Loneliest Poems | Examples

The Loneliest Elf

He was Santa's unknown Elf
That they hid in a thicket
Cuz he worked all by himself 
They called him Chimney Cricket 

On the night of Christmas Eve 
He's the first one down the chute
Using nothing but his sleeve
So not to soil Santa's suit

When finishing his cookie
Santa's up the chute again 
Every day since a rookie
He was Santa's lonely friend 

Though he suffered every stain
On his only suit of clothes 
Chimney never would complain 
Even when it clogged his nose

Santa saw he had no joy
So took pity on his plight
Though he never built a toy
He still vowed to make things right 

Thus, he ordered that next year 
All the other Elves must sweep
Santa knew they wouldn't cheer
But at least Chimney could sleep

Three is the Loneliest Number

Once, a lonely number three
sat forlornly on my knee.
In his eyes, I saw despair
as he was sitting there.
"You needn't sniffle, cry or pout.
I too have been the odd man out."

The Loneliest Road I Have Traveled

The loneliest road I’ve taken winds, unseen,
Through shadowed woods where no bright of day can find,
Past bushes low and trees of whispering green,
Each root and leaf in tangled paths entwined.

The bees drift softly, droning round my ear,
In solitude, their gentle hums resound—
A music sweet, yet haunting, sharp and clear,
Among the hidden corners of the ground.

The ocean’s breath is far yet finds me here,
A murmuring breeze through every pine,
It stirs the leaves like distant worlds I see,
A ghostly touch, a presence soft, so heavenly.

I walk alone, yet never quite alone,
The wilds my heart with tender sighs you console;
For on this path, though every steps unknown,
The earth itself is keeper of my soul.

The Loneliest Road Not Traveled

The loneliest road, a path unknown,
Where footprints fade, the seeds unsown.
Amidst the woods, in silent grace,
A solitary journey we all must face.

Beneath the moon's pale, silver light,
The stars above, a quiet night.
In solitude, we find our way,
A road less traveled, come what may.

Through winding lanes and darkened woods,
The loneliest road, where silence broods.
But in this solitude, we will find,
A deeper self, an awakened mind.

The loneliest road, it's not in vain,
For in its silence, we attain,
A strength to tread where others fear,
The road less traveled, crystal clear.

So let us walk with hearts held high,
The loneliest road, beneath the sky.
Embrace the journey, bold and true,
For in its solitude, we are renewed.

The Loneliest Prayer

The loneliest prayer is often said
When evening shadows fall
Or when I sob and jump in bed
My shirt, my shoes, and all

I wonder why my closest friends
Keep making fun of me
And why the fun and laughter ends
As quick as one, two, three

The loneliest prayer can make me cry
When mom is on the phone
I know she hates to say good-bye
When I am all alone

My sister in the other room
Is watching late TV
We read a book and zoom zoom zoom
Her time is done with me

The loneliest prayer is on my mind
Each day that I miss dad
The happy times we left behind
Are thoughts that make me sad

I miss the fun we used to share
When I was only three
And when I cried my dad was there
To love and comfort me

My loneliest prayer is for the fear
Of acting like a lout
When mom gets home I call her dear
For keeping her about

I thank the Lord and when I do
I thank Him honestly
For mom and dad and sister too
And what they mean to me.

The Loneliest President

He had no schooling
to speak of--
he had no money
to speak of-- 
he had no future 
to dream of--
yet...
he grew tall, strong,
ever hungering 
to learn,
to know,
to understand--
he saw into the
hearts of men
while telling his
country jokes,
knowing laughter
smothered fear--
and he walked in
grace of a sort,
keeping a nation
from cracking,
freeing a race
while trying to
quiet the hate
until a coward
shot him in the
back of the head
and a nation was
set back over 
a hundred years.


[composed and posted 2/19/21]

The Loneliest Living Thing

I have been at a crossroad for years
Struggling past a multitude of fears
And as weary as I might get
I still can’t say without fret
That I am the loneliest living thing.

