Lines Written Beneath A Picture
Dear object of defeated care!
Though now of Love and thee bereft,
To reconcile me with despair,
Thing image and any tears are left.
'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope;
But this I feel can ne'er be true:
For by the death?blow of my Hope
My Memory immortal grew.
Athens, January 1811.
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Love and Tragedy
Yes, I have loved with love
that was more than love
more than love,
Drove myself mad with this love
with this love,
Hoping to catch a glimpse of my love
my love,
Just seeing was not enough for me
seeing my love
my love,
So I met her, my true love,
And so true it was.
Yes, I married this girl with joy
with joy,
The splendid sense of so much joy
so much joy,
And I felt so much,
My heart melt,
melt with all my joy,
my joy,
Going to sleep with her, my true joy,
And so true it was.
Yes, I watched this girl die with sorrow
my sorrow,
The fire that did it also ignited my sorrow
my sorrow,
And there was nothing to console this sorrow
this sorrow,
my sorrow,
Even still into tomorrow,
No cope in hope to borrow,
so I stayed in sorrow,
my sorrow,
Going to sleep without my love,
my true sorrow,
And so true it was.
Yes, I heard those gruesome tolls alone
just me alone,
I stood looking at her stone while alone
so alone,
Minding on what to do, now that I'm alone,
alone,
so alone,
Listening to the bells of malicious tones,
Those horrifying, loud drones,
Those dreadful, terrible moans,
Those agonizing, tumultuous groans,
Of so many people who are also alone
just like me alone,
No one left, no one here,
I was happy once, but now I hear
The toll of those bells alone
so alone,
And my joy and my love,
Is now so far above,
Leaving me here so alone
alone,
May I hope she rests in peace,
Even through my pain's increase of sorrow
At least until tomorrow,
Where I will still be alone, truly alone,
And so true it still is.
poem by Andy Greenwald
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If Sometimes In The Haunts Of Men
If sometimes in the haunts of men
Thine image from my breast may fade,
The lonely hour presents again
The semblance of thy gentle shade:
And now that sad and silent hour
Thus much of thee can still restore,
And sorrow unobserved may pour
The plaint she dare not speak before.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile
I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And self?condemn'd, appear to smile,
Unfaithful to thy memory:
Nor deem that memory less dear,
That then I seem not to repine;
I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.
If not the goblet pass unquaff'd,
It is not drain'd to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.
And could Oblivion set my soul
From all her troubled visions free,
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drown'd a single thought of thee.
For wert thou vanish'd from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn?
And who would then remain behind
To honour thine abandon'd Um?
No, no - it is my sorrow's pride
That last dear duty to fulfil:
Though all the world forget beside,
'Tis meet that I remember still.
For well I know, that such had been
Thy gentle care for him, who now
Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him, but thou:
And, oh! I feel in that was given
A blessing never meant for me;
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven
For earthly Love to merit thee.
Dare to Hope
I will try to believe
With the voice you give
Like a thirst man on eaves
Gets water rains to live
I will try to believe
That the sun will never leave
Through the dark time of eve
The light shines from rift
I will dare to hope
And challenge to cope
Until one day it will
Be the love that win
When the wound already healed
Will you march to say goodbye?
When tears flow easily
Will you call beauty is a kind of lie?
I will survive, won’t be defeated
I won’t lose you this time
I will survive, won’t be defeated
I’ll bring you home with me
If there’s another tomorrow, there will be the gate to future
If there’s still the road in the world, my dream will walk to last home
If there’s always life survives the winter, my hope will live within them
I will survive, won’t be defeated
This is what I’m fighting for
Lay your struggling sorrow
Release your sadness slow
You’ll understand all
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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A Dead Friend
I.
Gone, O gentle heart and true,
Friend of hopes foregone,
Hopes and hopeful days with you
Gone?
Days of old that shone
Saw what none shall see anew,
When we gazed thereon.
Soul as clear as sunlit dew,
Why so soon pass on,
Forth from all we loved and knew
Gone?
II.
Friend of many a season fled,
What may sorrow send
Toward thee now from lips that said
'Friend'?
Sighs and songs to blend
Praise with pain uncomforted
Though the praise ascend?
Darkness hides no dearer head:
Why should darkness end
Day so soon, O dear and dead
Friend?
III.
Dear in death, thou hast thy part
Yet in life, to cheer
Hearts that held thy gentle heart
Dear.
Time and chance may sear
Hope with grief, and death may part
Hand from hand's clasp here:
Memory, blind with tears that start,
Sees through every tear
All that made thee, as thou art,
Dear.
