I'm a child in awe ~
what are you doing with my legacy
what hope do I have?
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
step …
across the sill
this haunted house
walls of torn paper, dripping
crumbling plaster ceilings
hanging like rotten vines on a gaunt
and bony frame
dark, broken windows, the
empty eyes that stare -
once aglow with
the bright from within
life and light … and love
made a home
until …
just an ember -
one flame of your kiss -
and it was gutted
burned raw and ruined
with no thought to what filled these rooms
or graced the facades
or warmed the meager marrow …
now all phantoms
howling in the barren halls
sodden and saddened
for sake of the abandoned -
the threadbare -
dilapidated … desolate
welcome to the
vacancy …
your fool.
Copyright © 2023 Gregory Richard Barden
( artwork is a number two pencil sketch of the cottage from “Summer of ‘42” by the poet )
he sits
stares
blanks
into
space
of lost
airs
and heirs
a dark cloud hangs over my fragile heads
my past reflects awkwardly in a broken mirror
in the garden of love my flowers are wilted
love seeps from the gaping hole in my hearts
you removed the ground beneath my feet
making me drift aimlessly without direction
and below me, a bottomless abyss that leads nowhere
yet for long I kept my candle burning in the wind
you moved with the shadow my love had cast
leaving my light to falter without its shade
my feet sank in quicksand, escape impossible
while you stood with a wry smile, soaking my joy
but I have forgiven you for your cruel hatred
without which I might have rotted in a prison of grief
and missed the soothing balm of God’s healing needles
gradual, yet bringing warmth to my bleeding heart
ISHQ-E-VAFA
ISHQ-E-VAFA KE BADLE, HUMKO KYA MILA?
ISHQ-E-ZAFA KE BADLE, TUMKO KYA MILA?
HUM NAHIN TERE SAR-E-TAJ KE GHAFIL,
TERI RUSDO-AGAHI MEIN HUMKO SALIKA MILA.
ISHQ-E-RUSWA KE BADLE, HUMEIN ZAKHM MILA,
ISHQ-E-FANA KE BADLE, TUMHEIN BAKA MILA.
HUM NAHIN HAIN TERE SHOKH-E-ISHQ KE BANDE,
TERE RAH-E-SHOKH MEIN HUMEIN PATTHAR MILA.
SHARM-O-HAYA KE BADLE, HUMEIN ZILLAT MILA,
SHOKH-E-BEZAR KE BADLE, TUMHEIN ETIMAAD MILA.
HUM NAHIN TERE UMEED-E-FAZA KE KHILONE,
TERE FIRAAQ-E-ISHQ MEIN HUMEIN RAFTAAB MILA.
DIL-E-RUBABIYAT KE BADLE, HUMEIN RANJ MILA,
DIL-E-SHOR KE BADLE, TUMHEIN SUKOON MILA.
“RAHEMAN” SADA HAI RAFTAAB-E-HAQEEQAT PE,
TERE RAFTAAB-E-BATIL MEIN HUMEIN HAQ MILA.
RAAH-E-GULSHAN KE BADLE, HUMEIN ZEHAR MILA,
ZAKHM-O-ZAFA KE BADLE, TUMHEIN HAYA MILA.
RAHEMAN AB NAHIN RAHA MUHAJIR BANKAR,
TERE ISHQ-E-FIRAAQ MEIN HUMEIN AAINA MILA.
some loves bout lost come go almost all sorts
motives remain true pure until find not
list least cain hope fewer no good reports
still life like love moves backing forth cold hot
back outing again own each such sigh wish
loss lasts long gone fast run use eye oui next
stuff split rough two there one bright here blue dish
but still be same unself self sans pretext
wait patient fourth floor first ready confess
one day then now was dreamed real life unfold
four most seven great death comes not success
some would telling kisses end life untold
try may believe yes if not near reverse
mind conceives lives another universe
The raw material
of America
intrinsically damned
Its nature
and character
lost out of hand
Divisive
vindictive
self-interest gone wild
A narcissists
graveyard
— misused to beguile
(Dreamsleep: September, 2025)
Written: September 15, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
*******
A name in the dust,
etched once on a windowpane—
sunlight fades the trace,
but the ache remains intact,
like a song without its tune.
