Best Desolate Poems
The ship in the habor on silvery seas
Lay vacant outspread 'neath the glassy moon
Drifting in cold whispers of the night
Like a drunk man shriveled on clasping knees
In the loud echoes of the crawling winds
The brave ship nods its old head
Restless on the empty stage of the bay
When lonely stars bleed their light
On what was once earthly sublimity
Now silence and haunt lingers there
A graveyard of bones and sadness
Beside the desolate harbor
Rustling in the cold distance
Laboring with a haunting melody
That invades me in shivers of night.
Sadness defeats
The happy spaces of my mind
Then your sweet kiss would descend
Oh... your sweet kiss would descend
As a fragrant memory
Thawing the pain
In the frost of my heart.
My soul beckons your presence
But silence became my loyal friend
And Emptiness -
The sorrowing of my hours
That slithers through the night
As the brave ship nods its old head
Crackling and desolate
In silvered breaking waters
'Neath moon's limpid eyes
My hands descend
With crimson buds of April's flowers
To rest upon your tomb
Of eternal silence.
''Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.''
My hands and feet are numb
for I am cold and I have no
home to give me warmth.
A home and warmth are two
things I search for that is why
people call me a bum.
I have not eaten but I have
prayed and my prayers have
not yet been answer for I have
not eaten in days.
So I'll just lay in my place of
sleep and pray ones more as I
search for warmth, for I have
found my home, The streets.
From Desolate Waves, Of A True Love's Death
As poet I cry out, nobody hears
yes, deep ingrained apathy I fear
for no other sad darkness so repels
as does indifference born from Hell.
From desolate waves, of spitting grey mists
arrives those terrors from misery's lists
fiery flames set to burn a weeping soul
into heartache abyss, death's tragic toll!
As poet I cry out, so few may see
majesty in even a long dead tree
or beauty in finely woven dark verse
born from a pure truth one did not rehearse.
From desolate waves, of a true love's death
comes grief that illuminates gasping breath
followed by epic dark, its coldest chills
knowing never again, comes love's sweet thrills.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-28-2019
Rhyme, ( From Tales Of Sorrows Are Born Dying Breaths )
Encased in an isolated castle of an old fool’s paradise,
A decaying dagger rests upon a distressed oak table.
Frayed book pages scatter across termite-riddled floors.
The calligraphy carries echoes of triumphant battles,
Vividly etched in ink.
A revered legacy is forgotten in decades of decay,
Its inked glory fading into disarray.
Reminiscing of bygone days when youth was a sturdy partner at my behest,
Now weathered crimson dahlias adorn the windowsills
Of a desolate dynasty,
As the last petal falls.
Echoes of faded footsteps can be heard within the empty halls of waste.
What remains is a golden crown with sanguine marquise
Resting heavily upon an exile’s head.
How do I conquer the bloodstained fear trickling within the fractals,
Reflecting off the scorching sun that swallows flames,
Swirling around the ashen pyre
Of the poetic corpses I’ve slain for validation?
An inquisition paints a vicious vermilion
Within the sobbing stained glass.
The once-perfect porcelain flesh of our legacy is flayed,
Surrounded by the whispers of forgotten souls.
Cobwebs drape over shattered dreams,
As beams of light punctuate looming shadows.
Concealed beneath cold stone lies the family crypt,
Patiently awaiting its reluctant visitor,
Beckoning the exalt through clandestine corridors.
Within the hushed chamber of undying slumber,
He recalls the tragic tale.
Before him stand his beloved wife and children,
Forever ensnared in the clutches of eternal sleep.
Echoes of the past replay like eerie shadows,
Retelling the grim chronicle of their demise.
His envious, wrathful younger brother succumbed
To the greed of his own ambition.
In the darkness hour of that dreadful night, the dagger-wielding usurper
Plunged their existence into oblivion,
Casting spirits of suppressed speeches to weep
Within wailing walls.
Now I am the cerulean dusk of the gloaming,
A burnt-out waxen ivory,
The candle before their tombstone.
Bashful in the sky,
The sun hides behind the clouds;
Rays in solitude.
There are a lot of awful things in this world.
Life is generously given, then brutally taken from us without warning.
All that's left is an empty shell of grief and pain.
Some of our most beautiful moments are far outweighed by the grotesque memories of our fears.
Do we really forgive and forget?
How can we forget those things that left us crying so hard in our beds at night that there weren't any tears left to be shed?
Forgiveness can be a treacherous word.
Sometimes the people we trust, break us completely.
But we still see past this and forgive them, even when it severs the tiny thread of hope that we have left.
Our own anguish can betray us.
We live in our own misery, trying deleteriously to mend our hearts, yet we're too blind to see that we are only putting salt in the wound.
Until it's too late.
Until we are beyond fixing.
Until we are,
Hollow casings of what used to be.
