Loss Peace Poems

These Loss Peace poems are examples of Loss poems about Peace. These are the best examples of Loss Peace poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Elegy |
The function of a human hand?
Writing a message, making a bed,
Opening a jar, dialing a phone,
Putting on pantyhose,
Touching the face of a child,
Or a lover.

And in its absence?
Yawning space and phantom pain,
And an oddly-shaped bandage
At the end of Angie’s arm.

PFC Hernandez, home in El Paso,
Watches her family watching her,
Writing awkwardly with her left hand,
Brushing her black wavy hair,
Watching Dr. Phil
Wearing an old gray-green T-shirt
Bearing the faded words
“Proud to be a Marine.”

Gasping and choking,
She wakes from thick, dusty dreams
Of shimmering, endless sand,
Unfamiliar words
Echoing hollow with hatred,
And the feared but half expected
Roar of fiery amber heat,
Breaking the angry stillness,
Searing through the night
And Angela’s right hand.


Copyright © Ginna Wilkerson | Year Posted 2006




Details | Free verse |
The room is still,
Quiet but for wind and rain
Making music on the windows.
Empty but for endless shelves
Of leather-bound volumes -
The first editions you loved so much.
The desk is weathered, coated
In a film of dust.
The chair is old and worn,
Tucked in just where you left it.
I can almost hear it creak
Under your weight,
Hear you whistle in that absent way.
I can almost see you there,
Hunched over creased pages,
Reading Keats or Blake.
I can almost smell that familiar scent
Of fresh soap and musty books,
Of spices and cigar smoke.

Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...

I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky

The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn

I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe

The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul

Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through

Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost

I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art

As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow

Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place

The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost

Day was Life,Night is Death

And the latter has given counsel on my final steps

Copyright © Winter Wallace | Year Posted 2009




Details | Quatrain |
The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed

This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace

With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base

These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews

One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar

The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die

In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail

Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction

Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died

The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind

Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say



Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad |
There is a house on the cliff’s edge,
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
At night, the tide lifts high against a foggy moon
In the morning, gloomy clouds settle with the sea
At times, not even the birds are seen or heard
The house is left to nature’s caress

Home-crafted seashell chimes sway and sing with the wind
Crushed sand dollars lie together on the back porch
The shells were once whole, collected by the former owners
Long gone are they now, smiling with the moon
The owners are the very sound of the ocean spray,
Striking the rocks, announcing the cool dawn of day
They are not the dark, empty rooms,
The rooms that nobody thinks of as they go about their lives
The quiet owners are long gone—thought of only by one
A stillborn legacy about as tiresome as the sun,
When the clouds crisp out its beams . . .

A seawater puddle is in the middle of the dining room
Nobody knows it sits there, sinking in the floorboards
It used to be a far larger puddle after a storm,
Stealthily leaking into the house
But now it is small—so small—and the boards are moist,
Moist with its only companion amongst the instilled silence

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
They were not much for socials and gatherings
They always lived their quiet, happy lives
Without a care of the outside world,
Far from anybody’s thought
Miles from the nearest home
Where the next generation comfortably lives 

He never finished fixing that leak . . .

Sometimes the puddle gets bigger after other storms
And when it does, there is almost life there again
You can see the chandelier reflected on the unperturbed water
As a crystal dangles and falls from on high
The dark silence following the drop is as deep as thought . . .

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
There is merely a house on the cliff’s edge
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline

-March 21, 2013-

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Lights of the city far away they look so pretty. As I get closer your lights seem warm and 
bright as I search all through the night. But right next to you you’re not as warm as I had 
dreamed. I should never have traveled so far now all I want is to go back and just see you 
from afar. Your lights how pretty they are.

Copyright © craig schaber | Year Posted 2011

Details | Couplet |
Don’t go I heard her cry,
From a door that was kept ajar.
The message very poignant,
Knowing how many had gone before.
Then given that we make a choice,
So who are we to say?
Across our small blue planet,
Would this happen anyway.
Souls and there are many,
Sacrificed in freedoms name.
Lay on the battlefields altar,
To justify, another’s gain.
We all must share the burden,
For who is there to blame.
Given the point, from their perspective,
From our view, would be the same.

Copyright © nicholas windle | Year Posted 2008

Details | Didactic |
                                        He is above us in the clouds 
                                run through the fields and speak of thee
                                              He will grow roses

                                       I will be the stem of the roses 
                                       for I shall never leave your soil

                                     You will be the tree I grow beneath 
                                             and he will be our rain.

