Best Pain Poems
"Letting Go!"
Behind that garden rail
Where worms squirm and roam,
They dig into every bad part of my day
I feel them crawling, making my hide their home
They feast on my will and my dead walking soul.
Slowly I am fading away into a cloud of nothing.
I find myself reminiscing the moment I meet you.
With scars and guilt, I won’t let go!
I’m cold and miserable inside
Different emotions, I can no longer hide
I can’t seem to heal the deep cut within
Echoes twist the mood that has no meaning
I sit with a jar full of tears, holding on tight
Afraid of letting go!
The hollow walls slay in every way
The abyss of a waterfall resides in my heart
This throbbing starvation, repeats the taste it longs for
I have no control, I can’t feed without you by my side.
I won't let go!
by:PD
Voice: Jason Williams
***
I danced!
Whirling air around me, particles of sundust
in tornadoes and hurricanes following me in awe
I danced.
Each night I wake and feel my legs
The ones that once carried me and jumped so high
The ones that took me away from a world I didn't want to be in
Creating a dream,
I danced.
The music colouring a world with brushes and pencils
With moves and muscle, practice and pirouette
A world I thought no one could take away
I danced.
When my eyes are closed I dance
My mind paints my body whole and healed
A unicorn, a world of faeries, a galloping horse
A world of dreams, veiled and away from hurt
I live again
I live
I don't dance anymore
But I write. My words, my lines, they carry me now
My legs are useless, my arms and emotions
Carry me
So....
I dance again, in words
I dance.
***
1st Place in contest: Practiced Passion
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
November 9, 2016
Do not build a ladder
when I fall into the abyss
I did not call for climbing
The thorn in me
is not a riddle to be solved,
nor a window begging repair
I am thunder — not your project;
I am rain that needs witness,
not your umbrella
When I say I’m drowning,
do not throw me ropes of reason
Let me sink into your silence
weightless unrescued
yet unalone
Be the shore that does not move
as my waves thrash
and settle
My pain is not a puzzle.
Don’t match it to your pieces.
It is a wild bird
let it wheel
let it scream
let it land
without your cage
on wild earth and
broken branches.
You see my storm
and lash advice like scaffolding,
but I need someone
to taste the chaotic torrent
to say yes — it bites,
yes — it burns,
not someone who murmurs
“you should have stayed inside”
To love me is to shhh,
to hold space as sacred
to hear with your cells
not just your ears
What courage it takes
to offer no answer
to let me erupt
without stapling my wings
Let me weep
without shame.
Let me unravel
without thread.
Let me fall
and do not sweep
the pieces away.
These fragments
are not failure;
They are a kind of scripture
not trash,
but story,
etched into the fabric of my being.
Only when your stillness
echoes louder than your words
can I hear myself return
Only then
can I stitch up with cat gut
and name it healing.
And when I rise,
not fixed
but found,
I will turn toward you
not to repay
but to remain
to share this journey
And then I will listen deeply.
Coral life forms in copious swarms
feast in the Cambrian chyme,
dividing their cells and forming their shells
to end on the seafloor as lime.
Tectonic churning and magma upturning
renders marble whiter than bone.
The marble is mined, but the cutters are blind
to the angel confined in the stone.
A young sculptor arose, with a bend in his nose
and a transcendent creative spark,
charged with ambition to fulfill a commission,
an angel for St. Dominic's Ark.
An artist sublime who will live for all time,
his genius is to see things not shown.
For an angel to achieve he first has to perceive
its splendor enclosed in the stone.
At dawning's first glow he surveys the tableau
of the blocks the stone cutters supplied.
In some he sees dreams of potential themes,
but only one holds an angel inside.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
The block that he chose was rejected by those
who then lied and claimed to foresee it.
With talent and skill he falls to with a will,
surrounded by rubble and relic.
His method you see, for the angel to free
is to remove all the bits not angelic.
Michelangelo’s art for all time stands apart
but there's something further to heed.
For there's a bit more to the fine metaphor
in the tale of the angel he freed.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
For in all our insides a bright angel abides
and is just waiting for something to free it:
to remove all the parts which harden our hearts,
to chip out the darkness and pride,
to smooth the rough patches, to polish the scratches
and unshackle the angel inside.
© January 26, 2013
My shadow flirts with the sun
As I caress the darkness
We are one and separate
As my shadow smiles
Anxiety suffocates me
The shadow will soon fade
I shall die
One happy, one not
Daddy
Daddy, why did you go away?
Don't you know I wanted you to stay!
Daddy, when you left mom,
Don't you know you left me too?
Now all I do is cry and cry
--- I want to die!