Today I had to question myself,
Why it is im still in love with you.
You have made it quite clear,
You and I are over and through.
Holding on the way i am hurts me,
And you act as if you don't care.
I look at you withe tears in my eyes,
You look at me with an empty stare.
Does it even matter to you at all?
That i will forever be holding on.
Or that the love we once held
And our life we shared are gone.
You say you will never come home
And I need to grow used to being alone.
Understand each day since you left
This sadness inside me has grown.
Please do this one favor that I ask,
While you're living life remember me.
And be assured I'm still right here
Loving you as i promised I'd be.
Surely, we walked together...
But just like shadows,
Some cheap ghost climbs in nightly,
Pondering the same.
Were all our lives rich folktales?
Panic knots tighter,
As I must have lost your face—
The one that was mine.
Life is often painted in black and white
nothing darker do I fear
than the stygian plight of death.
My malaise is carried with unbearable weight
remembering each waking moment when
I didn't say "thank you" or "I love you."
Self-reproach is a penance I can never fulfill
because the dreadful thief of death
took you from me in the ebon reach of night.
I'm sick of hearing the meaningless words,
"You're lucky to be alive. Life is beautiful."
My life is a beautiful lie now that you're gone.
I'd give my life to find a way to you.
An alabaster portal is locked to me,
a pitiable wretched sinner.
If I were to paint it black would there be a chance
it would be blind to see who asks entrance?
But my fear of death...
keeps me from reaching into the pale to find you.
I cower in shame.
Damn my trembling hand that quivers and shakes,
for the portal denies my entrance.
My mind is an unassailable weapon against my will.
It paints in oils that are always blurred with kohl
and the agony inside of me will never be consoled.
I felt it break,
I saw the shards,
the frame hanging limply
in it's wake as it crashed down.
I never wanted anything but her,
so I kept the curtain open.
But now the glass shines, where it was
embedded deep inside my disembodied soul.
I try and try to pick up the pieces
but they cut at my skin.
I struggle through the pain
the glass still shines without her.
I can fix the shards
of the window
but there is nothing
left inside.
I could reach for the pieces
but all that would do is hide the tell-tale tracks
of a poisoned soul cut too deep,
to ever be whole.
The more I try
the more I scream.
That's the price
to ever love again.
Glass scattered
to the mist,
but that's what I get
for feeling this…
Lost Days
Lost in the darkness
lusting for a way out
Lurking in the blackness
longing for the tunnel
Blinking at the vague emptiness
stirring the hollowness
scaring the shadows
Scattering the darkened clouds
surfing for a ray of hope
Roaring at my doubts
as l map my way home
I didn't know all this time it was wrong
To have feelings so soon, so strong,
Until I lived through a chain sequence
Of swinging between lust and limerence.
I didn't know people would be so shallow
About matching with me: leaving me hollow.
I carried myself through every heartache,
I consoled myself each time in a new take.
I didn't know I was being innocently lead on,
With how each of them came and gone.
I sit alone in my room, wondering why,
Was it me or just because they were "shy?"
I didn't know how hard it is to find love,
How hard it is to pursue them without shove.
I'll always grieve my losses in romance,
But I know one day I'll have my chance.
You never cared about me really.
It hurts to finally open my eyes and see.
Now I just feel so stupid and lonely.
I am nothing but a fool to society.
Specific Types of Lost Poems
Read wonderful lost poetry on the following sub-topics:
alone, confused, feeling, friendship, generation, hope, life, love, paradise, soul,
and more.
Definition | What is Lost in Poetry?
Poems Related to Lost
absent, adrift, disoriented, invisible, vanished, hidden, misplaced, gone, missed, lacking, strayed, wandering, forfeit, obscured, mislaid, minus, astray, down the drain, irrevocable, off course, wayward, without, forfeited, disappeared, at sea