Copyright © Andrea M Christian | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |
The greatest holiday gift I ever received  
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears

I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin

For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so

Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading

We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy

We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores

On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through

A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee

My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve

This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for

We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me





Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Dalzel-Job

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
For the torn,
for the meek.
Toward the storm,
toward the beast.

For the scorned,
for the weak.
Wounded warriors,
for the free.

In the dirt,
make my bed.
Firefight,
overhead.

Live on hope,
consume hate.
Rusted spoon,
rusted plate.

On this stage,
in my role.
Home one day,
never whole.

For this goal,
in the name.
Different soul,
though the same.

Take my life,
use it well.
Build your heaven,
on my hell.

Don't you cry,
I'll always be.
Wounded warrior,
for the free.

Copyright © David Dowling | Year Posted 2010

Details | Haiku |
A wisp of white cloud
On a breeze, that cools the land
Autumn is soon here

Copyright © jeanine dejesus | Year Posted 2007

Details | Elegy |
O beloved mother, o beloved sisters
departed from me, within years
of each other, to sadden my living;
I spend my days weeping...
reminiscing in my sorrow:
how we laughed together,
and faced another serene tomorrow,
knowing that sharing kindness
would bond our destinies
in ways so devoted and immense!   


O beloved mother, o beloved sisters...
I let the unconsumed joy of memories
take me to those yesterdays
to thank God for our existence,
when we enjoyed the gifts He offered;
yes, even the smallest of them 
were so lovely and precious!
And by watching how you faced death,
I admired how you became the bravest...
slowly letting go of what you possessed!


O beloved mother, o beloved sisters...
do you want me to continue crying,
or smile and console you with a future promise:
that soon we'll embrace one another
under the joyful eyes of our Creator?
Nothing foolish I will do to harm myself;
and wait I will 'till my end comes,
but until then my solemn prayers I'll recite
amid tombstones guarded by triumphant angels...
and bound for Heaven, I'll be smiling!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

Details | Couplet |
The night grows heavy as the bells do toll,
And tears will fall, all will behold.

As deep in Gods earth is laid to rest half a soul
Once entwined and beautifully blessed.

Now those left behind will cry out with envy,
For the peace of ages the lost holds so clearly.

Those hearts left behind will cry out with the cold
As bittersweet memories circle of old.

Emblazoned images circle of walks once walked,
As the other half now goes with God to talk.

Hearts do tremble with sadness that once knew love,
As time stretches, a lonely run begun.

Time will carry forth until the other flies free
Dispatched by deaths angel to soar with the breeze.

Then those dispatched by deaths’ grim thoughts will unite
Together to find peace at last.

As the breathes of two souls will heal and hold fast,
And love will again hold them close, at last.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? |
[beforehand i just want to let you know that i wrote this in honor of November 17th. which is 
To Write Love On Her Arms Day. im hoping to come up with a better one before than. but i 
still hope you enjoy this quickly-wrote one(: ]

this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about my struggle,
my fall downs, 
&& all the breakdowns.
this is about every wound i placed upon my body.
over 60 self inflicted wounds,
that as my story went on they began to heal.
i stoped writing "give up" 
i began to write love on my arms<3
this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about my past.
how it haunted me for years,
&& how im still running from some of it.
this is how i went from a hood rat,
to me actually caring about myself.
i began to write love on my arms<3
this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about how i learned to keep the bottle off of my nightstand.
i dont need liquor running through my veins 24/7.
i started to look at life through sober eyes.
i began to write love on my arms<3
&& as i wrote this day after day, i saw that i was loved. 
i found comfort in better things then pills, liquor, && razorblades.
&& even though i am still in healing,
my story is not over.
&& it will never be.
i still write love on my arms<3

Copyright © Saralynn SpaceCadet | Year Posted 2010

Details | Lyric |
I saw you cry yourself to sleep last night,
I watched as you struggled to start your day.
I asked the Lord to make your grief load light,
And give you help along the way.

Forgive me for not staying longer,
But I really had to go.
The Lord called me, I could not linger,
Sorry, but it was time to go home.

Remember what you will of me, 
No matter what, just know I cared.
Whether friend or family,
Remember all that we have shared.

Now I’ve made heaven my home,
You knew that’s where I’d be.
I am not at all on my own,
And my soul is at peace.

I know its hard at the beginning 
But I also know you’ll make it through.
I hope it helps your heart to know I’ll be waiting,
In paradise for you.

