Unwept Poems | Examples

Age Of Hate

Who now can find lost love,
In a world grown cold and gray?
Hearts once tender, bruised and bare,
Turned to ash in disarray.

Eyes turned to the sky,
Seeking solace in the stars,
But the heavens hold their silence,
Bound by time's eternal scars.

Then comes night, its velvet shroud,
Draping all in quiet despair,
While ocean waves and the restless sea
Sing their lament in the salted air.

Rivers and streams wind through the land,
Whispering tales of bygone years,
But the bushes and trees stand mute,
Heavy with unwept tears.

The age of hate has scorched the earth,
A barren field where love once grew.
Yet still, the breeze stirs faint and soft,
A fragile hope, a seed anew.

Who now can find lost love?
Perhaps the sky, the sea, the earth,
Together whisper of rebirth.

Tears Wait

Soulless
Dissected
A heart turning back
Jilted
Rejected
Last stab in the back
Mourning
New morning
The day unatoned
Nighttime
The verdict
Whose sentence disowns
Lovers
And lizards
The swamp but the same
Feeding
On hunger
Starvation the game
Cursing
 each blessing 
with heartache reset
Dying
While living
— new tears wait unwept

(The New Room: January, 2024)

The Dragon and the Ox

Alone in the wood featureless and stark
  hid a beast of burden that surly crept, 
for countless years behind the hidden bark
  its dying soul among the dead unwept.
In the House of the Garden of Hollies
  beckoned a bright light through asylum gate,
and led him from those dark satanic trees
  to be with her in a late tryst of fate.
Out of the labyrinth black forest fade
  rose that weary Ox from dolour and scorn -
from retribution in his own upbraid
  to the amnesty of the coming dawn.
Into the clutches of a Dragon’s lair
entered the Ox on a kiss and a dare.


        Written: December 1997

Into Infinity I Carry Insignificance

These ragged shards of breath, catching in my lungs with grasping fingers of jagged glass
Howling tormented wolves in my mind, clawing and shredding the last remnants of the last
Desperate attempts to live, temerarious in the quest to quench their thirst with blood
Monsters lurk in the shadows of my eyes, hungry for my conscious suffering

No rest, no peace, no sleep for sinners, servants to a greater ill, mindless revolutions of pain
Spinning endlessly in space, reaching for a cold and distant sun without the light of lies
A frozen, broken waste stretches in the expanse of my eyes, terror stalking ceaselessly
In every hidden juncture of the labyrinth of my mind, dark embodiments of hatred, shame, and anger

My eyelids are weighted, crusted in the sands of the blazing desert of my soul
Scraping away my retina with every blink, gasp, choke for air, smothering and breathless
Into infinity I carry loneliness, alone, unwept, unsung, swept into the vast waters of time
Drowning in the enormity of insignificance I wait, sleepless.

Our Human Race

Our human race has kept its place
in evolutionary pace
amid the species that have sprung
from earthly parentage among
some vanishing without a trace.

A quest for home in outer space
in lieu of earth in madcap chase
is pushing to the brink far-flung
our human race.

A world will mirror dwellers’ face.
Lest earthlings suffer fall from grace
‘unwept, unhonored, and unsung’,
yet may we speak in global tongue
and learn in living to embrace
our human race.


~ Harley White


* * * * * * * *


The poem is a rondeau…

Quote from “The Lay of the Last Minstrel” (1805), by Walter Scott…

Faceless Devotion

Is there anyone who would hear the dreams I conceive?
Profit, pleasure, protection - ‘tis all they know to love!
They would laugh at my hopes till I doubt what I believe.
They bury me deep so it’s quiet up above …
And I would forget all to gain sweet reprieve,
But then life is a gift I’d be unworthy of.

What in the end can one ever know, ever claim?
Does anyone understand the person, the concept?
Of the entire world I am not the one to blame.
No one wants to see, so all of my tears are inside unwept.
In the end, I must be the one who stays in the game!
I must be the one to myself accept. 

Once again my eyes are glued- the screens enhance
Before me a lie, a trick befalls, that good ol’ football
Oh YES! They care to make sure I am in this loathsome trance
They care about me so long as they can play me- their idiotic doll
Does anyone really love me, “unique”, in this game of chance?
No. The only one who does is this half-empty glass of alcohol. 

February 28, 2020
Title Chosen : Faceless Devotion
Contest : Does Anyone Care Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Emile Pinet

Oh, Lord, Forgive Such Hubris

Oh, Lord, forgive such hubris
as would sum up the quotient
of an immortal soul……

I have…

spared the dandelions,
forgiven the birds,
washed the car,
parked again in the same spot…..
prayed for a different result

consoled a crying child
stifling my tears….
ego’s vain attempt at being strong
wasted in the trembling of my heart

cried alone, enmeshed in….. regretting
deeds that cannot be undone
words that cannot be recalled
faces….faded…. forgotten……faces

held the banner through the storms
of doubt filled angst….unbuckled
stood alone atop the chasm walls
raged against the shadows of dark canyons
shielding from my eyes an endless love

For Lord, if I be
but bone, and flesh, and sinew
what use have I
for dandelions unwept tears.


