Loss Personification Poems | Examples
These Loss Personification poems are examples of Personification poems about Loss. These are the best examples of Personification Loss poems written by international poets.
I look at my work. I look down on the valley.
I'm proud of its richness, of its green fertile fields,
And each time I do, I can count up the tally.
My sacrificial top's loss produces great yield.
There's beauty in the valley, in its farms and trees.
Morning fog gives it a mythical seduction.
Yet though I remember how the people did flee.
I take no fault for my fiery eruption.
I, a Volcano. What can one really expect?
My purpose is to scatter Earth's food from my cone.
Terror of fiery flow calls for quick respect.
Some townsfolk of Pompeii have been turned into stone.
When the door's open, like a lady in waiting I tip my hat as she beamingly frets.
As I glimpse into the way she brings, the breath of Spring fills my very being.
I go to explore what she has in store, brazenly shone blooms, 'tis I to pluck 'um?
Away I stepped, said, "None of that, it's me-neighbor's, tho' does owe favors."
So I waltz away with my boutonnière, glide gleaming, and kept on dreaming,
Of time to be, in eternity, with a son I adore, went to war and saw no more.
I realized that darkness befell my eyes, a Sun over here had now disappeared,
People are saying it's a solar eclipse and that the Sun no longer can glimpse ...
Like my son, Sun too is gone, but Sun will be back, thank God for that.
Sun owes me a day of days, do hope that Sun doesn't keep her father waiting.
Beguiled risks sensitive alterations
that redesigned unknots and cutup trice
as the fresh teases through the looking glass
exposing timepiece resemblance glossed spilled.
Bemused forgives absence, mindful at hand,
tenuously gripping the rolled spent yarn
that edges fingertips loosely as threads
answer questionable finds, stitch-by-stitch.
Period accentuates the sensed thence
for the bestilled entangled narrative
plots exclamation points of those foregone
chapters ... period midst frames of escape.
Styled room for maneuvering that spirals
at a loss now hangs overhead ticking ...
mockery behold guardians of greens
that grow within disoriented poise.
Blue compliments presence expressed squarely
drafting the voiceless lucid residue
that nurtured former brush and forever
sealed a dream sweeter than a Danish roll.
like a hush …
sentinel …
the old willow stood guard
his branches, stout arms that held her
safe in childhood
supple limbs hugged and
flexed whene'er she sought blue sky
his embrace of lush fronds
let no rain wet her brow ...
their sweep offering but a kiss of gentle breath
and cool shade in the heavy
press of Summer heat
while shimmering strands of light
illumed her play time …
all her life he had gallantly charged her safety
but oh, how he weeped now from
his twisted old roots
as to-and-fro she swayed
at the end …
of a rope.
Copyright © Gregory R Barden, September 22, 2017
Without air, fire cannot spread;
When they combine all are dead.
Very close friends are fire and air;
Loss is maximum when they pair.
Whatever that comes their way;
Mercilessly, they eat them away.
Nature’s components are they;
Play not with them, the wise say.
A murder of crows screech my funeral song,
disturbing the eerie silence that surrounds.
Heartless hands have left scars etched into my crumbling bark,
as bleeding sap drips upon ivory sands,
which fail to comfort the aches of my collapsed torso.
I once ascended under sapphire skies,
as golden rays adorned my emerald lush leaves,
but now I've descended into dismal decay,
realising humanity has no use for me -
offering me as a sacrifice to toxic tides.
I can still remember the sound of crashing to the ground,
as men with axes laughed at the glory of my demise,
allowing me to slowly sink toward the abyss of nothingness,
now I'm helpless as ripples of regret carry me into the sea.
Alone and abandoned, above me is only dreary darkness.
I'm barely breathing, listening to careless whispering waves,
smashing against my soaked motionless trunk,
drowning me deeper in self deprecation.
Frigid branches begin to crumble and snap,
as I slumber cradling echoes of worthlessness
I have enclosed you with gloom
inside the womb, babe's safe haven
attacking your fortress as your Mom
writhed in agony drowning you
against rejection fluid…
Then I welcomed you with hopelessness
watched your struggles to yell
miraculous survival shout
yet skeptic about your Mom’s deafening wails
accepting her loss over your birth…
Finally, I sealed you around
grievous abandonment-asylum
since your Mom signed freedom waiver
liberating you both from each other
toward partnership-severance…
But, now… I accept my failure
seeing you thriving in love
as God verily champions
grace and compassion*
with your orphanage family.
