Doing Nothing
WITH the sorrow on me
Neighbours come and go —
Think me vain and foolish
Nursing up my woe.
With the grief-blade in me
Keen and chill as steel —
Can I laugh like others,
Feel the joy they feel?
Since he died and left me
Things don't matter much,
Life, that danced and capered,
Limps upon a crutch.
Night and day I ponder,
Drawing weary breath —
Since to love we're moulded,
Why should there be death?
Night and day I'm asking
Him Who dwells above —
Since to death we're going,
Why should there be love?
When he kissed and left me,
Oh, he looked so brave! —
God be with him sleeping
In his far-off grave!
What are dress and jewels,
What are meat and bread
To a lonely woman
Grieving for her dead?
Wan I am with weeping,
Tired of heart I sink —
Doing nothing . . . only
Trying not to think'
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Related quotes
Vain Death
ALL the first night she might not weep
But watched till morning came,
And when she slept at dawn, she heard
The dead man call her name.
The second night she watched and wept
And called on death for grace,
And when she slept before the dawn
She saw the dead man’s face.
The third night through she laughed as one
That knows her way to bliss,
And in the instant ere she slept
She felt the dead man’s kiss.
She rose and faced the flickering fire
(And oh, but she was fair!),
Like a wild witch behind her danced
The shadow of her hair.
She took her penknife from its sheath,
The tender blade she kissed,
And by the firelight’s dying leap
She bared her little wrist.
And where the vein ran large and blue
She cut, once and again,
Yet ere she swooned from life, she knew
Her death had been in vain.
For while life thundered in her ears,
Ere yet her pulse might fail,
Far off across the kindless night
She heard the dead man’s wail,
And knew her doom was one with theirs
That kill the life God gave,
And that she might not leave this earth
Her soul alive to save,
But ay must dwell within that house
As in a living grave,
While he for whom she died might ne’er
Win to her in that place,
But must for ever make his moan
Ranging in agony alone
The trackless void of space
poem by Archibald Thomas Strong
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Life Or Death?
Every day we live, we always face death
We get closer to it, every time we take a breath
Life is special but death brings peace
Life brings reality and things you believe
Death is hard for everyone around
Death is quiet, no more bad sounds
Life is also hard, all the things we go through
Life can never be easy, no matter what you do
Death is sad, for those who cry
Death is meaningful, for those who die
Life is a work of art, it's nice to look
Life is full of teachings, like an open book
Death is the new life, might as well be dead
Death is a lot more, for what's up ahead
Life brings new things, always something new
Life brings surprises, something out the blue
Death is scary, nothing we want to see
Death is negative, a place we don't want to be
Life is full of love, with the ones close to you
Life is full of money, for those who sue
Death is empty, nothing compared to this
Death is a lot of things, too long of a list
But life is everything; don't wait till there's nothing left
Death can wait, so don't waste your last breath
So just pick your choice, which one? Life or death?
poem by Triauna Hall
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A Painful Love
If I became crippeled or maimed
Would I have your love or just your pity?
Would you cherish and take care of me?
Or would you put me in a nursing home?
And go on with your life, as if I never existed
I would never want your, pity only your love
If I should ever become that way, just let me die
Your love so cruel, hardly ever a touch
In my time of need, when I love you so much
You turn away from me, as if a polite stranger
But it must be love, because I feel no danger
You don't beat me or abuse me, so it's got to be love
There is no tenderness or any understanding
Just day to day living as two polite strangers
I love you I do, my heart beats only for you
Is our love just so hopeless or is there a chance
That we can find our way back to each other again
Sleeping in the same bed so lonely and cold
If loneliness could kill I'd already be dead
Am I not worthy of your love as i once was?
You break my heart over and over again
You can't even see the pain I endure
The pain of the awful silence when we are together
Can't talk to you all alone with my pain
You say if you didn't love me, I wouldn't be here
But if I left I wouldn't be missed or looked for
My heart is dying inside, and you can't even see
So once more I love for nothing in return
Why do I try so hard to make you love me?