Copyright © Kimberly Moore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Romanticism |
Our lives produce such struggles
to which we must rise!
And often we find places
that from which we would run and hide.
But just remember that Your choice
will bring the happiness you seek... 
Just Be the Brave one you wish
The one you still want to be.

For I am here to catch you,
to help and see you through,
within your dreams or trials of life;
whether on mountain or cliff
whichever weso choose to climb.  
 
Remember this as you feel you are sinking.
or slipping from the walls you've been clinging.
The climb may tire the muscles 
as we reach for the top,  
and make us weaker in our strength
while we try to here hang on.

But if we just let go,
and trust the our heart to know what's right
we will never  be led to far away;
Though even trodding in the night.
 
And do not fear the way back down!
For how many birds fly, 
when still nested on the Ground.

And if, by chance,
your wings you fail to find...
From your fall I'll catch you, 
and lead you on through time.
 
For how many learn to open there wings
whilst the mud stayed fixated about their feet.  
The Winds of the sky need your wings to catch, 
to fly you to the heavens
where the angels await you to meet,
and lead you to that better place.
A place we can not even dream.

So with the lightest breeze 
they will teach us how to soar...
and lift us from our agony and woe.
Thus ending the anguish
as your wings fill there up.
to fly with them forever more. 

The Ground is not safe nor is the air, 
but what life would we live 
if we never did dare.
Where angels fear
and devils are faint...
If Love durst not 
then forever must then wait.
 
I remember the story 
of two who fell in love... 
His name became his enemy, 
and He o'er her family
She did make that choice.
 
I would be that Romeo, 
say you my Juliet...
And with you in my arms 
I would die once more again. 
With you I would cast off the sins,
an choose to hold you in the end.
 
When together,two become one,
Star crossed lovers 
can find the peace of each others arms. 
when as one we will fly,
Into that bitterless sky.

Copyright © Randall Anderson | Year Posted 2009

Details | Quatrain |
Crimson mist in the Dallas sky,
a frantic wife's mad dash.
The world watched us as we cried
for hope gone in a flash.

Brilliant poet with timeless verse
and enduring message of peace.
A murderous fan fulfilled his curse.
Does lunacy ever cease?

Perfect day in the city
until the towers fell.
Religious zealots who had no pity.
Their resting place is hell.

So look at history if you can
and learn from such hindsight.
As long as evil has a plan
we must not quit the fight.

Copyright © James Nichols | Year Posted 2012

Details | Dramatic monologue |
A clement breeze brushing over skin,
A salty scent breathed deep.
Eyes closed, waves heard below,
A muffled crashing,
A cool, gentle spray.
Eyes open, ebony ocean,
Stippled with touches of moonlight.
Rushing air caressing fingers,
Higher above the water.

A million grains of sand shifting under foot.

Still.

Copyright © Benjamin Nicol | Year Posted 2007

Details | Narrative |
like the raven 
who taps taps upon 
your chamber door
do not fret my Virginia
for it's my shadow
moving across the floor
this is what I'm telling you my darlin
and nothing more

beneath lattice
I still call your name
come to me virginia
come hear the tap tap 
upon your chamber door
for only you my love 
I surrender and never more

wind howls in blanket snows
here I stand so all alone
broken hearted and misconstrued
my Virginia who lies under stars and moon
just a tap tap upon your chambers door
tis I and nothing more

tales of hidas truth
blackbird sings harps cords
just like the tap tap upon your chambers door
my sweet Virgina whom I adore
for there'll be love waiting and nothing more

as I lay right next to you in this tomb
I counted only seven who have even knew
the times of this raven who 
tapped tapped upon your chambers door
twas only I and will be never more


Tribute To Edgar Allen Poe
And His Young Bride Virginia
Also To His Poem The Raven

Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2009

Details | Lyric |
 Raped and Molestated in childhood, 
   Abused and Misused in pre-adulthood,
     Alone and confused they stood; feeling
       like tainted goods.

 Let their soul cry, maybe then; they can
  regain their pride. 

 They gotta let their soul cry

 Their darkest secret's they lock  away
   within, this is why their flesh constantly
    feast off sin; and everything in life has a
     beginning, but never render an ending.

 Let their soul cry, Crying is the only way to
  gain their piece of mind.
   
One might ask," Why"? Then , I will reply,"
  They need to see at least one day filled with
     promise rather than pain and see the sun
        without having rain.
     
 They gotta let their soul cry, before their sin
  cause their flesh to die.