©6/2/2019

Soul IQ Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke sponsor

You Lost Me

Time changes...
Both people, and things
Both substance, and means
Until nothing... is as it seems.
And... You... Lost... Me...
When promises were unkept
When dreams were unmet
And... I have no tears for the us, 
that I thought we would be
So... I guess they'll remain unwept.
And, you lost me
When you weren't my peace
But, my stress.
Not my solace,
But my mess.
When I thought you were a vault 
for my private thoughts, 
I discovered that you were the press.
And it hurt, I confess, 
But still I prayed that you be blessed. 
And... You... Lost... Me...
When your actions 
didn't match your words
When your mentality 
Was as flighty as a bird's 
When you showed me that 
I'd never have 100% 
of your dedication 
....Just a third.
That doesn't work,  
in spite of what you've heard.

...And You Lost Me
...And You Lost Me 
...And You Lost Me

Elegy Written In a Country Churchyard

Hullo, folks!
Do you hear me?
You didn’t hear me when I was dying.
At least hear me now, when I’m dead and buried.
I am, as you know, Jinesh, 
Buried  here—in this churchyard at Poonthura,
Buried on Sunday—
Like Solomon Grundy!

I did hear you when you were crying—
During the recent floods,
Rushed to your help, 
Saved more than a hundred of you.
You all praised me, called me a hero, 
Lined the street I lived in 
With posters, flex boards, banners and whatnot.

Now you all know that I, as a pillion rider,
Was hit by a passing truck,
Which further ran over my helping hands, 
Crushing them—
Thus, adding grievous injury to injury!

I lay there on the roadside,
Crying aloud for help,
Which fell on your deaf years:
You were all busy, all in a nervous hurry—
Off to Timbuktu! 

I wept and cried for help, by turns.
But I was left there to die unwept and unsung,
Though I had been honoured.

Now you all may say: RIP
But, you see, I remain restless!
***

Laughter Will Hunger For Your Mouth

Laughter will hunger for your mouth
On mornings that break ominous, 
Though the cold shoulder from above 
Shoves from view all that’s luminous. 

When breezes wheeze, die in your hair, 
Laughter will hunger for your mouth. 
Rheumatic boughs point at Sol’s lair, 
Where rays wait like a virgin dove. 

Daydreams may furl their wings and pout, 
And song wither in every throat, 
Laughter will hunger for your mouth, 
When twilight hoists colors afloat. 

The promise by today unkept
Returns to mirthless angels rout. 
Long as the last tear is unwept, 
Laughter will hunger for your mouth.

Anger a Crime 2

One who has anger kept
Has never ever he leapt
Beyond boundary and wept
For his misfortune slept
Because of his wrong concept
As Ashwathama’s concept.
Nobody here is ever unwept;
So don’t always backswept
By certain emotions inept 
Like Anger and have percept
Which lead you be a nympholept.
Be the person who has crept 
For perfection – void of windswept –
Attained salvation and stepped
Into ever-increasing peace precept.
Those who avoided it adept
To tell that peace in mind unswept;
Anger, A Vice not Virtue except
For those who has clear concept.

If Music Were, But Mere Dreams

If music were but, mere dreams
What a bitter sorrowful waste this would be
Thus shadows, and to play a note
A meager reminder of a world without hope

Nexus of the heart blacker than grayer
Taste, loveless sapor than savor 
Flowers wilt and will not, then they wither die
Laughter ends forthwith when only moments survive

Unmoving, undefining, joyous tears unwept, and never drying
Nor celebrations of song and dance relive or reviving
Simple songbirds mimic miming melancholy silent
Winds untheraputic cease, trees untickled lie dormant

That’s why I'm grateful for musical spiritual gifts
Through melodies, how Christ inspires and uplifts
Yes, if music were but, mere dreams
Then all of us sleepwalkers, a soul nonexistent, zombies in another reality

Persons

Does the peril of a life so perfect
        Squander unwept tears?
Does the shiny saucer of a world
           Call the horrid fear?
     If I disclose a million-fold
   The welcome do they serve--
      I swear the rugged tundra
Lies beneath a twin-bridged stream.
                So open do I say,
            I lift you herald high.
       Does one who's undeserved
        Flow gently without flight?
Does it matter here what genre I portray?
             Does it matter then again
        That I've lost my square on life?
     How many times will it take till I see
            What my maker wants of me?
          How many writings will I send
             Till I meet my calling, please?

Pieces

We live upon
Our naked souls
Cradle thoughts
Beneath the light
We hear the pain 
On sacred roles
Chaos brims over
Unwept night
We stand above 
The dying never
Seeking that which
Has no end
We kill the truth
Undying clever
Pieces of a 
Long lost friend.

Persons

Does the peril of a life so perfect
Squander unwept tears
Does the shiny saucer of a world
Call the horrid fear
If I disclose a million-fold
The welcome do they serve
I swear the rugged tundra lie
Beneath a twin-bridged stream
So open do I say
I lift you herald high
Does one who's undeserved
Flow gently without flight
Does it matter here
What genre I portray
Does it matter then again
That I've lost my square on life
How many times will it take till I see
What my maker wants of me
How many writings will I send
Till I meet my calling, please

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