IV.
True and tender, single-souled,
What should memory do
Weeping o'er the trust we hold
True?
Known and loved of few,
But of these, though small their fold,
Loved how well were you!
Change, that makes of new things old,
Leaves one old thing new;
Love which promised truth, and told
True.
V.
Kind as heaven, while earth's control
Still had leave to bind
Thee, thy heart was toward man's whole
Kind.
Thee no shadows blind
Now: the change of hours that roll
Leaves thy sleep behind.
Love, that hears thy death-bell toll
Yet, may call to mind
Scarce a soul as thy sweet soul
Kind.
VI.
How should life, O friend, forget
Death, whose guest art thou?
Faith responds to love's regret,
How?
Still, for us that bow
Sorrowing, still, though life be set,
Shines thy bright mild brow.
Yea, though death and thou be met,
Love may find thee now
Still, albeit we know not yet
How.
VII.
Past as music fades, that shone
While its life might last;
As a song-bird's shadow flown
Past!
Death's reverberate blast
Now for music's lord has blown
Whom thy love held fast.
Dead thy king, and void his throne:
Yet for grief at last
Love makes music of his own
Past.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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When Faith Runs Dry
When faith runs dry in times of stress
And sighs are all that's left,
I reach down deep and pray, 'God bless! '
Although I feel bereft.
Bereft of joy, bereft of hope,
Bereft of inner peace,
I ask the Lord to help me cope,
For troubles seldom cease.
I don't start singing happy songs
Or dancing round the room,
For they won't cure me of life's wrongs
As optimists assume.
It's faith and strength and courage, too,
Not wishful thinking, friend...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Unnoticed
It comes naturally because this one is from my soul
This piece of writing is a piece of the whole
It is a part of me because it describes my condition
That I'm unnoticed
This is my conviction
That this is a grievance which cannot be redressed
Because you've left me empty
No feeling of affirmation
Nor appreciation
You've left me
Because you just don't notice
I must confess
I do not even know if you care about me
If you'd care if you never see
Me again, would you lose sleep? Would yo miss
Me or just forget me like I think you would
Would you forget about me if you could?
What would you do
If I didn't talk to you?
Would you start the conversation?
Would you talk to me by your own volition?
Cause you've made me feel unnoticed and uncared for
I wish I could know for sure because 'Not Knowing' is the worst
'Not Knowing' is a curse
I wish we talked more
But what I want most of all (or at least from you)
Is to just know that you even care!
That you know I'm even there!
And if it's not too much to ask my dear
I'd love it if you enjoyed it when I'm here
With you, instead of making me feel unnoticed
But then just maybe I assume the worst and I'm mistaken
Just maybe you've always cared and never forsaken
Maybe I'm really a friend to you, if that's true I'm not sure what to do
Because now I'm convinced that you don't care and so I feel unnoticed
Maybe one day you'll read this and know it's about you
Tell me you cared all along
But shattered hopes have made me a cynic
And without your physical acknowledgment... a skeptic
So how could I hope
That you care about me, because I couldn't cope
With that shattered hope if it broke
So I won't make it, I won't have hope, so it can't be shattered
Instead I'll continue to live feeling unnoticed
Cause sometimes I feel you never thought I mattered
So farewell my love, this one's not forced
Farewell my love, not that you noticed I was ever here
Farewell, because I don't think you care, otherwise you would've said
So adieu, that means forever, adieu, adieu my dear
poem by David Knox
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Hope
Without hope the human race would simply not exist.
There would be no pain, no fate, no destiny or death.
For hope is a part of life itself, it defines the human race.
Without it doom would engulf our very existance.
Pain, sorrow and despair only serve to breed new hope.
Even as man's destructive war machine rages there is hope.
Hope for a life bereft of hunger, hatred and prejudice.
Or even a hope to die a swift and painless death.
All of mans dreams are born upon the wings of hope...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Perfect Timing
I've seen despair,
I've been crying.
I've seen the absence of air,
But all was fixed in perfect timing.
Irony takes a place,
All when I'm in agony.
Then came a face,
One that repairs and make empathy.
Hope soon blooms,
Then adjoined with one so dear.
Glance at these rooms,
Ones that used to strike one so hollow with fear.
Care found in one so void,
Found in the only thing that's true.
No more urges to be paranoid,
Now that I'm known to you.
I've seen hope,
I've been laughing.