Flowers wither and die
But before then they live a melancholy life
They crumble underneath tiny little feet
Bees steal their nectar for something good to eat

So, if I were to profess
That I was the loneliest living thing
Flowers would gladly confess 
That I lie about nearly everything

One Is the Loneliest Number

Tressa
Loving, kind, quirky, weird
Sister of Joe and Kit
Lover of many, but one in particular
Who feels anger, sadness, and happiness.
Who fears clowns, rejection, and dying alone
Who would like to see Paris, Rome, and Japan
Resident of Caldwell, Idaho
Behler

Loneliest Among Friends Or a Power Outage

I sit alone in the dark,
It engulfs me, seeping into my soul.
Voices sing but the song fades away.
The last note of the melody drifts into the dark.
Shadows Move,
Hushed Whispers,
Darkness,
Silence.

It is warm here, where I sit, alone.
I feel the thinly carpeted floor,
Run my fingers over the little bumps.
I see nothing, but feel everything,
Silence broken,
A song starts,
But still dark,
Still alone.

When the lights come back,
In the middle of a song,
I again see my comrades,
A smile on each face,
Joyful,
Boisterous,
Excited,
Happy.

But I still am left in the silent dark.
It's consuming me,
Sitting here alone,
All I can think is,
Dark,
Silence,
Engulfed,
Alone,
Unheard,
Dead.

The Loneliest Corner In the Whole World

I caught a glimpse of you from the corner of my eye.
You bared a mark of birth at the corner of your eye.

I sat there trying to show that I didn't know where to go.
I wanted to let you know you had a special glow.

  But I sat there idle,
  knowing I would never make a move.

So I leave you alone, you leave me alone, and we remain alone.
Everyday I grow colder and older, like a stone.

Loneliest Time of Day

The loneliest time of day for some
Is the hour just before dawn
Before the sun rises, before the shadows are gone
The lonely are loneliest just before dawn
..
They recall the life of the night before
Following the trail of clothes on the floor
The music of a party over long past
Allowing them to revel in the past
..
But I feel a wonder at each new day
As the rising sun scatters shadows away
The morning light brings me beauty and light
Chasing away the coldness of last night
..
No, morning is not lonely for me
For I see a day of adventure waiting for me
With bird songs and street sounds filling the air
Morning is a time best often shared

Loneliest Hour

I listen, content to hear raindrops from an anguished sky pour out.
My darkest hour of night is just a fragment of one day, only
a fragment of a fleeting life; but an ending to grief, I somehow doubt.   
If I live through nights void of love, not alone but lonely,
(for there is a difference) I will dream of your face and wake happily.  


For Broken Wing's Fragment of Life Contest, 2/23/16

Our Loneliest Tears

I made your voice when I dreamed
of a resounding conviction
I told your name only
when voices seemed to fit
I wrote it only in syllables
Even when none stood  their test
I cried in tears when these syllables could 
only stream

Loneliest Winter Day

December clouds are falling, 
falling into gray from a heavy sky 
of snowy tears as if newly widowed
brides in white are gathered on high
to bid one last farewell to love, 
and all the while, a morning fog thickens,
then, settles on a desolate earth
like a memory of last year's blizzard.

Migrating birds, too, bid farewell
as the hazy winter morn
abruptly turns to anguished night.
Even a grieving sun stays hidden
behind closed curtains...uncertain
of our planet's slowing orbit
on this, the loneliest of winter days.

The Loneliest Poem

I sit on the terrace
Of Le Cafe du Coeur
The morning sun, bringing subtle rays of hope
To this otherwise dull moment

I sip mon cafe, dreaming of others
And other times
Fine linen paper, pen in hand
The loneliest poem in all the land

The words flow, ink to paper
One line at a time
They sing of thoughts
Emotions long drained, other times

It is time for a walk to nowhere
Along the banks of a river with no name
I leave the cafe table, a cafe with no fame
I left the poem, with empty glass, alone

There sits this poem, written for no one
On a table, in quiet solitude
Waiting for the next clientele to arrive
The waiter clears the empty glass, no more…

She sits, alone, the day begun
Her life a mystery to us all
As she sees this paper of fine linen
With words, so elegantly scrawled

The waiter with espresso in hand, smiles
As she reads a strangers words
They speak to the very desires of her heart
They tell her who she is

This sunny day turns to rain
As her tears wash the table cloth
She weeps
For finally, she knows
Who she desires

A poet with no name

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