Best Weep Poems
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 solve,
nor a window to repair.
I am thunder, not your project-
rain needing witness,
not your umbrella.
When I say I’m drowning,
do not throw 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
uncaged cage on wild earth.
You see my storm
and lash advice like scaffolding,
but I need someone
to taste the torrent,
to say yes—it bites, and 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.
When I lay me down to sleep,
And cry the tears that sinners weep;
To speak the words of a contrite prayer,
And know that someone listens there.
He cares for sheep that have gone astray,
Who willfully wander their own way;
They vex the pride that hides within,
And drink the bitter cup of sin.
The web of lies and dark deception,
Lie in defeat of Light’s conception;
To capture all and destroy life,
With passion’s fire and human strife
We need to plant the gospel vine,
Where evil rules and saints repine.
While martyrs lead with ransomed prayer,
With hope for life that tarries there.
Blood that was shed on Calvary,
Set slaves of transgression wholly free.
So we rise from the grave to seek reward,
Giving praise to our risen Lord.
I'm named a willow tree and live in grace,
the whole of me distinctive in its shape.
My elegance well suits this lush landscape
of hillocks flung across the field I face. . .
and gentle rills meander through this place.
In spring I don a long virescent cape
comprised of many supple arms that drape
to earth and, with Eve’s shadows, interlace.
Oh, countless times Sun’s flecked my every leaf
and Sky distilled her stars as night would creep.
Young lovers, though, have fled, their time so brief.
They used to spread a cloth to eat; then sleep
beneath me in my shade. They knew no grief. . .
Not privy to their destiny, I weep.
Sigh you wind whispering willows
Green sentinels of the ocean blue
Her feet edge no more the billows
Where canoes dock and salt sprays spew
Sigh for the loss of responsiblity
Sigh for the death of sensibility
See you not these cold, worn stones
That in their stoic composure stay
And water laps sand muted of groans
Though a mutual tenant passed away
O willows weep, for the sun is set
On my heart made barren by regret.
She lived here without pretense or grief
Scrubbing floors, clothes, pots, and pans
For pittance spent as dust in a sieve
She earned her status with her hands
And knew all the fishermen by name
Who sold her the small ones when she came.
By light of night she fed her family food
And by the faith of her soul she stood
Against fear or doubt, grace was the mood
Tears was from the smoke of cooking wood
Weep then for the lady gone in silence
And stir the stones to standard sentience
- "I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." -
Michelangelo
Among crimson flowers
and sunsets in brushed calendulas
My imagination will not be denied
even though I am scared and alone
among the fallen ribbons
Where grief is a heavy chain
Iron reflects on innocent earth
Weep - silent tears at the grave
- set the angels free
An angel chiseled in shining white marble
Characterized by silence
Weep as a thin veil,
otherworldly beauty in a blessed resting place
Seeking comfort under own wings
A divine place for tears and prayer
which brings sanity back to normal level
Weep - a weight from the past
- set the angels free
'Willow Weep'
The willow
Tree
Is standing
There
Without a
Thought,
Without a
Care.
Anchored deep
It hugs
The earth,
No hint
Of laughter
None of
Mirth.
It softly
Sways
In gentle
Breeze
That barely
Touches
Other trees.
With slender
Leaves
And branches
Long,
Its cooing
Now
A mournful
Song.
But why
So sad,
This stately
Tree
That stands
So tall,
And seems
So free.
What event
In ancient
Time
Now leads
Us to
Much metric
Rhyme,
Of weeping
Willows
Crying softly,
Bearing sadness
Standing loftly.
A contradiction
This weeping
Tree,
That brings
Such joy
To you
And
Me.
Each day another velvet petal fell
Like somber tears from weeping eyes
A perfect flower was severed to quell
It lay withering as it drooped and died
Perfect flower, from bud to bloom
Sweet-scented rose, it was no wonder
That stifled in that sepulcher room
You were enshrined, awaiting plunder
Sadness lingers in me over your demise
Withered petals are always a cause for pain
But I'll remember you without tears in my eyes
The memory of your fragrance shall remain
Weep not for sins that are long past
For they are but a teaching tool
Those moments gone, no more to last
When you were but a silly fool!
With lessons learned, pray you move on
Vow to live well, be happy still…
With shadows of the past now gone
New purpose found, new hope, new will!