I live and finally cope,
For unexpectedly, all was done in perfect timing.
poem by Leonardo David Tay
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Untitled 4
Mother! Darling mother, you are seeking me I know,
And I feel thy love will follow through the world where'er I go;
But I cannot come, dear mother; I am sadly altered now:
The once fair wreath of innocence that garlanded my brow
Has faded ne'er to bloom again; and from the things of yore-
The fair, the good, the beautiful - I'm severed ever-more.
My onward way must be a path of darkness and of pain,
But I must tread it all alone - I cannot come again.
Of all the changes that have come, I know that this will be,
Where all the changes have been sad, the saddest change to thee.
I know how much thou'lt weep, mother, for thy dear boy so lost,
And 'tis the sorrow thou must feel that makes me sorrow most.
I strove against this darker fate, I struggled, mother, long.
I starved and suffered months, mother, ere I was linked to wrong:
And even now good angels plead to win me - but in vain!
Once fallen is forever lost - I cannot come again.
I'm severed from thee by my sin, but cannot say 'forget,'
Thy love is such a hollowed thing, I ask it even yet;
But let it be a memory that images all fair
The child that with uplifted hands in faith knelt by thy chair.
Think of me, mother, as I was, when joy lit up my brow
And my young heart was innocent, but not as I am now.
Pray for me. This I know thou'lt do; but seek me not, 'tis vain!
I'd throw a shadow on thy home - I cannot come again.
They say that in desert drear some greenness may be found,
Some oasis in contrast strange to all the waste around,
And even thus, within my heart, guilt darkened though it be,
There is a love all-beautiful, that lives and clings to thee.
I'm weeping very bitterly, I cannot help these tears,
They are the tribute memory pays to joys of fleeted years,
Goodbye! God bless thee, mother dear! I sorrow for thy pain.
Oh! If I were but innocent, I'd gladly come again.
poem by Owen Suffolk
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Sonnet XXVI: I Ever Love
To Despair
I ever love where never hope appears,
Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care,
And my life's hope would die, but for despair;
My never-certain joy breeds ever-certain fears;
Uncertain dread gives wings unto my hope,
Yet my hope's wings are laden so with fear
As they cannot ascend to my hope's sphere;
Though fear gives them more than a heav'nly scope,
Yet this large room is bounded with despair;
So my love is still fetter'd with vain hope,
And liberty deprives him of his scope,
And thus am I imprison'd in the air.
Then, sweet despair, awhile hold up thy head,
Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Love Is Hope
If we lose someone close to us,
We feel a sting in our Loving Heart
They are love
They Are Tender
They are Care
Love is hope
Love is Family
Love is Friends
Love is Heaven
Love Is Desire
Love is Hope
Love in Death is impossible,
Love in life is sweet
losing those you love is saddening
Resulting a hole in that heart
Forever, life and Death
Love is always there
Family, Live or dead
still love you
From Beyond the netherworld.
Love is hope
In My Opinion
Love Is Dear
Love is true
love is there
But most importantly
LOVE Is Hope
everywhere, Even The Lord
God Loves you
His love eternal everlasting
His Love, his Son
Love is hope.
poem by Ashleigh Leona Mellon
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To the Memory of
I once could hope—alas! no more
Her bright wings wave for me;
The sunlit hours of life are o'er,
I weep, dear love, for thee!
And in those tears—and in that sigh
Will fond remembrance dwell;
'Tis all remains when dear ones lie
Within death's darksome cell.
So young! so pure!—alas! that thou
In marble tomb should sleep!
And leave the weary heart and brow
Thy vigils lone to keep.
And yet 'tis better thus than feel
The crushed heart's mad despair;
Alas! no balm those woes may heal
Love—death—have planted there.
Farewell! farewell! my buried love,
No pangs may wring thy heart;
Enough for me to gaze above,
To meet where none may part!
poem by Edward Henry Bickersteth
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Before the Birth of One of Her Children
All things within this fading world hath end,
Adversity doth still our joys attend;
No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,
But with death's parting blow is sure to meet.
The sentence past is most irrevocable,
A common thing, yet oh, inevitable.
How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend.
How soon't may be thy lot to lose thy friend,
We both are ignorant, yet love bids me
These farewell lines to recommend to thee,
That when that knot's untied that made us one,
I may seem thine, who in effect am none.
And if I see not half my days that's due,
What nature would, God grant to yours and you;
The many faults that well you know
I have Let be interred in my oblivious grave;
If any worth or virtue were in me,
Let that live freshly in thy memory
And when thou feel'st no grief, as I no harms,
Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms.
