Sad Symbolism Poems | Examples
These Sad Symbolism poems are examples of Symbolism poems about Sad. These are the best examples of Symbolism Sad poems written by international poets.
in every pack of pistachios there are
one or two shells which are resistant to
the fingernail the addictive leverage
the satisfying splitting apart
you put them aside and save them for later
meanwhile pick, click, chew and finally
return to the awkward ones
refusing to yield their treasure
curse them go ahead curse them you won't
be defeated, you will solve their riddle
you will break their will
maybe they can be persuaded
by tiny hammer or rolling pin
we don't have a rolling pin
but don't we have a nutcracker somewhere
there was one at christmas, and
something else happens more wine
a movie some family business and the
two nuts stay on the edge of the table
waiting to be splintered or just tossed in
the trash in the cold morning light
The Moon weeps, not for me
Not for my misery or lost dreams
Not for my shallow self or missing memories
Not for my mystery or burdens of thee
Not because I am one with nothing
Not in the years living in turbulent seas
The moon weeps, not for me
It weeps for the loss
It weeps for the rage
It weeps in the night
It weeps for the insane
The moon weeps not for me
It weeps for the pain
It weeps for we!
The rose petals color drained,
as my eyes tearfully pained,
over how I failed to maintain
A bed worthy of thorns contained
No gardens lush, where beauty bloomed,
Unyielding, lost, my dark heart entombed,
Each fragrant breath, putrids perfumed,
Now, just whisps of a florist doomed
The dry thorns, razor sharp, a warning strong,
Guard deadly blooms where love doesn't belong,
In my haste, I wrought the bouquet wrong,
and watched as life was reaped, swiftly by the throng
With every year, a memory fades,
Of sunlight's kiss in gentle glades,
Can roots revive in shaded trades,
Or will we mourn what time evades?
Oh, teach me how to plant anew,
With tender hands, a heart that's true,
To grow of the earth in a vibrant hue,
and cherish thorns whose sting l never knew
In every bud, a tale very few conceive,
Of broken dreams, of hearts that grieve,
For the Rose, it speaks of love's reprieve,
In petals, soft, dare we believe.
And in the girl's head
The shoulders that used to hold wings
Now held the weight of the world.
Dark and dusty
Washed away now by the rain
I hope nobody sees
I hope nobody knows
We’re secret here
We’re safe all from the bad
Tranquil twisting burns the sad
You close your eyes
I look up to the sky
Cloudy in a clear now sort of way
What is it you used to say?
It made me laugh in secret
Made me smile in a subtle way
So no one knows
So they can’t say
There is nothing that you need to do or say,
I can see what you are thinking by looking into your eyes.
Those eyes that are the window to your soul,
Those eyes that are so often difficult to control.
I see your eyes go dark when you are feeling angry or sad,
Your eyes that sparkle and shine when things are not too bad.
So, I look at, and I watch your eyes, you don't have to speak,
And I know you will find the happiness that you seek.
I lie down in my four-poster bed,
facing the pale yellow wall.
The same that I see above,
behind my headboard,
opposite me.
I drown in the sickly pale.
I dare not turn around
to face the wall again.
Little do I notice
the little window behind -
rays of sun streaming through
little glass panels -
Gentle apricity grazing its
little window sill.
Para discernir Herir intencionalmente que sin intención duele
Envolver estas vasijas espirituales para discernir
provocado y desenterrado
aprovechando especiales
Herida intencionalmente que sin intención duele
heridas abiertas filtran valor
en pedales somnolientos
que determinan moral y ética.
Para discernir
Reflexiones confirman
Velos armonizan lucha con lo inestable
Herida intencionalmente que sin intención duele
Práctica y ensayo de discernimiento
Para llevar el equilibrio al nivel.
Para discernir.
Quizás solo ocurrió alguna vez.
Luchas espirituales y emocionales
Herida intencionalmente que sin intención duele. Para discernir.
The longer it ponders, the worse it becomes,
This present, familiar, like forgotten drums.
