Long Grieving Poems
Long Grieving Poems. Below are the most popular long Grieving by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grieving poems by poem length and keyword.
There was a firefly who had lost her fire--
How it did happen, no one quite knew why.
She looked in trees, under rocks, and briar
But couldn’t find it, she started to cry:
“Oh, dear, what’s a firefly without her fire?”
She gasped and sobbed and sadly spoke in sighs.
“How shameful, I’d sooner live in the mire,”
Said she, poor thing, with sorrow in her eyes.
The firefly flew away to hide in shame,
Still grieving over the loss of her fire.
She couldn’t join in any fireflies’ game
Or sing with others in their nightly choir.
After some time a good fairy came by
And saw the firefly who was desolate.
The poor firefly blushed for she felt so shy
At being seen in a pitiful state.
This fairy in the past had lost her way
And it’s the same firefly who had helped her.
At first the two didn’t know what to say
Till they remembered and hugged each other.
The firefly spoke about her misfortune
While the fairy did more than sympathize:
She flapped her four wings, did a little croon,
And gave the firefly a well-deserved prize.
The firefly felt the fire within her grow
Until it sent off long, bright, and warm rays.
The whole place shone with the light from her glow
That reached dark corners with a dazzling blaze.
“That’s for helping me find my way before,”
Said the good fairy as they parted ways.
The firefly said, “Thanks!” and hugged her once more--
And she lived content the rest of her days.
March 29, 2023
Among 1st Place
Write a Sweet Fairytale for Children with a Good Ending Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
This is why they ask?
This is why they had to ask?
What is a life?
What is living?
This is what they want to ask
Slumped upon a sandy beach.
Impaled by nature's windy deciet
Puts to questions what is life
How do these answers love to hide!
If life is what we call living.
Then can I ask, what is living?
If living is the act of being present
Tell me what makes a being present?
If being present is to breathe?
Then how do we cease breathing?
In breath if there is concious will
How can we now will it?
If Will were many the might of men
Then life would be an open book
If we were conscious of this breathing
Then man would feel the chore of living
And forget to sustain in presence
What seems a gamble of the winds and a laughter of the fires
Can leave men to question questions
And devine answers with more questions
This is why we had to ask
This is why I needed to know
That is what they ask?
What really is living?
What is life?
LIFE?
I dream
in the golden glow
of a sakura orchid
nestled between blooming browns~
as saffron streaks of sunsets
spill syllables of l o v e and trust,
scented with sugared crystals,
emitting musical verses
to calm the inner child~
healing in silence
dusted with pastels of p e a c e.
But when the fragrance of
summer wanes,
leaving a heavy horizon
glistening with grieving galaxies,
remember, I am an aching poem
kissed by the garnet green,
refusing to follow
melted moonbeams,
merged with moving monsoons,
and yesterday’s fickle footprints,
that remain,
soaked in rain and tears,
like pixelated promises to the
cracked cosmos,
lost within sand petals,
as nightingales croon
of strife and life,
of cold summers and fleeting colors.
So tonight,
I’ll carve my own b l i s s
from the haze of violet gratitude~
engrossed in trembling ink,
allowing another month
to fade into the ether,
as memories blossom
in blue-black,
staining champagne chalices
with smoke and salt
while somewhere
between fireworks filling up
twilight skies,
rippling with mystic topaz
kissing
the fluorescent stars
sparking across
midnight shorelines,
I found sequins of h o p e
amidst the unattained closure
to the rising of
an inescapable end.
This is the voice of a thistle
reluctant
to
compromise and comprehend
the sound of ticking thunder,
for I am the eucalyptus elixir
to an alchemist’s waterfall,
weaving odes to the eclipsed time
that sleeps in the cusp
of liquified lilacs
crawling through
serpentine circles…
as I have found a rhyme to
glamorize every forsaken line,
letting go of bleached pages
that have no
spirit of resilience,
and chapters with
frosted names
that have
no
space for s o l a c e . . .