And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains
Look to my little babes, my dear remains.
And if thou love thyself, or loved'st me,
These O protect from step-dame's injury.
And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse,
With some sad sighs honour my absent hearse;
And kiss this paper for thy love's dear sake,
Who with salt tears this last farewell did take.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Despair Is Darkness
DESPAIR IS DARKNESS
Despair is darkness-
Despair is death inside and death in the world and death in one’s own sad soul-
Despair is no way out -
Despair is the place where one is forever stuck -
Despair is the realization that one has done what one could – and one is not going anywhere else-
Despair is the admission of failure-
Despair is no sign of help anywhere around-
Despair is so much lost-
Despair is one‘s life is over-
Despair is regret-
Despair is the sense that one will never have the time to have another chance -
Despair is ‘it’s finished’-
Despair is no way out-
Despair is going down and more down and more dark and more afraid all the time -
Despair is the scream which hurts and does not stop the hurting -
Despair is the understanding that even Death will not save one -
Despair is that the pain will never end-not even with death.
Despair is no way out again and again and again- without end.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Dream
It was the morning; through the shutters closed,
Along the balcony, the earliest rays
Of sunlight my dark room were entering;
When, at the time that sleep upon our eyes
Its softest and most grateful shadows casts,
There stood beside me, looking in my face,
The image dear of her, who taught me first
To love, then left me to lament her loss.
To me she seemed not dead, but sad, with such
A countenance as the unhappy wear.
Her right hand near my head she sighing placed;
'Dost thou still live,' she said to me, 'and dost
Thou still remember what we _were_ and are?'
And I replied: 'Whence comest thou, and how,
Beloved and beautiful? Oh how, how I
Have grieved, still grieve for thee! Nor did I think
Thou e'er couldst know it more; and oh, that thought
My sorrow rendered more disconsolate!
But art thou now again to leave me?
I fear so. Say, what hath befallen thee?
Art thou the same? What preys upon thee thus?'
'Oblivion weighs upon thy thoughts, and sleep
Envelops them,' she answered; 'I am dead,
And many months have passed, since last we met.'
What grief oppressed me, as these words I heard!
And she continued: 'In the flower of youth
Cut off, when life is sweetest, and before
The heart that lesson sad and sure hath learnt,
The utter vanity of human hope!
The sick man may e'en covet, as a boon,
That which withdraws him from all suffering;
But to the young, Death comes, disconsolate;
And hard the fate of hope, that in the grave
Is quenched! And yet, how vain that knowledge is,
That Nature from the inexperienced hides!
And a blind sorrow is to be preferred
To wisdom premature!'--'Hush, hush!' I cried,
'Unhappy one, and dear! My heart is crushed
With these thy words! And art thou dead, indeed,
O my beloved? and am I still alive?
And was it, then, in heaven decreed, that this,
Thy tender body the last damps of death
Should feel, and my poor, wretched frame remain
Unharmed? Oh, often, often as I think
That thou no longer livest, and that I
Shall never see thee on the earth again,
Incredible it seems! Alas, alas!
What _is_ this thing, that they call death? Oh, would
That I, this day, the mystery could solve,
And my defenceless head withdraw from Fate's
Relentless hate! I still am young, and still
Feel all the blight and misery of age,
Which I so dread; and distant far it seems;
But, ah, how little different from age,
The flower of my years!'--'We both were born,'
She said, 'to weep; unhappy were our lives,
And heaven took pleasure in our sufferings.'
'Oh if my eyes with tears,' I added, 'then,
My face with pallor veiled thou seest, for loss
Of thee, and anguish weighing on my heart;
Tell me, was any spark of pity or of love
For the poor lover kindled in thy heart,
While thou didst live? I, then, between my hope
And my despair, passed weary nights and days;
And now, my mind is with vain doubts oppressed.
Oh if but once compassion smote thee for
My darkened life, conceal it not from me,
I pray thee; let the memory console me,
Since of their future our young days were robbed!'
And she: 'Be comforted, unhappy one!
I was not churlish of my pity whilst
I lived, and am not now, myself so wretched!
Oh, do not chide this most unhappy child!'
'By all our sufferings, and by the love
Which preys upon me,' I exclaimed, 'and by
Our youth, and by the hope that faded from
Our lives, O let me, dearest, touch thy hand!'
And sweetly, sadly, she extended it.
And while I covered it with kisses, while
With sorrow and with rapture quivering,
I to my panting bosom fondly pressed it,
With fervent passion glowed my face and breast,
My trembling voice refused its utterance,
And all things swam before my sight; when she,
Her eyes fixed tenderly on mine, replied:
'And dost thou, then, forget, dear friend, that I
Am of my beauty utterly deprived?