Daddy, mommy say's it's better this way,
What does she know!
They're not enough band-aids to cover up the blues
Mom's kisses can't heal this kind of pain.
Daddy, I look around
No one stands in your garage
Daddy, You took every tool
Except the hammer and sitting stool
Daddy, I still miss you
--- I love you.
***
Dear Daddy, I'm all grown up now
Haven't seen you since I was 10
Daddy, I sit on your favorite chair,
No longer do I miss the way you caressed my hair.
Daddy, I'm taking the old hammer and this BRAND NEW saw,
It's time to patch all the holes mom punched in the wall
*The day you walked out on us*
Daddy, don't worry about the times I tripped and fell
Mom found someone to fix the loose boards,
Got tired of scraping my knees
Daddy, I finally realized I'm okay,
I agree with mom, it's better this way.
by- Not every dad is great (but step-dad YES!)
AM I ?
Am I Just Standing Here, or Am I Just Dead?
Am I So Full Of Fear, I Lost Myself Instead?
Am I A Nobody, that you can't defend me?
OR
Am I Just Invisible, and you really don't pretend.
Am I Blind, Or I Just Don't Wish To See?
The Love I Cannot Find Is Right In Front Of Me!
Am I Hearing the Truth,
Or Have I Just Been Deceived?
Who Can I Trust?
Who Can I Believe?
Am I So Mad I Just Can't Understand,
Or Am I So Sad I Need A Shoulder And A friend?
Is It Just Me,
Or Am I All Alone?
***
I wrote this poem 22 years ago
I was pregnant, scared and alone:-(
It's 3 am,
her pillow soaked in regret.
Loss has left her spirit lonesome,
darkness a definition of insanity.
In the silence of the night,
vexatious voices vibrate inside
her somber state of mind.
Restless, she sits at her proverbial piano,
as a plethora of pain bleeds through
her fingers onto ebony and ivory keys.
Rain drops drip from her eyes,
unable to contain the sorrows in her heart.
In perfect harmony with her faithful piano,
her heartache performs the perfect poetic personification,
echoing a serenade of melancholic melodies.
Her whole body is numb, but the
music mesmerises her mind, as memories
of her prophetic protagonist persist.
Her souls sighs, as she sings;
"If only you could see the pain,
maybe then you would explain,
what do you think you will gain,
from my mind going insane?
It seems like you don't care,
tell me how is that fair?
You'll say it's you and not me,
because you're too blind to see,
only your love can set me free,
but you say it's not meant to be.
It seems like you don't care,
tell me how is that fair?
Oh my love, is this goodbye?
Your silence makes my heart cry.
Within the deepness of each sigh,
I will always question why."
27 March 2018
Simple Musing
Silent One
Open eyed, long tearless, foul silvered orbs
have you no pity? The aqua tide rides dry.
Blind staring scorches, accusing twin barbs
who burrow inward, a destiny to decry.
Scattered rendering, puzzled pieces aligning;
"Please mercy has a place, why can't I cry?"
Remove the cataract veneer, stop my pining
"Have you no place for maddened souls such as I?"
Nailed to the boards you see a canvassed psyche
dabbed upon a casein shroud in hues most bright.
"How many lamp lit days will you seek to find me?"
The light betrays me and I live in eternal fright.
Eternities unfold in Lovecraft Tales
upon the silvered side within my eyes; hell wails.
One day we will be, forever silent.
Where would we be without poetry?
As a child, I buried my heart,
drained from games death would play -
in adulthood, it still refuses to resurface.
Grim Reaper hides in the corner of my eyes.
Is there such a thing as an overdose of sadness?
Because sometimes pain has no metaphor,
so we bleed the seeds of dormant blossoms.
I stare at a forgotten photograph,
at a boy I once knew from my past,
scruffy curly hair with tense, timid, tired eyes.
His life is a fuzzy blur, but I feel his misery.
Some memories are merely reflections,
some reminders, returning within season.
Unwanted souvenirs of how unfair life can be.
When skies are clouded like ashen smoke,
all I hear is untuned violin strings, screeching -
violent, like tangible bursts of thunder.
An orchestra of lightening forcing an
explosions of unerupted emotions.
Like pain placed in a paper bag,
scattered like a dead man's ashes.
I've come to terms with people
not seeing beyond the smile.
Still I search for love in freezing rain,
to prevent from numbing sensations.
In the darkness of death,
I still remember the white lights -
and my mother's rainbow love
maybe that's what saved me.
I realise the reality of adversity.
I'm an advocate of its lessons -
because, i'm a definition of each battle,
yet I know the war is far from over.
