Sorrows Poems

Litany of Borrowed Sorrows

The sorrows we borrow,
the sorrows we keep—
are debts of the dead,
replayed in our sleep.

Blood writes the tally,
blood writes it in red;
tomorrow collects
what yesterday bled.

The sun drags its shadow.
The sun drags its shroud—
darkness advancing
cowering aloud.

Dry eyes at dawn.
Ashes inbred;
a prayer in the dust,
a prayer for the dead.

The sun flares faintly,
a wound in the sky.
The clouds part

String of Sorrows

To Die

I numb my brain to ease the pain
The world is mad...a new insane
Compassion's seen with such disdain
The truth now seems so very plain
To die would be considered gain

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Alone 

Alone, alone...always alone
The pain I feel cannot be known
This heart of flesh has turned to stone
Alone, alone...I am alone

Alone, alone...always alone
My dreams on wistful wings have

The Archive for Sour Sorrows

In the vault of sorrows, the lights are dim,
Memories dangle stiff, stark, cold and grim.
In glass-fronted vaults of remains half-dead,
Haunting to avenge losses, regrets and dread.

Bitterness is grit, dust and rust—
Metal relics wrapped in tempered crust.
Too sharp to hold, too old to appeal,
Scars embalmed, behind bars of steel.

Fur skins and feathered bones, long dead.
Eyes once

Seashells and Sorrows

The ocean is home to a curation of shells,
The type you admire, the kind you call into,
The ones that whisper stories the sea never tells.
The peach and the pink, the pastels and the white —
All of them bring such a sense of delight.

I trace my finger over each and every grove and indent,
Each fracture and

Cry of the broken

Your timing, O God, is flawless, they say,
Mercy spills from Your eternal edge.
I cling to that truth, yearning for solace,
Yet it slips as I bleed through the years.

Woes swarm like static, sharp with insult,
Words that cut, leaving a thousand wounds.
Will You, my Maker, cradle me close,
When tears and fragments are all I am?

If pain is

Solitude

“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,” - Lord Byron
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A SONG HE ALWAYS SINGS

Let all bye gone
Be bye gone 
The preacher man
Keeps teaching 
Let them correct you
When you're wrong
Be guided, so you don't go astray.

Wake up he says
From the darkness 
Come into the light 
He keeps teaching 
In the light no deceit  
You see and know
Everything behind, beside and ahead of you.

The people always 
Endure and enjoy

The song of sorrows

Life is but a song of sorrows,
Days can feel like miserable melodies.
Our heartstrings plucked,
Chords that resonate with tragedy.  

The beating drum, a dark percussion,
Can serve as rhythm to the chorus of our love and joy.
That which is memorized by heart,
In every generation, the song is sung.  

In every life, a note is played—
Lows

Your sorrows

My friend, how deep can be your sorrows?
Through smoke filled maze of modern days
When time flies by in bleary haze
And we don't know about tomorrow?

Your eyes, once bright and full of life,
Nowdays, instead, to my dismay,
Are filled, like rainy days of May,
With hate, and pain, and fright.

No, you can't plea, no, you can't flee,
'Cause life

Sleuth of Sorrows

The lonely shadow aside from the worldly poles
Wrenching like an unhidden find to hold 
And the horrible ink of dreadful poison swiftly mold
Eyes were injurious red like a bleeding bed 

Thoughts of frightful threads wrap 
and rashly roll the clutching traps 
Shadow envelopes like a black door
Tears were tip and tapped one after more

Shadow of

Sorrows Lure

The Aspen quaked in mild calm.
A stream nearby sent riffled song.
This trail less trod now almost gone.
‘Twas barren once now grown quite long.

Around a bend and down a steep
therein the brush from somewhere deep
here mixed with woodland chirps and cheeps
slid sounds and sobs of sorrows weeps.

Out there somewhere in higher grass
beyond the tangled thorn tree

Joy sans grief, a groom-less bride

Full moons fill you with joy, seldom the New,
And pleasure you conceive as good, not pain,
Let me like New Moon that stars can I view, 
As some poets devise ways pain to feign,
Which, helps them pen dirges and elegies, 
Funeral hymns and odes of laments long,
Let them. Days-nights on an eternal lease, 
One can’t be

Her Unseen Sorrows

No one knows how deeply she yearns,
    For those who chase their destined way,
    And let their passion's compass sway.

No one knows how her spirit burns
    With dreams that slipped through time's decay—
    Regrets that haunt her day by day.

No one knows her

I Have Become Stale

My knees held tightly to my chest,
I thought the storm clouds were miles off in the distance, 
Of someone else's distress.

But morning came, and the storm remained.
No water nor washing could wipe away the stains of sorrows
And restlessness from my covers-
My detrimental haven...

I could rot away here, the irony being I already do.
What treasures can

Waves

Once a naive child 
Sought after the sea
To feel as vivid blue 
As the depths of it

Ventured in too far 
Got swallowed by a wave
Trapped into the waters
Dissolving into them

Hence why I have no body
No place to keep my soul 
Passed on all my sorrows 
To waves crashing on the shore

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