So i'll not leave, live without love just companionship
I'll pretend everythings ok, and love won't matter anymore
You didn't even know when I died inside
Going through the motions of acting alive
I feel such great pain over so much from the past
You can't see the many scars I carry inside
You weren't there, their buried deep in my mind
I don't blame you if you don't want to love me
I wouldn't want to love me either!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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Death's Dance
One cold winter's night amid a storm
I heard a knock at the door
It was Death asking to warm himself
Beside the fire so I let him in
You may think I was insane but quite the contrary
Death is the origins of all our joy and sorrow
For without Death, there is no life
Without Death, there are no drums
Death played his song while I danced
Though I didn't know the steps
All the while my love for Him grew
And when I finally stopped
I found myself weeping...
Because at last I understood.
poem by Robin Pitt
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Love Is Only Sleeping
She looked at me
And the emptiness in her eyes was cruel to see
Then she turned away and said,
Once I loved, but love is dead
And I whispered, sometimes love is only sleeping
She said, I cannot cry
And I cannot give or feel or even try
And her voice was hard and cold
Then her sweet young face looked old
And I whispered, sometimes love is only sleeping
Through the endless days and nights
Could not help but wrap herself in sorrow (sorrow)
Through the endless days and nights
She waited for a shiny new tomorrow
Love was sleeping, sleeping
She looked at me
And her smiling tears were warm and sweet and free
And the moonlight kissed her eyes
As it mingled with our sighs
And she whispered, sometimes love is only sleeping
And she whispered, sometimes love is only sleeping
Only sleeping...
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dont Turn Away
(coverdale/sykes)
You say your dreams are burned to ashes
And your smiles have turned to tears,
It seems to me you welcome sanest
As you surrender to your fears
So whats a man like me supposed to do
When all I want is just to make love to you
Dont turn away, before the night is over
Dont turn away, before the night is gone
Dont turn away, the night may hold the answer
So dont turn away, before the night,
Before the night is gone
You say your heart is lost forever
And youre always gonna give your love in vain
So you paint yourself a lonely portrait
And hide your love away again
You turn away from what you feel inside,
You cant forget all your foolish pride
Dont turn away, before the night is over
Dont turn away, before the night is gone
Dont turn away, the night may hold the answer
So dont turn away, before the night is gone
So now Im asking you this question
Am I gonna give you all my love in vain
Do you wanna drown in your own sorrow
Or are you gonna try to love again
Dont turn away from what you feel inside,
You should try to forget about all your foolish pride
Dont turn away, before the night is over
Dont turn away, before the night is gone
Dont turn away, the night may hold the answer
So dont turn away, before the night,
Before the night,
Before the night is gone
Dont turn away from me baby,
No, no, no, no.
Dont put me away,
Dont walk away from me darling
I need your love,
Oh baby,
I need your love to rescue me,
An Im coming for you, baby...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She Died for Love
He took my heart away from me,
Now he wants to set me free.
I see a girl on his lap,
He says things to her that he never said to me.
I ran home to cry on my bed,
Not a word to mother was said.
Fater came home late that night,
He looked at me from left to right.
He saw me hanging from a rope,
He took him knife and cut me down.
And a note on my dress was found:
Dig my grave,
Dig it deep.
Dig my grave,
From head to feet.
And on top put a dove.
And remember this,
I died for love...............
poem by Heather Noble
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Lyrics Of Love And Sorrow
I
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Heigho, but the world is gloomy;
The light has failed and the lamp down hurled,
Leaves only darkness to me.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Ah me, but the world is dreary;
The night is down, and my curtain furled
But I cannot sleep, though weary.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Alas for a hopeless hoping,
When the flame went out in the breeze that swirled,
And a soul went blindly groping.
II
The light was on the golden sands,
A glimmer on the sea;
My soul spoke clearly to thy soul,
Thy spirit answered me.
Since then the light that gilds the sands,
And glimmers on the sea,
But vainly struggles to reflect
The radiant soul of thee.
III
The sea speaks to me of you
All the day long;
Still as I sit by its side
You are its song.
The sea sings to me of you
Loud on the reef;
Always it moans as it sings,
Voicing my grief.
IV
My dear love died last night;
Shall I clothe her in white?
My passionate love is dead,
Shall I robe her in red?
But nay, she was all untrue,
She shall not go drest in blue;
Still my desolate love was brave,
Unrobed let her go to her grave.
V
There are brilliant heights of sorrow
That only the few may know;
And the lesser woes of the world, like waves,
Break noiselessly, far below.
I hold for my own possessing,
A mount that is lone and still--
The great high place of a hopeless grief,
And I call it my 'Heart-break Hill.'
