Best Loneliest Poems
The life we choose the choices we make
Knowing how much to give knowing how much to take
Now this equation is not simple at least not for me to ascribe
For a lifetime worth of pain and not once have I cried
It's not remedies or reason for this affliction which I seek
For I am pleased with the joys I have given while not needing to weep
Yet I cant help but wonder though as yet I have not tried
Would my life had been much different were I able to cry
For I have seen the results of tears when they are freely shed
How embraces would soon follow with soft strokes to ones head
Now I can love and be tender without much effort or strain
Yet I am unable to give comfort when tears fall like the rain
But I will always be loving and Gods gifts to me I will share
And maybe the day I meet him in heaven will be the day I shed my tear
December clouds are falling,
falling into gray from a heavy sky
of snowy tears as if newly widowed
brides in white are gathered on high
to bid one last farewell to love,
and all the while, a morning fog thickens,
then, settles on a desolate earth
like a memory of last year's blizzard.
Migrating birds, too, bid farewell
as the hazy winter morn
abruptly turns to anguished night.
Even a grieving sun stays hidden
behind closed curtains...uncertain
of our planet's slowing orbit
on this, the loneliest of winter days.
Once upon a time there lived a very small caterpillar. She was quite shy, meek, and timid of small crowds. She would even go out of her way to avoid confrontation with the other insects until one very important day. One day she saw danger coming to her caterpillar environment and so she had to go out on a limb in order to get the attention of all the other insects. She had to make her presence known and forget all about her shyness. She even had to dress a little bit differently and carry a different tune in her heart. She had to help the rest of the caterpillars see that there was true danger on the horizon. She needed to show them what the future would bring.
A certain amount of time had passed and small tragedies began to happen in her neck of the woods. The branches of her tree began to shake and the apples all began falling from the trees. She tried to warn everyone up until this point in time, but no one would pay attention to her. Now her popularity grew and half the insect population came to hang out on her branch of the tree. She could not rest day or night. She was barraged with requests to speak to the other insects.
Soon enough the weather changed and the leaves began to fall. It was now autumn time and a mighty gust of wind came and took them all up. Up, up, and away to a mightier tree than they were perched on before. It was the mightiest oak tree of all. It made the tree they were previously perched on look like a small sapling. Once they arrived atop the new tree their entire existence began to change. They were now safe. They had solid shelter. They also had a view like none other.
What is the moral of this story you might ask? The moral of this story is that it takes a small meek caterpillar to accomplish great things! It also takes a brave caterpillar to go out on a limb to ensure the safety of the rest of the community. And thirdly, if you want to do something mighty for your community you must imagine yourself carrying out the task even before the opportunity presents itself.
Jeremiah 17:7 But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him.
I listen, content to hear raindrops from an anguished sky pour out.
My darkest hour of night is just a fragment of one day, only
a fragment of a fleeting life; but an ending to grief, I somehow doubt.
If I live through nights void of love, not alone but lonely,
(for there is a difference) I will dream of your face and wake happily.
For Broken Wing's Fragment of Life Contest, 2/23/16
With the sun in the forceps
Of an ageless night,
The bells at the lighthouse toll
Until they are merely sterile
Breaths.
Occasionally, a ghostly whisper
Validates and dissects
Each tear, each truth.
I can't imagine their loneliness-
watching light burn
Until it is as small as a flea,
While we endure engulfed
In light,
Principals of refuge
And shadow.
how quiet it must have been
for you, michael collins...
how calm it must have seemed
for you, michael collins...
how tranquil you must have felt
up there alone
with no one on the radio,
except for you, michael collins...
doing something no one had done
with no one around to see
because you were in a place no one had been
with no way to share what you saw
because even radios fail that far away from home.
but not you, michael collins...
how dark was it in there
with not even the sun to guide your way?
how still was the air
with not even the wind to make a sound?
how many times did you ask yourself,
michael collins,
if you would ever see home again?
how many times did you think to yourself,
michael collins,
that you might not ever again
see the faces you remember?
on that clearest night,
did the stars not seem brighter than before?
upon coming into the sun again,
did you,
michael collins,
not feel lighter than before?
it must have been strangely startling
to have been startled by that strange crackle
coming from the radio.
for another human voice to sound so foreign
yours must have been a lie.
how did it feel leaving that void,
michael collins,
and crashing back into existence?
how soon did it feel,
to you, michael collins,
that your feet were back on the ground?
i imagine you must miss that silence.
...
i imagine you must
from time to time
walk far far away
and look at the stars.
i would ask you one question if i could,
michael collin,
on the clearest night
when you look up into that darkness
have the stars ever been brighter than before?
