for as long as they wanted!
And entertain grief that came to visit.
But I had no intentions to remain with them,
Sustaining their attention or their comfort.
I kept deep within to repeat again and again.
A hollow search I felt had no end.
My life is meant to be lived.
Not to sit and forget to refresh my perceptions.
My life is meant to be lived.
And when I made up my mind,
I knew I would find...
A release of darkness that would diminish.
Once I allowed my guilt to deplenish,
I prepared to say goodbye to despair!
Knowing to leave that behind me to become fully aware...
My life is meant to be lived.
My life is meant to be lived.
My life...
Is meant to be lived.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What is loss?
I resent
What loss represents
I resent
What great loss presents
So what’s the fuss about loss?
Waiting!
Debating!
Contemplating!
What is loss?
Something you care about
Taken away from you by force
Creating total unforgivable chaos
Thinking!
Blinking!
Seeking!
What is loss
It is a minus instead of a plus
Hence the unmistakable fuss
Death and sickness build up great grief
Loss brings despair instead of relief
And in loss itself I have no belief
I resent
What loss represents
I resent
What great loss presents
Loss! An inequitable cause
Thrown on you without a toss
So you become very cross
Because in your life you realize, you are never the only boss!
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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May Your Sorrows All Be Gone
When luck decides to touch your soul
When someone gives you a hand to hold
An angel in disguise, knocks at your door
I'll be your friend and even more...
Dont feel remorse or let darkness engulf
We can never find answers to the above
I can promise you I'll be your friend
I 'll share your sorrows till the end
So let me help you cope with grief
With time you'll find some relief
May your sorrows all be gone
May you find peace and carry on...
May God give you the strength to bear
Inevitable loss...they need your prayers.
poem by Meena Mustafa
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A grief ago
'There is no grief
which time does not lessen
or soften' -
so said Cicero, a man so often right;
a Stoic, those for whom
all life presents a lesson
to be learned from,
and then, to move on from..
But I wonder about all this:
is grief ever lessened or softened?
Is it not, perhaps, overlaid
in our so various ways?
For some, grief framed and falsified
to ease that grief;
For some, like hyacinths and crocus bulbs,
left in a dark cupboard in the autumn of our grief
to respond to time, and
become at last
themselves?
gently, gently, the covers pulled
over the loving bed,
the true, the pure, the lovely painful grief,
the memory deep cherished,
gently, gently, folded
into the cupboards of the heart
there to be known, without the door disturbed
until the time - 'a grief ago' as Dylan wrote -
the cupboard opened only for love's sake
without grief...:
those carefully folded memories
brought out and loved
and lived a while...
not grief, not grief...but
the pure memory of grief
and behold,
life.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Rich men accumulate money; the poor accumulate years.
Grief Is Never Having To Say I Grieve
Your grief has been too heavy
I don’t know how much grief buries you down
Please let me weep with you
Please let me weep with you
Like the others, I adore you for keeping up with life
I could imagine how you cry in your thoughts
How like blade, grief cuts your heart, your throat,
the top of your skull - slowly
Like wars in history, there are no exits
and there are no choices
If you were there, you had to face those rattling guns
Plead, please plead
Remember “Our Lady of Sorrows'
Mary carried part of the grief Jesus has
been carrying to save us, during the crucifixion
Mary had no one with her
She was helpless, yet in those moments
God’s strength kept her unmovable and brave
How long does grief stay?
People are not things
How long does grief stay?
If you lost something, you can always build it again
How long does grief stay?
If you lost someone, and someone, and someone
again, in any way – they are part of you
For as long as you live, grief changes into
remembering happy days with each other
Grief becomes faithfulness
Grief changes unto faith
Those drops of blood, while Jesus prayed in the garden
Is grief
Grief is never having to say “I grieve, ”
but “I love, ”
This is how long grief stays.
poem by Rosalinda Flores Martinez
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Loss is sustained
Every loss gives me a grief.
What remains then gives me relief.
Relief thus encompasses the grief.
Every loss is well sustained.
09.07.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I am beginning to have a healthy dread of possessions, be it of a country, a house, a being or even an idea. If we are bothered by possessions we cannot really live either from without or from within; we are the possession of our possessions. All wars and most loves come from the possessive instinct. Why grab possessions like thieves, or divide them like socialists when you can ignore them like wise men: that you may belong to everything and everything be yours inclusive of yourself. Could we, and we can, have the vital necessities for all, we should do away with this cry of class and begin to differentiate between individuals.
quote by Natalie Clifford Barney
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Man is subject to innumerable pains and sorrows by the very condition of humanity, and yet, as if nature had not sown evils enough in life, we are continually adding grief to grief and aggravating the common calamity by our cruel treatment of one another.