And once on a winter's midnight
I found its highest crown,
And there in the gloom, my soul and I,
Weeping, we sat us down.
But now when I seek that summit
We are two ghosts that go;
Only two shades of a thing that died,
Once in the long ago.
So I sit me down in the silence,
And say to my soul, 'Be still,'
So the world may not know we died that night,
From weeping on 'Heart-break Hill.'
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Vain Spell
THE house sleeps dark and the moon wakes white,
The fields are alight with dew;
'Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night?
I have waited the whole night through,
For I knew,
O Heart of my heart, I knew by my heart,
That the night of all nights is this,
When elm shall crack and lead shall part,
When moulds shall sunder and shot bolts start
To let you through to my kiss.'
So spake she alone in the lonely house.
She had wrapped her round with the spell,
She called the call, she vowed the vow,
And the heart she had pledged knew well
That this was the night, the only night,
When the moulds might be wrenched apart,
When the living and dead, in the dead of the night,
Might clasp once more, in the grave's despite,
For the price of a living heart.
But out in the grave the corpse lay white
And the grave clothes were wet with dew;
'Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night,
I have waited the whole night through,
For I knew
That I dared not leave my grave for an hour
Since the hour of all hours is near,
When you shall come to the hollow bower,
In a cast of the wind, in a waft of the Power,
To the heart that to-night beats here!'
The moon grows pale and the house sleeps still
Ah, God! do the dead forget?
The grave is white and the bed is chill,
But a guest may be coming yet.
But the hour has come and the hour has gone
That never will come again;
Love's only chance is over and done,
And the quick and the dead are twain, not one,
And the price has been paid in vain.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Plea
Take a look inside yourself,
and you'll see there's so much left.
No matter all the pain you feel.
Your aching heart is made of steel.
Your well of strength is deep and real.
Though you'll need some time to grieve.
The intensity of this pain will leave.
You still have so much left to do.
Don't let the suffering put an end to you.
Continue on with strength of mind.
With your worries left behind.
With a prayer and mighty soul.
You will never lose control.
Put these thoughts of death to rest.
You've still not seen the very best.
Think of all the freinds you'll miss.
Plus all of those you've not yet kissed.
It's not the end my precious freind.
Your splendid life has just began.
poem by Michael McParland
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Penance
My lover died a century ago,
Her dear heart stricken by my sland'rous breath,
Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know
The peace of death.
Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep,
Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!"
How should they know the vigils that I keep,
The tears I shed?
Upon the grave, I count with lifeless breath,
Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die,
Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death,
More blest than I.
'Twas just last year -- I heard two lovers pass
So near, I caught the tender words he said:
To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass
Above his head.
That night full envious of his life was I,
That youth and love should stand at his behest;
To-night, I envy him, that he should lie
At utter rest.
poem by John McCrae
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i Saw a Woman
i saw a woman
Dancing on her grave
She smiled and sang
La la lee
La la lo
La la lee
La la lo
She picked up Death's cat
By tail & twirled the thing
La la lee
La la lo
Death watched curriously
How this thing could be
La la lee
He scratched his head
La la lo
The woman looked back at Death
And flipped him off
Her skeleton bones
Were white as snow
Now her dance
Was beginning to slow
Death thought now
Was her time to go
Instead
She skinned the cat
And made a dress
Put it on
And picked up her song
La la lee
Death's eyes popped out
At what he saw next
The woman's bones
Grew new flesh
Her hair combed and tapered in curls
Death ran at her with fury
But tripped along
An old tomebstone
La la lo
Death on the ground
She picked up her dance
And danced on Death
Bone by bone
She trampled him in the ground
The last thing he saw
Was the woman's child
And he sang and danced
La la lee
Along with a whole
Party of bones
La la lo
poem by Deci Hernandez
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How Your Love Makes Me Feel
(max t. barnes/trey bruce)
Im no poet and I know it
I dont use five dollar words
This might not sound like much compared to all the pretty things youve heard
But heres how Id explain it since you brought it up
It wont sound like anybody elses version of love
Its like just before dark
Jump in the car
Buy an ice cream and see how far we can drive before it melts kinda feelin
Thats how your love makes me feel inside
Theres a cow in the road and you swerve to the left
Fate skips a beat and it scares you to death and you laugh until you cry
Thats how your love makes me feel inside
It might not be more suitable for greeting cards and such
But its a true and honest feeling and if you feel it half as much
We could go through life together without a worry or a care
Knowing deep down in our hearts that weve got something special here
Its like just before dark
Jump in the car
Buy an ice cream and see how far we can drive before it melts kinda feelin
Thats how your love makes me feel inside
Theres a cow in the road and you swerve to the left
Fate skips a beat and it scares you to death and you laugh until you cry
Thats how your love makes me feel inside
Thats how your love makes me feel
I have always heard you cant put love into words
Its like just before dark
Jump in the car
Buy an ice cream and see how far we can drive before it melts kinda feelin
Thats how your love makes me feel inside
Theres a cow in the road and you swerve to the left
Fate skips a beat and it scares you to death and you laugh until you cry
Thats how your love makes me feel inside
Thats how your love makes me feel inside
Thats how your love makes me feel inside
Thats how I feel
Thats how your love makes me feel
song performed by by Diamond Rio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tired
I am tired to-night, and something,
The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
Has brought back the past and its pain.