I sit on the terrace
Of Le Cafe du Coeur
The morning sun, bringing subtle rays of hope
To this otherwise dull moment
I sip mon cafe, dreaming of others
And other times
Fine linen paper, pen in hand
The loneliest poem in all the land
The words flow, ink to paper
One line at a time
They sing of thoughts
Emotions long drained, other times
It is time for a walk to nowhere
Along the banks of a river with no name
I leave the cafe table, a cafe with no fame
I left the poem, with empty glass, alone
There sits this poem, written for no one
On a table, in quiet solitude
Waiting for the next clientele to arrive
The waiter clears the empty glass, no more…
She sits, alone, the day begun
Her life a mystery to us all
As she sees this paper of fine linen
With words, so elegantly scrawled
The waiter with espresso in hand, smiles
As she reads a strangers words
They speak to the very desires of her heart
They tell her who she is
This sunny day turns to rain
As her tears wash the table cloth
She weeps
For finally, she knows
Who she desires
A poet with no name
Tressa
Loving, kind, quirky, weird
Sister of Joe and Kit
Lover of many, but one in particular
Who feels anger, sadness, and happiness.
Who fears clowns, rejection, and dying alone
Who would like to see Paris, Rome, and Japan
Resident of Caldwell, Idaho
Behler
The loneliest road, a path unknown,
Where footprints fade, the seeds unsown.
Amidst the woods, in silent grace,
A solitary journey we all must face.
Beneath the moon's pale, silver light,
The stars above, a quiet night.
In solitude, we find our way,
A road less traveled, come what may.
Through winding lanes and darkened woods,
The loneliest road, where silence broods.
But in this solitude, we will find,
A deeper self, an awakened mind.
The loneliest road, it's not in vain,
For in its silence, we attain,
A strength to tread where others fear,
The road less traveled, crystal clear.
So let us walk with hearts held high,
The loneliest road, beneath the sky.
Embrace the journey, bold and true,
For in its solitude, we are renewed.
I caught a glimpse of you from the corner of my eye.
You bared a mark of birth at the corner of your eye.
I sat there trying to show that I didn't know where to go.
I wanted to let you know you had a special glow.
But I sat there idle,
knowing I would never make a move.
So I leave you alone, you leave me alone, and we remain alone.
Everyday I grow colder and older, like a stone.
Once, a lonely number three
sat forlornly on my knee.
In his eyes, I saw despair
as he was sitting there.
"You needn't sniffle, cry or pout.
I too have been the odd man out."
The loneliest prayer is often said
When evening shadows fall
Or when I sob and jump in bed
My shirt, my shoes, and all
I wonder why my closest friends
Keep making fun of me
And why the fun and laughter ends
As quick as one, two, three
The loneliest prayer can make me cry
When mom is on the phone
I know she hates to say good-bye
When I am all alone
My sister in the other room
Is watching late TV
We read a book and zoom zoom zoom
Her time is done with me
The loneliest prayer is on my mind
Each day that I miss dad
The happy times we left behind
Are thoughts that make me sad
I miss the fun we used to share
When I was only three
And when I cried my dad was there
To love and comfort me
My loneliest prayer is for the fear
Of acting like a lout
When mom gets home I call her dear
For keeping her about
I thank the Lord and when I do
I thank Him honestly
For mom and dad and sister too
And what they mean to me.
I made your voice when I dreamed
of a resounding conviction
I told your name only
when voices seemed to fit
I wrote it only in syllables
Even when none stood their test
I cried in tears when these syllables could
only stream
I don't fear growing old though each year brings both loss and fresh pain
But if God's real or not, with my death, both will end, and I gain
What I trust will be peace. But if death's all there is, can I miss
The day's sun, the rain's smell, rainbow's grace, love's skin's touch, or a kiss?
God grant heaven exists, and death dies! Who would mourn what gets lost
That eternity promises soon to restore without cost?
But I swear, on this plane growing old seems the loneliest art,
Hard to share but through words, and can rhymes cast so late play a part?
How do old share their path for most friends in this life are old too
And to young lost in jobs and success, old folks live in a zoo!
What's to envy at all, lives of seniors seem small in their cage.
What to do, for though heart might still roam, past life feels like a page.
Can real shelter be found, love or wisdom then shared? Do you care?
Astronomical odds death is cold, and God never was there?
But for me, thought of God, the Creator makes infinite sense
Fills all loneliness up, makes the grave, if not Satan, past tense!
Still, it's hard to ignore, as we age human sex redefined,
And though cuddling is great, no one thinks theft of ******'s kind!
Smell and taste slowly dim as our vices and pleasures all fade,
Life-long friends drop like flies, for some dentures will make 'hit parade.'
Though with friends by your side in man's will you are always alone,
In Christ's death and God's Grace man is saved though his works can’t atone!
Brian Johnston
17th of January 2019
He had no schooling
to speak of--
he had no money
to speak of--
he had no future
to dream of--
yet...
he grew tall, strong,
ever hungering
to learn,
to know,
to understand--
he saw into the
hearts of men
while telling his
country jokes,
knowing laughter
smothered fear--
and he walked in
grace of a sort,
keeping a nation
from cracking,
freeing a race
while trying to
quiet the hate
until a coward
shot him in the
back of the head
and a nation was
set back over
a hundred years.
[composed and posted 2/19/21]