*Lamentations 3:22 It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.
May 13, 2023
10th place, "Anatomy of Melancholy" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish; judged on 5/14/2023.
As the queen, she rules
and all bow to her presence
as she graces the night.
Her heavenly white blossom
pierces the imagination.
Her fragrance descends
and envelopes her subjects
as she graces the night.
She grasps the moment with bold
tendrils searching for purchase.
Delicate beauty
tantalizing, inviting
as she graces the night.
Alas, she must say farewell
too soon and withers away.
She leaves us breathy,
a captivated audience,
for she graced the night.
The remnants of her life, limp.
We are spellbound; we mourn her.
i want you to know i love you.
and that you're in a better place.
even though everyday i have tears run down my face.
its hard to live without you it really breaks my heart.
but all the memories I made with you will stay inside my heart.
even though its not the same you're not here by my side.
everyday i think of you and pretend that your a live.
matt gave me a bear that he dressed to look like you.
i put him in your favorite spot and pretend I'm next to you.
I'll put our favorite movies on and pretend that you are here even though its not the same and that brings me tears.
i always think I'm okay when i know I'm not and the fact that i
wont see you again really is alot.
you were more then just my dad you were my best friend too when you went to heaven part of me went there too
Mr. Seagull,
Have you seen Mr. and Mrs. Crow?
Oh my, I'm worried about them,
Where did they go?
The Ravens' answer,
"They didn’t say, we don't know.
Eviction dispelled them far away,
and with nothing to eat.
Nowhere to sleep,
and the last of the flock left for skid row.
Like the Byrd family, scattered.
They flew out of formation,
F.Y.I. they're beat, Broken.
In search of a new underpass.
A new city, such a pity.
Meandering, and struggling in tow.
To find shade in this scorching August heat.
Forced to move on and hide their pride.
Trying to begin once again,
A new start, an old low."
When the sun has left
And you are a failure
And all is lost
I parade around
Hoping you will look up
Trying to change you from your sad self
to your most fabulous philosophy
If you are determined to study your feet
I am at a loss to help
Luna does not howl you see
Yet wait.
I could call my howlers.
They are coming now. I hear their yips
Uh-oh.
Too much.
Too frightened, you run away.
Never seeing what I could have done.
So I keep my optimism and hope
A bit longer
Waiting for the right victim.
A race against time ..
As her life is faced with challenges..
A tragic loss of a loved one ..
Grief strikes her like a hot iron..
The pain intensifies as it shoots through her heart..
Paralyzed in mourning..
Feeling trapped inside a frozen tundra..
A race against time..
As she rushes to escape her sorrow..
She imagines Serenity..
Peace floating through her..
As she races against time..
Grief striken tears are shed..
As her eyes are blinded by pain..
In a moment of silence..
She prays for strength..
Seeking for courage to carry on..
She races in a new direction..
Where her heart is healed..
Where she no longer carries a torch of pain..
She walks in nature..
Song birds sing in tune of the wind..
Softly..
The wind cries her name ..
Joyful cries become music to her ears..
In a moment of silence..
She glows..
As the inner light inside her shines brightly..
Her prayers have been answered..
Vast and lush,
With a hint of blush,
Beneath the sky of violet blue,
She hums a hymn as on a bamboo flute,
Across the fields capped in a million dews,
Painting words of wisdom - worldly hues.
Gathering her children over bowers of corn,
She clothes and feeds, even the bitty stillborn.
In courage she'll enroot until she stands up tall,
On well earned praises and folktale songs,
She sews in love from gloom to dawn,
By answering aid to all who call,
Not a matter to win or drawing a loss,
She'll fasten her sons for a better cause.
To bring about a world untouched,
Round and about, she'll proceed as such.
With not a single hobby,
and precious few friends,
Time has too much time on its hands.
For its appointments it arrives early,
always much too early.
I wasn’t halfway through February,
when, on my doorstep,
who else appeared but May in a hurry?
The crease in the bedspread, the fold in our pillows,
the bends in the doormat’s bristles, the off-angle shoe by the stairs.
The lip stain around a wine glass
and toothbrush borrowed, still damp.
Your tissue, scrunched, unfolds gently in
the bin like a seed amongst pebbles.
It’s your cough in the air,
your hair in the shower.
You left an indentation,
a mould and mark of you
with handprints that cover the walls.
You’re in that paint and part of this plaster.
A door creaks and you’re the hinge.
An envelope drops through your mouth.
Your skin is in the dust floating,
awakened by a closing curtain.