Your soul is like a raging ocean
Bringing forth litter, and debris
Crashing waves in constant motion
Wipe clean the sand, back out to sea.
Empty your soul of sins long past
Those moments gone, no more to last!
As mist descended far and low,
dark storm clouds stirred the sea.
Upon the rocks a maiden lay,
weep by the tide did she.
Fair English rose, her skin so pure,
awash with salty dew.
Now tarnished, long cascading hair
once glowed a golden hue.
A sailor's charm did claim her heart
when first he stepped ashore.
He courted her, imbibed her love,
then told he'd stay no more.
His soul betrothed to ocean's breeze,
firm land was not for he.
Horizon-bound, his ship set sail
o'er black and verdigris.
As tempest ragings galled the waves
beneath the moonless skies,
a haunting sorrow chased the wind,
midst echoes from her sighs.
'cross briny depths she cried her vow
to wait eternally.
Forever on those rocks she lay,
weep by the tide did she.
When I was just a little girl unaware of life,
Father would take me to the park with him;
I loved the pond and the sweet ducks within,
Mother, father and their babies full of trust.
The ducks like me knew nothing of corruption,
Like me they were a symbol of true innocence;
The ugliness of the world could not touch us,
In our naivete we just floated along with life.
We were sinless with no knowledge of being hurt,
It was a beautiful day and we knew only that;
Oh to go back to those days of pure innocence,
Where death had not touched my soul as yet.
And ducks only knew they liked the pond,
They did not know that their days were few;
We heard some boys came and killed them,
Father told me the world was sometimes bad.
I knew nothing in this age of innocence,
I had no knowledge, no understanding yet;
Oh but that would come to this lamb of God,
Yes the years have taken my instincts of trust.
Inside I am still that little girl at the pond,
I love to watch nature in all its beauty;
But my innocence is shattered, and I see reality,
Ugliness in the world has no limit it seems.
Dear God, is there anything more innocent,
Than the children and all the helpless animals;
On the news every day the children are suffering,
And I weep for the slaughter of the guiltless.
And the killers protest their innocence.
_______________________
August 17, 2015
Poetry/Verse/"And I Weep For The Innocent"
Copyright Protected, ID 15-700-464-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
Written for the contest, The Instincts Of Innocence
sponsor, Justin Bordner
Honorable Mention
words
are thoughts
that ink gives
life and makes me
write
thoughts
falling
like sad tears
on white paper
weep
___________________
March 31, 2015
Poetry/Lanterne/words weep
Copyright Protected, ID 03-658-658-31
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest Lanterne
sponsor ?, Judged 04/2015
Third Place
such longing, such loving
sweet violins sing
where have you gone?
my true love, my light
violins ~ cry
my soul to sleep
forever in memories
my broken heart weeps
I touch, the old weathered stone angels softly,
And stones, vine covered and tree shady,
All the names are engraved deep,
Sad sorrow to keep,
Forever.
Weep,
Oh mourner,
For all here that sleep,
Death and time, entwine and creep,
The dead, whispering to me sweetly,
I touch the old weathered stone angels softly.
__________________________
October 5, 2015
Poetry/Andaree/Rhyme/Weep
Copyright Protected, ID 15-714-794-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, The Andaree Contest II,
sponsor, Andrea Dietrich
Seventh Place
Do not cry, for I am with you still,
in everything you see and do,
in every gentle whisper of name.
The breeze upon the windowpane,
a sigh, in the darkest of time,
it’s not yours, but mine.
I hear you weep, please no more,
for I am just beyond the door.
Just call my name and have no fear,
Each word you say. I can hear.
Oh Ye Poets, Weep Not!
(Apropos When Silence Is Betrayal)
To write of peace, love and beauty,
Would be what others think should be
The poets’ only duty;
Albeit, what we write, is like that of the dove;
Peace and love rendered from up high—Soaring
Within the oneness from God above—
Within the winds of truth blowing—
Let us not heed to the silencing ones trying to hold us in check;
Let not need of their approval make us a nervous wreck.
Let us write no lies we’ll later cringe and seek to deny;
Let no one cause us to question truth—asking why;
Let us remember the lamb of truth that chose to die!
Let’s always chose to pen and scream the truth of the heart!
Let’s always remember who chose us to echo words of a new start!