Forgotten Poems - Poems about Forgotten

There I am, sitting upright on this forsaken bed. The moon has just come into view, and something bright yet out of reach is what I see, and right away I make a wish. A wish to be sent back to a time that has been rejected. To open my eyes and find myself...

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She is a flawed woman and her flaws aren't even poetic. She's just you and me, a woman who mistakes face for truth, and wears affection like yesterday's shirt. Lost, confused, occasionally lying— That's all she is: human. A human who fears loneliness, so she invites harm just to be seen. A human who can't stand her shallowness but when she thinks, discomfort...

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Woke up this morning come to find can’t recall a thing at all really think I’ve lost my mind after sleep digging deep to collect my thoughts and what I recollect amounts to naught insufficient hard drive RAM my memory is shot what I remember as best I can is not a lot it's diddley-squat it's failing me old age is what's ailing me and yet will I forget such...

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In a room with heavy curtains, where shadows dance on walls like forgotten memories, It's not just about touches, nor bodies pressed together or rumpled sheets, It's about how you undressed me of layers of silence and fears with your hands like a gentle wind, In the bed that seemed a secret island, you taught me to be...

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You don’t know me You don’t know me You believe you do You don’t know me You say that’s not true You don’t know me I hardly know myself You don’t know me I barely hold myself together You don’t know me I don’t know whether You don’t know me I walk the night Can you even see me I scream through the fright Do you even hear me Or I...

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In the forgotten garden of my heart, you are the fresh flower that blooms, A friend who lights my paths when storms caress my soul, No matter how many winds blow, you are the unmovable rock in time, Beside me always, like a lighthouse in an ocean troubled by dreams and shadows. You know me in my deepest, most...

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cursive letters pale fade into weathered parchment— they were stories once....

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I’ve tried to fall asleep And forget what we were. What we had doesn’t matter If you’re not here to share the moments. What if I never told you? Would we still be together— Or would our relationship Still fall apart in the storm? Thoughts of you flood my mind, And for some reason, they still hurt. Shouldn’t memories of you make me smile? Why is...

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In the shadows of our nation's promise, Some stand waiting, papers clutched in hand, While others cross where fences compromise, And find a different welcome in this land. I've seen the tired faces at food banks, Veterans who fought beneath our flag, The elderly with medicine too dear, And families whose futures start to sag. Not hatred...

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In a world where the symbolic parent has faded like a forgotten dream at dawn, children wander among the shadows of a destroyed literate society, we all stand on the ruins of education, family, and protection buried in time, technology has torn apart the fabric of relationships woven through the ages, the separation from the land has deeply wounded...

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An untold story of black British history Throughout history our voices have been silenced But what happens When they take it further and murder us? What about those who were permanently silenced? How will they speak up about how they were 'welcomed' with violence? But I have a voice and I will speak it The stories Of the forgotten...

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The clock ticks, a hollow sound, time that refuses to heal. Dust motes dance in the slanted light, each a tiny, forgotten sorrow. The news whispers of old wounds, reopened, a symphony of forgotten cries. Children play, their laughter a fragile shield against the encroaching silence. "When yesterdays become devoid of compassion", the present crumbles, a house of cards. The weight of what was, and...

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I no longer walk barefoot through this garden of forgotten time, where the grass, once the silk of summer, now scratches my soles with memories, here, in this enchanted soil, bloomed a flower that stole my soul, an earthbound spell transformed into petals that sang to the touch. Perhaps someone, a faceless traveler, came and stole it away, leaving only...

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like shadows in a slow-turning ...

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It lingers. Not on the lips. Lower. In the fiber of the tongue, in the spasming depths of fear, where words no longer light paths, but only fester in ancestral silences, like icons submerged in sacred rubble, beneath the cracked beams of a church welded shut from within, where even devils can no longer enter. Parting is not spoken. It is torn between teeth, swallowed...

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