And I feel as I sit here thinking,
That the hand of a dead old June
Has reached out hold of my heart’s loose strings,
And is drawing them up in tune.
I am tired to-night, and I miss you,
And long for you, love, through tears;
And it seems but to-day that I saw you go –
You, who have been gone for years.
And I seem to be newly lonely –
I, who am so much alone;
And the strings of my heart are well in tune,
But they have not the same old tone.
I am tired; and that old sorrow
Sweeps down the bed of my soul,
As a turbulent river might suddenly break
Away from a dam’s control.
It beareth a wreck on its bosom,
A wreck with a snow-white sail,
And the hand on my heart-strings thrums away,
But they only respond with a wail.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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London Stone
WHEN you come to London Town,
(Grieving-grieving!)
Bring your flowers and lay them down
At the place of grieving.
When you come to London Town,
(Grieving-grieving!)
Bow your head and mourn your own,
With the others grieving.
For those minutes, let it wake
(Grieving-grieving!)
All the empty-heart and ache
That is not cured by grieving.
For those minutes, tell no lie:
(Grieving-grieving!)
'Grave, this is thy victory;
And the sting of death is grieving.'
Where's our help, from earth or heaven,
(Grieving-grieving!)
To comfort us for what we've given,
And only gained the grieving.
Heaven's too far and earth too near,
(Grieving-grieving!)
But our neighbour's standing here,
Grieving as we're grieving.
What's his burden every day?
(Grieving-grieving!)
Nothing man can count or weigh,
But loss and love's own grieving.
What is the tie betwixt us two
(Grieving-grieving!)
That must last our whole lives through?
'As I suffer, so do you.'
That may ease the grieving.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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To A Sad Girl
There is no way to explain
Unending sorrow and grief,
No way to kiss a young girl’s cheek
In a way that would give her back
The joy death has stolen.
Humans are brave enough
To live and bleed and die,
But to be the one remaining
As others say goodbye
Is too much to withstand.
There are evil stars that smirk
And thus mark us for treacherous fates,
The days all burn like desert fields
Until there is nothing left to love
And nothing left to feel.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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A Woman Left Lonely
A woman left lonely will soon grow tired of waiting,
Shell do crazy things, yeah, on lonely occasions.
A simple conversation for the new men now and again
Makes a touchy situation when a good face come into your head.
And when she gets lonely, shes thinking bout her man,
She knows hes taking her for granted, yeah yeah,
Honey, she doesnt understand, no no no no!
Well, the fevers of the night, they burn an unloved woman
Yeah, those red-hot flames try to push old love aside.
A woman left lonely, shes the victim of her man, yes she is.
When he cant keep up his own way, good lord,
Shes got to do the best that she can, yeah!
A woman left lonely, lord, that lonely girl,
Lord, lord, lord!
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enormous and Vibrant Temple
I want to bury myself away in an enormous and vibrant temple
I say death, and all the flowers come in
And flowers don't feel anymore
I am free of my conscious soul
I was half - death made me whole
Illogical sleeping habits never appealed to me
I have always wondered - I am dead and I am free
Sleeping is not what death is about
It's not what breath is about
I'm feeling like a lonely lover,
Who won't wait until its over
Death just hase to be nice
Pink, plausible virtues gather around me to celebrate my death
I need to be silent, I need to be alone
And death is the cradle - although made of stone
poem by Ankita Sharma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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