Abandoned Poems - Poems about Abandoned

A former place this, a patch where roots rattle, where stubble has a ferrous frizzle. A long-truncated railroad stop humming still with a faded reality. As dry voices on the wind, they return - the homesteaders and journeymen, the harnessed horses. Pants' cuffs carry kernels long planted elsewhere. Caps, coats, and carts Sweat, rustle and creak, an invisible locomotion of leaving and arrival. employed upon an iron...

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I can feel it all burning down, the walls I painted in soft colors, the corners I swept clean for company— they crackle in silence. Instead of exploring other ruins, chasing ghosts in forgotten places, I should stop. Sit with the dust in my own lungs. Run my hands along the scorch marks I never let cool. There is wreckage here I never named. I’ve been walking...

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One step away from waves that play. In that fresh light, he let go that night. I thought back then, that was all it had been. I stayed to see each wave hit me. With heart shut tight, no stars in sight. My hands let go, they moved so slow. Each night I'd fall inside the call— the thoughts so loud, the cries unbowed. Maybe it's me who made him flee… But how...

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Graciousness forms the apparel of the meek, tempered in blistering hues of aura crafted with the breath of exhaustion sinking deep into the soul of the soulless, there it wanders with eyes open wide, a pop of life silenced by its surroundings, forsaken lands filled with despotic nature, crucified their interior along with their exterior, proceeding cautiously as it gravitates toward the center, connecting humble origins placing the palm...

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Abandoned on the promenade, A big-wheeled trike did sit, Forlornly waiting for the tyke Who should be riding it. I passed it on my morning walk, When few are up and out And seeing it, I wondered What its story was about. For why was it forgotten? Did the mom leave in a rush? Or the dad or sitter tending to A child’s scraped knee...

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The palace of love we built ~ when our blood still flowed very warm in our veins, is now a crumbled castle — its walls with peeled paints and decayed wood; a jaded clock and faded photographs ...

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“To be abandoned by your own is the most painful sadness known” ...

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What am I if not an abandoned house, a cathedral of forgotten and old dreams, Watching others glow with life, like stars caught in crystal jars, Painted in joy, while I unravel in the silence of dusty time, The floors creak under the steps of memories, shadows dancing on the carpet of nostalgia. They say I am empty, but...

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mass confusion under an abandoned black mailbox just mentioned as lackadaisical as day, someone very close to me just told me about diabetes medication i sit on this empty porch of dried tears with a quickly written letter in my hand i am thinking about possible amputations and high blood pressure so secretive, and i do not know where to...

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(The Hollow City Cycle include: The Hollow City I Remember You -- the city speaks Last One Left) You left me when the lights flickered and the water turned bitter. When the sky coughed ash and the birds stopped singing. You ran. All of you. As if I hadn’t held your every heartbeat in the bricks of my spine. I fed your dreams-- from paper boys to prophets. I...

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a house abandoned walls caved in the windows no panes and the floors creek yet still a spark of beauty flawed and few nothing inbetween i stay reflecting on the past… it used to be thriving full of life kids playing, people residing the memories the walls hold indents of several souls the history of not one but two, i take a step back a dark shadow sweeps...

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I have a piece of land On the top of the hills By streams flowing and mingle For all plants free to grow No farmers discovered the land No contrived seeds are sown The field kept its virginity Since a long time ago Flowers blooming for bees And fruits growing for animals The field is not being abandoned As time...

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From golden rays the clouds are spun, But without warmth, the winter sun. Signing the sky with solemn swear, Casting its light to he who stares. Only sight can tell the sun is frozen, When light's love starts cursing the chosen. But a Fool doesn't see with open eyes, Only the break of dusk will turn him wise. After fire is lost and...

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It was full of long stringy grass which had grown out, all over the back of the house. It hung over the bare walls. The briars were everywhere and they would prick you clean red blooded. The shed widows shattered and the door covered in heavy moss. the thick smoke running out from the chimney...

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An Ice Fishing House, Abandoned, in Need of Repair That same shed waits by the trees. Waits on its skids for the lake to freeze, and the for the creaking joints of bickering stoop-shouldered men as they push it out to the center of a pool of glass. It houses the stories of fishing in winter, pulling sustenance, wriggling, through chiseled portals into another...

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