An eerie repetition sweeps the floor,
An echo of what came before.
The task at hand, bleak and dim,
An impending sense of doom so grim.
Nothing ever comes with ease,
This battle drags with no release.
The scars of the past claw at its mind,
Wounds unhealed, by time confined.
A path lies ahead, unknown, unclear,
A curse it must live, a fate to fear.
Endlessly trapped in paradoxical scenes,
Caught between what is and what could have been.
I’ve been here before
Before the cruel reality reappeared
Shattering your warm embrace
War rages between us
Bloody secrets strewn through the night sky
“It’ll be okay”
But a white lie is still a lie
You shine
Bright as ever the center
Of my universe
My northern star,
I always find my way back to you.
Stars burn.
I ignite
Burn away into the starry night
A mortal and a star
Meant to be? We’re not
Fated like the stories
Yet I’m chained
The fate of a phoenix explained
An ever living cycle
Still I desire
Immersed in your fire
Like a moth to a flame
Siding back into place
Giving in to your deadly embrace
The moment disenchantment filled her eyes,
took time before she shielded her disguise
Love ones and many around her began to shift,
giving her a heart no one could lift
Grieving her emotions out every minute,
left her with a tainted heart in every ending
She was now light as a feather withered to decay
Lest comes another sandstorm that takes her away.
In her dreams laying upon a clock,
Minutes through the door there’s repetitive calls,
And every hour she hears a knock, on the fainting door
Yet to see before her very own eyes,
Birds lifeless scattering among their flock
Each door reveals a disremembering face,
Darkening her evasive step within every pace,
Sand began to fill the inside of her body,
Crumbling to specks from existence
Unhappy and confused was she,
Was too late to finally see,
The bigger the pile became,
Burying her out of life the same way she came,
No longer will things get to her, seeping through the mass,
Resting and kept all stored in a glass.
Our desecrations, burning Old Glory ~
sad exchange for soldiers' blood
In my lonely times,
I feel crowded the most.
In my sad times,
I feel happiest the most.
In my crying times,
I feel playful the most.
In my hurting times,
I feel healed the most.
In my stormy times,
I feel calm the most.
In my chaotic times,
I feel peaceful the most.
In my happy times,
I feel troubled the most.
In my hyperactive times,
I feel less concerned the most.
In my sorry times,
I feel wronged the most.
In my loving time,
I feel rejected the most.
In one's living time,
He feels dead the most.
In one's dying time,
He feels life the most.
In the presence of my mind,
I feel absent the most.
In the face of many readers of mine,
I feel numbness in my pen the most.
Crafts loves this is a mystery I see
I didn’t know I suffer the same fate
I too have a garden, mahogany
Vines twist rocks onyx and alabaster
Oaks and ember leaves in zeal flutter light
Azure sky cast a mirror reflection below
Teardrop in the serene meadow this day
Ripples it all a sepulcher tomb gray
I want to know beauty but lack the view
My breast beat is this and this is charcoal
I can’t write gardens like you, I lack hue
That’s why this place is a cemetery
The autumn that had remained monotonous-
For many decades,
Now tears and takes pieces of hearts,
Along with its old leaves, flowers,
Leaving a nostalgic scent behind.
Every preceding winter that warmed people,
Returned this year, demanding-
All the warmth that blanketed their memories,
While it left them alone, in the cold.
Spring found its way into the people’s hearts,
Up sprouted the spears of novelty,
The bright Sunlight endorsed its new season,
A season with a bittersweet sentiment indeed!
Every summer had brought people together,
This one scorched their fragile ties,
The oceans of memories faced up in doubt,
As the vapours of the past ascended in due course.
The grey skies mourned old relations,
Happy moments and sad ones too,
With every successive rain,
Trails of the memories were being dampened and erased.
A treasured trove of experiences-
Prove to be heavier as the seasons age us,
Bringing out our wistful versions,
Only for our reality, waiting to be discovered and cherished.