And vainly thou, unhappy one, dost yield
To passion's transports. Now, a last farewell!
Our wretched minds, our feeble bodies, too,
Eternally are parted. Thou to me
No longer livest, nevermore shall live.
Fate hath annulled the faith that thou hast sworn.'
Then, in my anguish as I seemed to cry
Aloud, convulsed, my eyes o'erflowing with
The tears of utter, helpless misery,
I started from my sleep. The image still
Was seen, and in the sun's uncertain light
Above my couch she seemed to linger still.
poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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WoULd YoU CaRE iF i.....
WoULd YoU CaRE iF i.....
i look at myself, falling apart, such a mess
so when I cry out of distress
don’t act like your deaf
would you care if I left?
would you care if I died?
would you care if you seen all the tears I have cried?
so if u see me today and not tomorrow
don’t feel sorrow
cuz even if I burn in hell
id be better off, so oh well….
but i ask you this
what will you miss?
what will reminded you of me?
a photo? Something you see?
a special lyric?
so lets hear it…
it just may be the only thing left behind
it will have to do, because, I cant handle this im going out of my f-cking mind
poem by Andrea Rivera
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Transfiguration
Mysterious death! who in a single hour
Life's gold can so refine
And by thy art divine
Change mortal weakness to immortal power!
Bending beneath the weight of eighty years
Spent with the noble strife
of a victorious life
We watched her fading heavenward, through our tears.
But ere the sense of loss our hearts had wrung
A miracle was wrought;
And swift as happy thought
She lived again -- brave, beautiful, and young.
Age, pain, and sorrow dropped the veils they wore
And showed the tender eyes
Of angels in disguise,
Whose discipline so patiently she bore.
The past years brought their harvest rich and fair;
While memory and love,
Together, fondly wove
A golden garland for the silver hair.
How could we mourn like those who are bereft,
When every pang of grief
found balm for its relief
In counting up the treasures she had left?--
Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time;
Hope that defied despair;
Patience that conquered care;
And loyalty, whose courage was sublime;
The great deep heart that was a home for all--
Just, eloquent, and strong
In protest against wrong;
Wide charity, that knew no sin, no fall;
The spartan spirit that made life so grand,
Mating poor daily needs
With high, heroic deeds,
That wrested happiness from Fate's hard hand.
We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead,
Full of the grateful peace
That follows her release;
For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.
Oh, noble woman! never more a queen
Than in the laying down
Of sceptre and of crown
To win a greater kingdom, yet unseen;
Teaching us how to seek the highest goal,
To earn the true success --
To live, to love, to bless --
And make death proud to take a royal soul.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Gone, but still here
Her name was the most beautiful thing that came to me.
Her appearance would bring joy to my heart.
Her words would take sorrow and despair away.
Everywhere i turn, i see her.
I try to forget, but it's too great to do so.
She has been gone for years now,
but her love still haunts me.
Like a never ending love story.
She is gone, but i still feel safe,
I feel no sorrow,
I feel no despair.
I still see her in the face of others.
Her voice still brings me joy.
I have realized she is gone,
But she is still here....
poem by Ricardo Flores
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R. S. S., At Deer Island On The Merrimac
Make, for he loved thee well, our Merrimac,
From wave and shore a low and long lament
For him, whose last look sought thee, as he went
The unknown way from which no step comes back.
And ye, O ancient pine-trees, at whose feet
He watched in life the sunset's reddening glow,
Let the soft south wind through your needles blow
A fitting requiem tenderly and sweet!
No fonder lover of all lovely things
Shall walk where once he walked, no smile more glad
Greet friends than his who friends in all men had,
Whose pleasant memory, to that Island clings,
Where a dear mourner in the home he left
Of love's sweet solace cannot be bereft.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Summer's Love Soon Forgotten
Her eyes match the color,
Of a bright summer sky,
when our love was born,
In the grass,
And in the park,
That day
Memory filled weeks,
Turned into despair,
the love built so tall,
Began to fall so fast,
trying to stretch,
Through all the miles between us,
I came back
Time and time again
Waiting for that dream of love
Remembered at summers eve
That one day summers long past
Will come again
And the love almost forgotten
Will return full and strong
So that love no longer tears,
like a thorn through my heart,
but gives me hope for reason of such despair,
because he who does not hope
does not hope to love
poem by Trent Delomel
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