We regret words said; causing others pain
And before we know it, friendships are slain
We can't stop spiraling thoughts in our minds
But only be guided with words so kind
We can't force man to look into their souls
We can only help and hope they will know
to contemplate and to better themselves
in helping their character to excel
Be thankful for the desolate dark times
They're our life's trials made of building blocks
forming our resilience and our rock
Be thankful for the hardships and sorrow
That brought a feeling inside so hollow
That tears us apart but then passes by
And the distress of life that makes us cry
Be thankful to God for pain that has passed
Taught us that whirlwinds of torment don't last
The cup is half full, never half empty
From our fervent hardships stems plenty
Of blessings around us. Reap them gently!
Sweet Life will never be a blissful breeze
Assurance and hopefulness are the keys
For verily after hardship comes ease
*Note to the reader
This is a motivational poem which is firstly a reminder to myself but also meant for anybody and everybody who is going through hardship. Soon the sun will shine and there will be light. Be patient and soon you will see light at the end of the tunnel.
There is a desolate road every mortal knows.
It winds across barren, weed-strewn ground.
Its route is filled with faith-jarring holes,
And its destination is where despair is found.
Depression and loss of hope are signs
The desolate road knows our losing streaks.
Each of us makes the trip multiple times.
We may languish there for days or weeks.
There is no shame in traveling that road.
It’s an essential part of the mortal scene.
It imparts experience as new trials unfold,
Helping us to know on God we must lean.
"Desolate Soul"
Sitting in this empty space surrounded by the stars so far above
Thinking of the days passed by with little to no connections
Favored by none connected to the dust that sweeps by in the wind
Considered to be gone without the chance to reform my image
Staring into the night like an owl stares into the darkness of night
Searching for something to allow the smile inside to be seen
Praying to the heavens to notice my existence along with prayers
Crying behind the eyes of blue begging to be noticed by passer by's
Secure in my emotions to move in the direction of love
Sacrificing even the littlest of habits that turn those away
Forgiving not only my own soul for believing in future romance
Lazily I lay in the grass staring into the darkness of emptiness
As I long to be loved, to be held, just to be alive in someone else's dreams but my own
I think of the consequences of giving up the security of loneliness
The possibilities of never regaining the peace and serenity I feel right now
It'd be so worth the love that could cure this desolate soul
Desolate
Wandering aimless
Through twilight city streets at night
Invisible to the outside world
Nothing really right
Looking, longing, wondering when I will see
That always bright, reflective light
The end of the tunnel
Another night of sorrows
Drown in open bottles
Fluid for the times of your life
And remedy for the tears we’ve shed
But in the end you’ll be blinded
By broken seal, on broken bottle
You will stay on the dark side of the tunnel
Never see light
Living in darkness for years of my life
I’ll continue to strive while I’m still alive
But not by my choice…
Guardian angel chose me to live this life
Desolate life, I am unsure how long I can live it
Fear and violence
the scent
that seeps through my soul
numb and desolate
time spent
an emptiness that finds me
Oh, the roads... oh, the avenues
Without you
Before you
Because of you there is Happiness
Life's blessed
My day is bright
I no longer hide
Who I am, so near to complete
If only these things did not haunt me
fear and violence
numb and desolate
The tired old Tortoise
painfully creeps across a
desolate desert
speak. your words. blue birds go SCREECH! as i meet the sirs, and madams, crab jam jelly in my belly for the
aqua king, cause everything stings fast, it lasts, my future, past, masked by the fact that i laugh when you say,
danger.
Where silhouetted sentinels silently stand in vain
bleeding shades of layered shame on blight-lined highways below,
their ghostly shadows remind us of dreams we dared to drain.
Interred on unkempt plots, crumbling brick carcasses maintain
evidence we’re forced to see if the trails of traffic slow
where silhouetted sentinels silently stand in vain.
Rush-hour bottlenecks, the frustrated drivers’ daily bane,
exact tolls of tribute to hollowed homes lost long ago.
Their ghostly shadows remind us of dreams we dared to drain.
Daylight, drowned in the windowless dam of a plywood pane,
begs blackness, dwelling within abandoned walls, who’ll dare go
where silhouetted sentinels silently stand in vain?
Does the doll left naked on a spray-painted stoop remain
to testify children once played under its portico?
Their ghostly shadows remind us of dreams we dared to drain.
As darkness descends, the caravans of commuters wane,
leaving deserted the injured, desolate Jericho.
Where silhouetted sentinels silently stand in vain,
their ghostly shadows remind us of dreams we dared to drain.
Desolate Woman: From the Novel 'Revenge Along The War Trail'
“She's what the Blackfeet refer to
as ‘Desolate Woman’
"Sad when she's happy
—not happy when she's sad"
(Villanova Pennsylvania: 2016)