Healing Poems | Examples

Time Cures

Time cures most everything
And helps to heal the breaks,
But shortages of resources
Tense and test the zeal,
Creating less of what time makes
And more for it to heal.

SOUL

silent wounds turn stubborn into strength,
over broken earth, courage takes slow root,
under each scar, light relearns the language of living.

Healing Poetry

The poet knows that broken things
still catch and hold the light,
that even shattered verses
can illuminate the night.
We write our way through tangled thoughts,
untangle knots with rhyme,
transform the chaos in our minds
to music, line by line.
Each word a small rebellion
against the urge to hide,
each poem proof that even pain
can blossom into pride.
So let the ink flow freely
through the labyrinth of care—
for in the act of writing down,
we learn that we are there.
Not lost, not gone, not broken past
the power to create,
but human, whole, and worthy of
the stories we translate.????????????????

I Remember

I remember! I recall how good– no,
how great it feels to feel so good!
I remember the bright colours 
in the rainbows after a storm.
I remember the trees, the rivers, the critters, 
the peace of our world.
I remember how to get excited, 
to have goals and plans– fantastic dreams!
I remember the love I feel from my friends, family, pets, 
loved ones, who I’m lucky to have.
I remember that I can be grateful for all of 
the simple things that I am graced with in this life.
I remember to create, to write, and to draw, 
to bring about something new.
I remember the stars as they twinkle overhead, 
specks of light in the dark of night.
I remember that I can care for myself, 
love myself as much as I do for others.
I remember the joy I find in a good book,
in getting dressed up, in delicious food.
I remember flowers and rocks and bees, 
all of the tiny things I love to notice.
I finally remember how to live vicariously, 
how to enjoy and embody the free spirit inside.

guitar - tanka triptych

Tanka Triptych Poetry Contest // Sponsored by: John Andersen 
( 1st Place )

Written: August 26, 2025


the waiting

beside the old chair
my guitar waits in stillness
strings asleep in dust
the moment my fingers reach
the silence bends into sound

the voice

a low trembling voice
rises from its wooden chest
shaping all my hours
midnight sorrow braided through
with the thread of restless hope

the afterglow

when the song drifts off
its breath remains inside me
soft as ember-glow
guiding me to start again
with a heart that learns to heal

Let The Flowers Grow Again - Mystic

Let The Flowers Grow Again Poetry Contest// Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
( 2nd Place )

Written: August 26, 2025


There are days the globe feels heavy,
when the garden does not answer back,
and every stem bows under the weight of rain.

I walk among the silence,
touching soil with trembling hands,
wondering if beauty remembers me
if blossoms still dream beneath the dark.

Yet even in the hushed, forgotten corners,
a pulse remains.
Hidden beneath the globe,
roots hold fast in quiet
keeping the echo
of a vanished sun.

I believe, when gentler winds arrive,
and grief begins to loosen its hold,
the earth will speak again.

Blooms will turn their faces upward,
not in rebellion.

So let them grow
not just for the season,
but for every heart that needs reminding-

love is never gone
it only waits to bloom.

holy herb

Sage healing
Great properties 
"holy herb"

Healing

LIFE IS A ROLLER COASTER
WITH EVERY TWIST AND TURNS 
LIFE CAN HAVE ITS UPS AND DOWNS
LIFE IS A LESSON THAT CAN BE LEARNED. 
LIFE IS NEVER PLAIN SAILING
AND ITS NOT MEANT TO BE
EVERY HUMAN IN THIS PLANET
HAVE GOT THEIR OWN PAST HISTORY.
ONE BAD DAY DOESN'T DESERVE ANOTHER
GRAB THE HAND OF A FELLOW MAN
GRAB THE HAND OF YOUR SISTER OR BROTHER
AND HUG EACH OTHER IF YOU CAN.
LIFE IS TOO SHORT 
TO WORRY ABOUT WHAT IF AND WHY
BY THE TIME YOU'VE FIGURED LIFE OUT
YOUR LIFE HAS PASSED YOU BY.

Cosmic Nights

The whole Cosmos delights in night dreaming,
Where Sun and Moon entwine in astral projection.
The Cosmos listens to the sky's calling,
Knowing we're part of this great connection.

The forest presents green variety,
For which Moonlight holds great reverence.
Each tree and leaf beckons true piety
As Sunlight shows its high benevolence.

Have you ever felt the Blue Moon's grace,
Or lain beneath the entranced Full Moon?
The sky smiles with Moonlight's magical face,
Shining through the soft trees aligned and tuned.

Healing oneself in nature's vast kingdom
Is to restore the self to wholesomeness.

Taming the Alcoholic

When cage is cask,
And whip is knife,
Blood's to flask,
As wrist's to life. 

For every sip,
There's but cage and whip.
Tis better to skip,
And equip your grip.

Healing

Healing

needs time

it is said~

already healed

smacks of

strangeness~

yet no time

proclaims

perfection

without process~

separation spins

tales~~

IN CAPABILITY GARDENS

IN CAPABILITY GARDENS

There’s ability,
And there’s disability;
Let’s garden both:
Ability’s seeds fruiting
Disability’s healing:-

MENDING PEACE IN WAR

MENDING PEACE IN WAR

Wounds of war bleed,
Healing needs our helping hands:
It’s time to stitch peace:-

The Return

We went away at seventeen,
Still green about the ears,
Not knowing that in between
The war and later years
We would be haunted to the core,
Damaged in the head.
We did not return from war;
We brought it home instead.

The fight out there was not as loud
As is the fight inside;
It blankets me, just like a shroud;
Life is a wild ride.
We walk the street, the city roam;
Inside, our souls are dead.
From war we never came back home,
but stayed with it instead.

It’s been so long, but still we see
Their faces in our dreams;
The war goes on for you and me,
Or at least, it seems.
But within, we find our strength,
Our weakness, darkness, light,
We’ve fought and won the war at length,
Out of love, or spite.

I write inside my little book
My verses and my lines;
All the things war from me took 
Will come back and be mine.
I hope that you don’t walk alone,
I pray that you still feel.
From war I never came back home,
But from the war I’ll heal.

Crape Myrtles in August

The bark peels back like old skin—
Mine, yours, the cinnamon scrolls
Of what we shed to live. August
Bleaches the world to bone, the bark’s faint spice
Rising in the noon glare,
Heat tasting of salt and sand. And still this Crape crowns
Itself with Myrtle fire. Still—

I cannot explain what breaks in me. Still I press my cheek
Against its flaking flesh, feel
The pulse beneath—magenta,
White, pink, the deep red
Of what I've never
Bled for anyone.

Each blossom a small fist
Opening with the muted pop
Of summer rain on dry earth. Each petal, tissue-thin
As the lies I've told myself
About enduring. The Eastern Shore sun
Has made this tree what survival
Looks like: stubborn—

Beautiful, built for the burning
Seasons that strip us
To what we are. Winter comes,
And I am learning
How to be naked—
These mottled limbs

My teachers, conductors' hands
Mid-gesture, never finished
With their fierce music
Of staying alive. Of reaching
Up through the killing
Cold, brittle air ringing
With the clink of frozen twigs toward something

Green promises I cannot fathom—yet still I know
Lives in the light returning.

• Short Healing Poems
• Famous Healing Poems
• Best Healing Poems
• Read Healing Poems
• Long Healing Poems
• Healing Quotes