Heavy burdens lay on her heart
She was grief stricken, falling apart
Hope had left her here in the silence
Almost stronger than darkest violence
Doubts beyond her faith, her believing
Deafened her dreams, left her grieving
Nothing seemed pure, worthy or pleasant
The worst of her past creeped into the present
Lost in the dread – in her worst fears
There lived a sorrow full of misty tears
Quieting her hopes with dusky shadows
Her heart felt like worry always grows
It would be beyond her understanding
These feelings bleeding – demanding
Her faith – her smile – her best insights
Her soul felt like clinging to the last rites
Prayers only seeped through those emotions
Clinging to her spirit, trickling through devotions
Intended to bring her close to the One who knows
Her heart, though broken, believes He arose
Grieving through the songs, hymns of hope
Promising that, even in death, she can cope
Because of One who is healing her, filling her
Grace and hope beyond the grave He’ll stir
Giving her a chance to reach for the hand
Who made her and saved her… He planned
To bring her the healing she would need
On a cross He would hang so she’d be freed
In the priceless moments at the cross, He bid her
The grace, the faith, the forever – not an amateur
He made a way for her to be freed, to finally pray
For love that saved when He took her sins away
when the truth arrived
enveloped, it was November
and at the inception
standing quiet
the rags of innocence
were ripped from my eyes
I mourned what never was
grasping at
this breech of faith
both hands reached
and disappeared
into the vapour,
where once
you laid to rest
paper fluttered down
I hadn’t realised
I had given more
than I intended
never seeing the game
that was played
in the shadows
of the day
my life-force was attained
belief in humanity
suffered and shattered
from the burn
of this betrayal,
paranoia sits with me
hand in hand
my fingers tapped out the tune
as the veracity of this
deception,
was validated
time and time again
So I am not mad
but grieving
“In my empty heart – only memories” by poet
Today our mother had his bed removed
and took posters down – even things he’d drawn
depicting stuff of which she’d disapproved.
Those posters that revealed his heart – all gone!
She took his dresser out, and all his clothes
she folded up to donate to Good Will.
His nice suits in the closet – even those -
as well as knick-knacks on the window sill!
I understand the pain she’s going through.
What good is there in taking all away?
The rest of our family's grieving too.
I press to my face a saved shirt of grey.
It was his favorite. In his empty room,
my tears release. I’m standing in a tomb.
Amidst the solitude of empty pews in hallowed halls
she took a seat and prayed she would not be forsaken.
Candles lit, soft glow throwing shadows on the walls.
Tear glistened cheeks, cries for all death had taken.
In whispered breath she begged for her heart to mend,
taking comfort in memories to free her from the gloom
of misery so burdensome that she could not comprehend
why the one she loved lay buried, sealed within a tomb.
Fate's sting cuffed a cruel blow with its callous reach,
leaving her heart stabbed deep enough to make it bleed.
In supplication, she prayed for healing and to beseech,
that in her time of need, "Merciful Father, please intercede."
In her hand, a wilted rose; once a radiant crimson flower,
its fragrance mingled with the scent of votives as they melt.
No solace found; she left the darkness of that sullen hour.
Remaining was the imprint of sorrow where she had knelt.
She walked in moonlight, grieving for love, once savored,
mourning, bereaved and lost in deep emotional despair.
She sang a hymn with lips that trembled and quavered,
mist falling on widow's weeds, she had the need to wear.
December 19, 2020
A Rhyme Story-Poem with Eyes On
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
if you had
a death
if you had
a birth
if you've had
nothing
then given
its worth
but you
are the one
don't pass
on your
grief
it seems to
me you
disbelieve
to me it
seems your
words
are a of a
slanderous sort
misinterpretations
of what all this
worth
yet you keep
stating and
saying oh so
poetically that
you emphatically
are grieving so
i say
automatically
SHUT UP
you say us
i say we
that ask don't
remind me i
already know
it's you that
don't know
remember
December
is a month
do you relate
to getting
married
on your
birth date
then to find
in away a piece
of mind that
peace let
your wife
on her
birthday
die
i
don't
want
to hear
your pleas
of December
.............please
Merry
Christmas
Form:
B l i s s f u l
am I as teacher, social worker, church writer-editor, surrogate Mom
while rejoicing* to love God, conduct Bible studies, and indite poems
believing that faith, compassion, and humility please my Saviour
manifested through gratefulness, concern, as well as kindness
midst angst of frustrating Christ, grieving the Holy Spirit, and being fruitless…
thus; by the Almighty's grace, I pray, serve, and enjoy life all the more
in fulfilling my mission in this mortal abode temporarily as the Lord’s
b e l i e v e r.
*Psalm 35:9 And my soul shall be joyful in the LORD: it shall rejoice in his salvation.
March 28, 2020
5th place, "Bio Modified" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart; judged on 4/25/2020.
You know, I've been keeping count.
Of the years,
of the friends.
Those gained and lost,
the memories and the cost.
I'm not sure which
has topped the weight class -
the good, the laughs and the light,
or the pain, the loss and that sight.
Of the headstones,
the folded flags;
the mothers' cries
and brothers' eyes.
I know the count of them all.
Today a year goes to rest,
and a new cycle begins.
I beg of Life a reprieve,
a chance less to grieve.
I know not what to offer,
what you would take in trade -
be it a life, or a soul,
part of me or the whole.
Whatever it may be,
however large the demand;
take off this accursed gyve,
and leave them alive.