Copyright © Margaret Johnson | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |
"Friend,
Mind wandering through misty woods.
You don't understand your purpose.
Friend,
I knew you too little,
Please do not shed your salty emotions,
Not out of anger, not out of sadness.
Friend,
You now lose your way so easily,
You sink, you burst, you burn inwardly.
You weep from frustrations, 
From the guilt of an honest smile,
From pains, that you forget for a moment,
That come swiftly back to haunt you of your loss.
I understand, dear friend.
You once had a light and the woods seek to snuff it out.
Do not fear, dear friend,
Friend follow me, as I once did you.
Friend, now you see?
Yes, you see,
The little wisps in the fog that guide us home."

~In memory of Bill Hamman, and all else who have suffered the pains of Alzheimer's

Copyright © Lauren Johnson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
A soul weeps in flesh for the pain I left behind.
 I am sorry for the pain,the tears, I left for you to bear. 
These healing words I send with a bumble bee to heal a bleeding rose. 
These napkin like words I pray can wipe your tears and snotty nose.
 I was young and naive,I cherished my pride instead of your heart . 
There the coldest winter did start. 
If it makes you happy I disposed of the mistress. 
Who faded in long lost memory of shadowed kisses.
 No,no,no I am sorry for writing that,
its a poets bold habit of honesty,
but in writing this I thought i should be honest and honest I shall be.I apologize for leaving your emotions suppressed,unknown and ostracized. 
Yes, I know the ocean swollen with your tears,the angels descended on a bloody battle field to  hear your cry.I hope you can summons them again and reconsider the report to the almighty farther. 
If I could write this apology in the eye of the sky I would,for my remorse to be seen , a once foolish human being .Your heart I didn't mean to decay. I apologize for the lies, cries,for making you eat sadly all those ice creams and soggy apple pies,from absorbing tears fallen from yours eyes. Left to wonder in the vastness of the universe alone. I am sorry also sorry for the smudged ink and some of the lines. I cried along with them, imaging your painful times.


Yours truly Elliott Bowe 
To:Simone Descartes

Copyright © Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
A Lament

Sometimes it is so hard to see the beauty in Your work;
the joy of life, the twists and turns and each and every quirk.
You gave us love and joy and hope and all we could attain.
We wonder why You gave this life that causes so much pain.
This master plan, this grand idea, escapes me on this day;
forgive me Lord, I have to go, it hurts too much to pray.

You took us in and sheltered us and showered us with love;
Your grace and joy and peace and hope rained down from up above.
They say that faith will somehow help me find a way to cope;
they say these angry tears I shed will blossom into hope.
I’m scared and lost, I’m without hope, please help me find my way;
Please tell me, Lord, I need to know, why it hurts too much to pray.



My mind knows that I need you now, a fact I won’t deny,
But, when I try to think it through, my heart just asks You “why?”
I’m sorry, Lord, for doubting You, I know You are the way;
I just can’t seem to get the hope I need to start this day.
If only I could, somehow, find a way to find Your way,
Maybe with Your help it wouldn’t hurt too much to pray.

Please help me find a way to bring my heartache back to You.
You are my one salvation now, my hopes they seem so few.
They tell me to have faith in You and leave my pain behind;
This I would most surely do to gain some peace of mind.
A quest for faith, so strong and fierce, consumes me on this day:
Please hear me Lord, I need some faith, for this I…well, I pray.
Please help me Lord, I need some faith, for this I…well, I pray.

Copyright © sheryl marcotte | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
Ants are known to be industrious,
Bustling about the anthill
In lines and arcs and freeform patterns,
Intent on some important insect mission,
Minding their own business, thank you.

Of course, sometimes ants have to be exterminated
If they’re likely to bite a small child,
Or interrupting the flow of one’s flower bed,
Or just plain in the way.

After all, they’re only bugs,
Small and inconsequential and expendable.

Occasionally, small rough and tumble boys,
Full of bravado and challenging each other,
Will desecrate an anthill recklessly
Just for sport…
And to see the ants run frantically
In response to the destruction of their entire world
At the whim of a dirty-sneakered foot.

They look so small from up above
Scurrying about like ants
Tiny and insignificant  from the height
Of a skyscraper, or a ski lift,
Or the windshield of a fighter pilot’s plane.
Tiny, and in the way
Because, as we all know,
Sometimes ants have to be exterminated.

Copyright © Ginna Wilkerson | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse |
I walk through this world alone,
Yet it's still so crowded.
All around people wander.
To them, I am the air they breathe.
I cannot be seen, but I keep them living.