quote by Joseph Addison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sorrow Makes One A Hero Tomorrow
Without sorrow life is zero
We must accept fate's arrow
If our efforts are thorough
Our sorrow, God will borrow
Sorrows nicely shape our mind
Sorrows stop our being blind
Via sorrows, remedies we find
Sorrows are indirectly kind
In the absence of sorrow
Our mind does not grow
We think not like a hero
Our attitude is made narrow
Sorrows must be overcome
For which efforts we welcome
At last strong we become
This is sorrows' outcome
Our will-power, sorrows increase
To our heart, sorrows supply grease
Our talents, only sorrows release
In a gist, sorrows supply peace
Every sorrow at last dies
Not because of our cries
But because our soul tries
Life and success, sorrow ties
Sorrow less person is none
Sorrow is sure, if life has begun
'Sorrow trains brains' is a slogan
Sorrow is a tamable dragon
In sorrow, all must dip
By coming under its grip
All are lashed by sorrow's whip
To every life, sorrow makes a trip
Now sorrow will somehow vanish
But you cannot fully relinquish
Further sorrows, time will furnish
From life, sorrow, none can banish
Life and sorrow are closely associated
By life, sorrow is very much fascinated
By sorrow, peace is initially confiscated
Sorrow grows when life is sophisticated.
poem by Mailrangam Visvanathan Venkataraman
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He Rode On a Bus
Since he rode on a bus,
They believed him to be without powerful allies.
Since he rode on a bus,
They believed him to be limited in influence.
Since he rode on a bus,
And lived amongst the poor and not the rich...
He was disrespected more.
But only a few knew,
His worth was more than this.
Even though his funds were limited.
And since he chose to ride on a bus,
He knew he could do what he wished.
His life was not lived to acquire material possessions.
His life was lived for him...
To enjoy every bit of it.
Being there with the people,
As his experience.
And if he rode on a bus...
That was a piece of 'his' happiness.
No explanations did he have to make,
Since for him this was a perfect fit.
Unlike the others,
Who expressed pretentions...
Every chance they would get.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Know This Poor Bloke
I know this poor bloke in the mood for suicide
And he has felt heavy hearted since the day his wife died
Some five years ago his ache of loss from him not gone
And till the day of his death his grief with him will live on.
I do meet him often though not every day
And for words to him I always feel stuck to say
He always talks of his dead wife and the grief that he feel
And for him I feel sorry since his sorrow is real.
On his sense of loss with him I sympathize
And each time I see him he has tears in his eyes
My condolences to him I already did pay
But the grief that he feels it is with him to stay.
The price of true love it can come at a great cost
And he is left to mourn for what he has lost
One in his late sixties his hair silvery gray
And the clock on his life it is ticking away.
A man due to grief in the mood for suicide
Though he is one now I would rather avoid
Since each time I meet him he talks of his dead wife
And I am one who needs laughter in my life.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It is better to die than to preserve this life by incurring disgrace. The loss of life causes but a moment's grief, but disgrace brings grief every day of one's life.
Possessions dwindle: I mourn their loss. But I mourn the loss of time much more, for anyone can save his purse, but none can win back lost time.
Loss Of...
Loss it seems is the worst kind of sorrow
Loss of dreams, the dreams of tomorrow
Loss of the moments you two should have shared
Loss of opportunities to show her you cared
Loss of the memories you both could have created
Loss of the romance once intense as you dated
Loss of a kiss, caress, or embrace
Loss of that special feeling no one else can replace
Loss of a look, the twinkle in her eye
Loss of the touch as you pass each other by
Loss of a future, from a past of regret
Loss of a last chance, how many do you get
Loss of a promise you never meant to break
Loss of two hearts that forever will ache
(2012)
poem by Michael Ernst
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Had I lived another life
Had I lived another life
~
Had I lived another life
What would I have to show in equal years
Would I be loved instead of just loving
And know the lasting secret to another’s heart
How would I then count my mistakes
Would my company be welcomed not accepted
It is a fruitless thought to be considered
For the never will be a known answer
I am but the sum of all my years combined
I harbour my guilt and shameful pride
Those words I wish to take back
And the others I now wished I had now said
Had I lived another life
Would I carry these same regrets
Would I know sorrows of yet another unkind
There are things which have shaped me
That I would happily go back and change
Perhaps in another life I may well feel the same
For all the unknown reasoning’s
One thing stands out as a certain
That life is a gift, a gift to the living
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Good Friday
O my chief good,
How shall I measure out thy blood?
How shall I count what thee befell,
And each grief tell?
Shall I thy woes
Number according to thy foes?
Or, since one star show'd thy first breath,
Shall all thy death?
Or shall each leaf,
Which falls in Autumn, score a grief?
Or cannot leaves, but fruit be sign
Of the true vine?
Then let each hour
Of my whole life one grief devour:
That thy distress through all may run,
And be my sun.
Or rather let
My several sins their sorrows get;
That as each beast his cure doth know,
Each sin may so.
Since blood is fittest, Lord to write
Thy sorrows in, and bloody fight;
My heart hath store, write there, where in
One box doth lie both ink and sin:
That when sin spies so many foes,
Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes
All come to lodge there, sin may say,
'No room for me', and fly away.
Sin being gone, oh fill the place,
And keep possession with thy grace;
Lest sin take courage and return,
And all the writings blot or burn.
poem by George Herbert
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