Sad Imagery Poems | Examples
These Sad Imagery poems are examples of Imagery poems about Sad. These are the best examples of Imagery Sad poems written by international poets.
I stayed in this house,
Where wilted leaves blanket the lawn.
Dust particles dance around the purified air
like the fantasy fairies I imagined when I was young.
The sun rays came from the small kitchen window,
illuminating the metal trash can
filled with rotten foods and faith.
I look up,
breathing the polluted air in and out my flaring nostrils.
I know I cannot stay here.
Its not good for a growing body like mine, I say,
as I lay on the cluttered linoleum floor,
while maggots crawl up my body
and down my spine.
Spring cleaning comes and I seek to expunge from every counter and corner
All clutter and dried rose that serves no purpose
Knickknacks and little trinkets all go in the basket.
To be given to those who have lesser or resold or simple lost forever
There it sits on the mantle, an object grotesquely elephantine
Rounded edges so it fits into no corners
Claiming center stage, grossly out of place
Into the basket it goes leaving only a rim of dust in its absence
Spring cleaning is over, expunged from every counter and corner-
-all clutter or dried rose that serves no purpose
Knickknacks and little trinkets all go in the basket
The basket goes to the salvation army down the street
I sit and relax after a long day
Coffee in my hand, eyes fixed on the clean mantle
There it sits on the mantle, the object grotesquely elephantine
rounded edges so it fits in no corners
Claiming its place in the center
Of no value but it still remains
Like the one who gave it
My tchotchke
flames
erupt
blocking light
bathed in ashes
death
looking
worse for wear
at the mercy
of winter's harsh elements.
a stray dog,
sad of eyes,
clothed in all black
to match her mood.
emaciated and weather-beaten;
a labrador retriever
with her tail
tucked behind her hind legs
softly whimpering
shivering.
oh, you poor thing...
how far is your home?
scared
untrusting
of strangers;
perennially running
from rescue.
with a looped leash,
I approach, again....
she takes a step back
I come closer...closer....closer...
she turns
and sprints away.
I won't give up,
I'll do my best...
to help bring you in...
from the cold.
My head has always been made of glass,
and inside it lives a faint idea of who I am.
She used to be a silhouette,
but even then she wasn’t very defined.
In eighth grade, I believed that she lived in the shadows,
because showing herself felt heavier
than living in the trenches of our own mind.
In a way, she was right.
I was told that the time would come when I’d figure out who I was—
but what use is saying “everything happens for a reason”
if it only makes me sad?
I started to write in my mirror:
words like “I’m funny, I’m thoughtful, and I’m kind.”
And I waited for a big moment,
when I’d realize that I was right.
Then came social media.
It made me feel like people could look into my seemingly see-through mind through a cracked lens and endless filters.
I thought maybe they could help me figure out who I was,
but no flashy moment ever arrived.
It wasn’t until my friend thanked me for giving her a birthday gift
and studying for a class I didn’t take just to help her understand
that I got home to my dusty shelf and whispered into an empty room while looking my mirror in the eye
“Maybe I wasn’t wrong after all”
unsettling waves
farewell... to his monument
disconsolate... shards
Abandon...
The wind whispers through hollow streets,
a voice of sorrow, a breath of loss,
ghosts of footsteps long since crossed.
Abandon...
Walls crumble, forgotten and worn,
echoing laughter that once rang bright,
now devoured by endless night.
Abandon...
Shadows stretch with hungry hands,
claiming all that lingers still,
devouring warmth, devouring will.
Abandon...
The silence hums a mournful tune,
soft as dust upon the air,
a requiem for those who are not there.
Abandon...
Cold fingers trace your skin,
a presence felt but never seen,
a whisper lost in what has been.
Trigger Warning: This poem deals with themes of self-harm. Please read with care.
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my skin felt like a blank canvas
every time they faded.
i felt empty
my urges unsatisfied.
i had to give in;
just one time,
i told myself again.
i marked the canvas
angry veins of crimson swiped along the pale surface;
each stroke with more intent than the last.
the canvas wasn’t blank anymore;
it was tainted by my own scars.
i did this to myself.
the weight of my own hands agreed.
i panicked as i felt my arms sting,
was this an artist’s masterpiece or a crime scene?
i was always punished for such taboo actions,
why did i keep trying to hide what was branded onto the canvas,
always there, only able to be concealed.
even as temperatures rose, my sleeves became my bandages,
the summer sun never did see my arms.
Memories flutter like Post-It notes,
with scribbles faint and worn.
Reminders fade in the winds they’ve made,
my pages are tattered and torn.
Notes twist and swirl, then dip and curl,
in a wild and frantic breeze.
A cyclone spins where thoughts have been,
scattering all my memories.
Papers alight and suddenly take flight,
spinning frantically far and near.
But the harder I try, the stronger they fly,
increasingly more unclear.
I feel bold and reach to hold—
but my notes slip further away.
And piece by piece, I lose my peace,
as my library fades to gray.
The scattered scraps come fluttering back,
then flicker, furl, and flee.
A swift retreat, my memories fleet,
I’m not who I used to be.
An unraveling mind, fading line by line,
my life in vanishing ink.
Clinging to time and what’s left of my mind,
my sanity is on the brink.
But the yellow storm still rages on,
the cruel winds blow with might,
And time will steal all that was real,
‘til there’s nothing left but night.
-Edward
Live your life like a photograph
Focus on only what gives you happiness
What makes you sad set aside as album
What makes you blurry take it as waste
Giving happiness is like giving postcard
As keepsake and souvenir of acquaintances
Pictures are remembrance of life's phase
The best photos are displayed as to catch the eyes
Frame as wall decorate and hang in rear
Medals and garland also put in the frame
Reminding rare achievement as bonus gleam
When we depart your picture still hang there
As memento, as present that sometimes you're here
In the Book of Recollection your life will be remembered.
Poor child crying his eyes out;
Clutching on with vice-like grip...
Peeling her child off her legs;
Sad mom heads to work.
I'm lonely driving all these miles
The clouds take on a darkened hue
Full of raindrops, like my eyes
Full of tears that cry for you
Moments come where I'm so sad
But then they pass, it's not too bad
It's just the love that's in my heart
That aches as long as we're apart
And that's the constant...aching pain,
A heart that's thirsting for some rain
To come and quench the burning fire
Of longing, pining, deep desire
Writing keeps my sanity
Expressing my humanity
It helps to write out how I feel
An affidavit that it's real
Skies of Blue, an ode to you
In truth though, they're not always blue
As long as I await someday
This says it better, Skies of Gray
what stunning sight you are,
beautiful blue jay!
your wings carry you so far
you called but couldn't stay;
sad seeing you fly away.
One moment you were here
The next one you were gone
The poems that were not for you
Will be what carry on
I speak through my guitar
It always was that way
My words don't always come out right
So I play what I can't say
Unspokens were the messages
My love conveyed to you
Brain-hand synchronicity
Telling you, I do
And I still will regardless
You're lodged inside my heart
'Til the end from the beginning
From the first click of the start
I hope you won't forget me
Though perhaps no more, you know
Dos has flown away on Bluebird's wings
Uno's sad she had to go
Pictures on my walls,
I make them feel so alive.
They don't laugh, they don't cry.
I don't smile, I don't frown.
My frames have no picture,
I'm wanted by no one.
My pictures tell stories
I stare back so boredly
They are just, pictures on my walls
they've lived more than I have.