I walk among them silently. 
Speaking would break their trance,
They would see the truth.
Their eyes scan the area around,
I am in their vision radius, yet I cannot be seen.
I have done enough to keep them from seeing me.

They may look in my direction, but never long enough to see me. 
This is the minimum amount I can do.
They are all interfering with peace.
Killing, arson, thieving, arguing.
These are all signs of evil,
Evil which I avoid.

To bring myself down to their level,
The thought in general is against what I stand for.
I am alone to live life how I want,
To thrive in knowledge and experience.
They thrive in evil and sin.

This is the disease in our world.
I stay away for my well-being.
I can never have what I don't accept,
Instead I choose to live healthy and in peace.
This is how my world works.

A world where I thrive and they sink,
Where I live and they die,
Where I bless and they sin,
Where they crowd and I alone,
Live to seek out a cure for this world's disease.

I live alone in this world,
Yet it's still so crowded.

Copyright © Marek Stryker | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |
You’re our hero
The poor and impoverished 
Captive starving millions
Cry
Tears of anguish
Tears of dread

The cost of their Hero’s burial
Is too their debt
Their sacrifice 
The living for their leader 

The hungry little ones 
Cry
The world watches on
In fear

My Hero gave it all
His life
A willing sacrifice 
His perfect life
His perfect love
His cost
Our hatred
That we might live

His excruciating death
Has not left us comfortless
And soon to be 
Our resurrection of renewal

We the loyal few weep for what we did
His life for ours
The rest rejoice because you died
The world now looks on 
In fear

©? Brenda V Northeast              29 Dec. 2011

 
 

Copyright © Brenda Victoria Northeast | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |
Dream on man
War is constant
It has gone beyond
Catholic or Protestant

Religious wars
From our short lived past
Will never dilute
As long as we last

In this modern world
We fight for different reasons
What ever the excuse
And in any season

We fight over land
Imaginary WMD
Even over soccer
How the hell can that be

We now fight over oil
In a camouflaged war
Taking innocents with us
In public deplore

Guerrilla, assault
Bombing with precision 
We vote them in
As they twist their decisions

Dream on man
War has changed
Greed has taken over
From the pasts deranged




http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-3.php

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
Being in denial is like sitting in an empty house,
with a moonlit forest behind it.

Coming out of denial is the new bird,
that comes and stays a while, with that little 
empty house, but when winter comes, 
he is off on a journey from the heavens above.

Copyright © Emily Kroeger | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
In an effort to immortalize you,
I gilded ocean size frames in gold leaf
and painted your portrait with peacock feathers dipped in oils.
I spelled out your name in bumble bee wings
still quite attached to tame bumble bees
hovering in obedience and formation in the sky
I built a piano from felled red wood trees
and carved your likeness on each key
which I then filled up with ebony and abalone polish
I traveled to Old Russia to the Crimean forest
and pulled every wildflower up by it's roots
and replanted them just for you, on the cliffs, overlooking the Black Sea.
I tamed a black leopard and rode on her back
'round the world, with a banner, a list of your accomplishments
flowing in silk for miles behind me, past onlookers reading your life.
I sang gypsy music, as a siren on the wind
while I wept and flooded each street with the depth
of one tenth of the emotion you harnessed and kept at bay in your infinite quiet.
I started with one person, your granddaughter, with your blue eyes
her sitting on my lap, looking at me with a maturity past 3 years of age,
and imprinted every memory of you in the air, for her to grab.

You are not immortalized in portraits, or wings, or notes.
You are not immortalized in flowers, or banners or sirens.

You are immortalized, forever remaining, in the humble prayers of this innocent child.

Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005

Details | Free verse |
Crying into my pillow each night
Tears for a sorrow that burns like an acid
Eating it’s way through my senses..through my soul.
The pain sears through me like burning coals
No peace.

Hard to get my mind clear and rational
To put those things into perspective..
Or so I am told by well-meaning others who do not know,
The suffering of my existence; my inability to cope
No peace.

My head throbs in almost a familiar rhythm
A melody of self-pity, for regret, for salvation
And the tears, still flowing, now echoed with muffled sobs
For the agony is nearly more than I can withstand
No Peace.

I pray to a God I do not know, nor care to 
But no one else is there to listen to my pleas for comfort
To make right all those mistakes
As there are so many choices and I haven made the wrong ones
No Peace

So the God I do not acknowledge, lies silent in the stillness
And the burning within begins to subside
As grateful sleep falls upon me at last
Until another night comes, and the thoughts begin again
No Peace.

Copyright © Cherie Lowe | Year Posted 2007