Poetry is the perfect way to release suppressed emotions.
My heart desires to beat like a flutist's musical notes -
like a kite floating higher and higher against brutal winds.
Silent One
4 December 2020
This is an example of my current contest called catharsis poetry.
I attempted to use poetry techniques like light alliteration and assonance.
How many images can I paint more
than I’ve already done? Like nights moon-lit
or meadow-dancing? You - whom I adore -
in every love scene - you’re the star of it.
The many colors! Oh, each brilliant hue.
I splashed them giddily when we shared bliss.
I’ve given sunsets, snow and spring to you -
Sweet passion’s words for you, Dear, and a kiss
I’ve always left down on the corner of
each canvas in our life, for there’s no me
without you, and there’s nothing but our love
to get us through, and sometimes tragedy
I’ve painted too – deep ocean’s blue – yet still,
I’ll paint you always lovely with my quill.
When pain hits hard, you might feel like your soul
is bleeding out, but there’s no blood to see.
Your body is the part that takes the toll,
and physically you feel agony.
Perhaps the pain goes to your heart as though
a knife has sliced right through it, or you feel
it in your gut as if you took a blow.
No cut or bruise is shown, yet it is real!
When both the body and the spirit seem
to reach their limit, tears are overdue.
You have to let those tears go! Let them stream
and carry out the bitterness for you.
An empty tissue box becomes the sign
that soon, and hopefully, you will be fine.
Checked with howmanysyllables.com
Hope, A Little Remained
She walked the creaking floors of the rat-infested room,
trying to remember what tragedy had sent her to this shabby place.
Her heart felt the desperate pains, that lost love sends in aching waves,
praying her sleeping infant does not wake and cry out from its feverish thirst.
He paced the cold cell, languishing in deep misery, heart shattered,
each step an eternity echoing curses, a testament to his broken pride.
Although thousands of miles apart, he felt her loss, never-ending sorrows,
dawn would come, priest would take his last confession, yet Hope remained.
7-03-2018
For Silent One's, eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late.
O my brother, I can see your pain.
Unlike the ignorant, I hear your screams,
yet you refuse to explain, why you're
lost in forgotten fast flowing streams,
wandering like a forgoing wave,
thinking there's blessings in an early grave.
When you can't understand the darkness,
feeling as you do not belong,
remember in our own unique weirdness,
you don't have to pretend to be headstrong
because my brother, I can see your pain.
I know it hurts, because I've been hurt too
sometimes we fall, as I've fallen too,
but you need to realise -
It's not wrong to not be strong,
so remove your daily disguise.
Stop living up to expectations
from 'out of date' generations.
It's OK not to be OK.
and I'll help you find your way.
Dad was sadly mistaken -
it's fine to cry when you feel forsaken
because my brother, I can see your pain.
If you think there's too much shame,
we'll sit in silence until you feel tame.
It's hard to say what's on your mind,
when reactions are not always kind.
Then they ignite our dynamite hearts
to make us feel as we're not worthy,
so a piece of our sanity departs
and the demons show no mercy.
It's not absurd that so many
are confused in their own little world.
It's ok to cry, so release those tears,
you are not a burden, so share your fears
because my brother, I can feel your pain.
We don't have to smile all the time,
playing the joker is now a masculine crime.
We can't live as a definition of our past,
as fate won't wait - it moves too fast.
We can only determine where we are going,
when we process what we are not showing.
We are iron monuments forged in fire,
separate but born with burning desire.
Waterfalls formed from the same rain,
flowing from different mountainous terrain.
A secret lullaby from two unheard tones,
healing from wounds cast from selfish stones
So in times of rage and feeling misunderstood,
remember the beautiful bond of brotherhood
because my brother, I can see your pain.
It's always those who reside in our hearts,
whose words, like lightning,
electrocute our soul,
and in each pain there is a lesson.
Her life was like a room without a view,
those 'rainy day' eyes,
could have formed a deep river,
but no ship sailed upon it,
to carry me to her
and I would have kissed away every tear.
Misplaced, I could feel her yearning,
for a home, she had never known,
confused and lost, but her silence,
left her trapped in burdensome meadows,
and I wonder if I could have shown her the way.
From the silent echoes of her tongue,
I could feel the malady of her spirit,
feel the lacerations piercing her heart.
If only my words could have soothed her,
but even they could not save her.
As the lights dimmed,
silent stars became the nature of my poetry,
I asked the moon why?
but clouds covered his expression.
Now my mind is a time machine
of her memories, her voice still haunts,
as I ponder if the thunder will persist,
because I'm too afraid to close my eyes.
Simple Musing
Silent One
4 October 2018