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Best Poems Written by Abigail Cole

Below are the all-time best Abigail Cole poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Goodnight

When there's no ear when you speak
and you are made to be an oblivious bargain 
when trust sounds so far away
and friends become quite cliche
take care, rest well, goodnight.

When feeling burdened,
burdened with pain
when family doesn't see it that way 
when there's no one who truly believes
take care, rest well, goodnight.

When misunderstandings are the new hearsays,
slanders guiding your every way
when troubles never seem to go away,
loneliness etched into your veins 
take care, rest well, goodnight.

Trials may come, 
dishonour on your name
whispers to crush or kill
even though life doesn't go as willed
take care, rest well, goodnight.

Wipe your tears
face your fears
bad days all come and go
remember that you matter more
than any pearls you know 
whenever sad, cry all you want
it's alright you know
tomorrow is a brand new day
so goodnight and hope again.

Details | Abigail Cole Poem

Addiction

Don't tell me to stop
I would if I could.
I don't like it any more than you do
but when I say "never again"
I turn and begin to negotiate.
I caution everyone against such actions.
yet in silence when no one is around
I fuel the ache that should have long been dead.
I ignite a fire I should have quenched
then I come out drenched in shame.

A hypocrite I disdain
but that I became.
And they were right in all they said
I could if I wanted
I could adopt discipline
still I succumb over and over again
and put on an act to save my name.

A gamble on my reputation,
another day to battle an addiction.

Details | Abigail Cole Poem

A Childhood Friend

It was a normal day,
The day he had his first puff.
Children played beneath the sun,
And weary songs filled the air.

Time didn’t stop as he’d been told,
Not even the old man cast a glance
As he stammered, "A pack of cigarettes, please."

Between his fingers, he held the cigar,
For the first time, he felt in control.
With a spark, the lighter flickered,
His eyes gleaming as flames danced.

His mother, who always knew it all,
Had no idea what happened behind the kitchen door.
He took a long drag as the tip met his lips.

Choking, laughing—
He had finally broken a rule.
With a second drag,
He knew what pride felt like.

Days turned to nights,
And the kitchen door creaked.
He lit a cigarette, staring into his mother’s eyes—
It gave him courage, like a king.

From a pack a day,
To twenty just to feel okay,
To losing count,
Because all that mattered was the unfulfilling drag.

He no longer remembered his mother’s voice,
Nor the faces of his siblings.
Each day blurred into the next,
And he worked hard to keep it that way.

Now in the doctor’s office, he sat,
Feeling his bones beneath fragile skin.
The doctor spoke as if he had a choice—
"A few years without smoking, and you'll live."

But all he heard was that hope was gone.
For years, he could have let go—
But he could never forsake
His childhood friend.

Details | Abigail Cole Poem

Echoes of Unheard Laughters

Whence did you learn that enchanting smile's art,
My own face takes a different start,
While happiness flows deep within,
My expression tells a different spin.

Can you sense the laughter's gentle flow,
I tried to mimic it, in the know,
But my attempt, a whimsical snout,
Echoing mirth, yet veering about.

My excitement's a spark, hard to quell,
Though you may not notice, I'll tell,
Your humor ignites joy in its array,
Yet my smile might not match, come what may.

How do I confess this untold truth,
That my cheeks have forgotten their joyful youth,
Toasting beers and raising a cheer,
Seems to have faded in yesteryear

Yet, I never grasped, truth to be told,
How my demeanor made others fold,
Jameson's silence, my friend's head's shake,
Unveiled the impact my expression could make.

So now, I ponder on that cue,
To turn the page and start anew,
To spread cheer with cheeks that rise,
And chase away shadows from others' eyes.

Details | Abigail Cole Poem

Don't

I often stumble, errors left behind,
Yet my memory fails to hold them in mind.
They call me wild, perhaps a touch insane,
Yet solitude's my solace, where I gain.
To welcome you in, heed my caution's plea,
When I whisper "don't," listen carefully
to my, don't, don't

Don't read it
I think about how offended you made me feel
Contemplating the untruths you believed I'd never see,
Musing on the possibility, could a crush on me possibly be? 
I think of how wierd it was that I was accused of that crime in 2013
or how I feel I couldn't possibly exist
Hours of thought, a relentless tide,
To unburden my mind, on paper I confide
but... don't, don't read it

Don't, don't
 
Don't believe 
I think I like the way you speak
I think you have a beautiful smile 
and everytime you walk into the room you bring all the light in with you
so...I let you know
but don't, don't believe
Perhaps it's the eloquence that flows from your lips,
The beauty of coaxing your smile with little quips.
Each entrance, an opportunity to slip away,
So please, don't be swayed, I earnestly convey.
and... don't, don't believe 
 
don't, don't

don't love me
I know how crazy that sounds
I have a motto to always return a favor done in time
but how can I return a love when I don't know how ...to
look in your eyes when I'm terrified
light up everytime you walk by
tell me, how can I lose a friendship for a love I cannot buy
And if I can't buy your affection, I'll always stand tall,
Holding an advantage, no matter what befalls.
Thus, I implore, please don't, don't love me

Don't, don't

Don't go
Don't offer a smile when you turn away,
Then wear a frown when I'm in need of your display.
don't say you'll be my friend one second
and then act like we've never met, it's absurd
don't say you are my bff 
then let an accident decide the last f.
don't act like you're my dearest friend
only to let fate cut our ties in the end.
But if you really mean to stay.
then please don't go.

Always inquire, seek the truth that's true,
Is your intent genuine, or mere words that you spew?
Or perhaps let me be, in solitude's embrace,
For I err without memory, in life's complex maze.

Details | Abigail Cole Poem

An Invisible God: Our Believed Conscience

There's this hidden God, like our inner guide,
Who must wonder if we truly decide
To follow rules, pretending with all our might,
Living in a world that's not quite right.

It's like a puzzle, truth and lies so near,
But inside, we fight a different fear.
It's a heavy feeling, hard to explain,
A part of us that's filled with pain.

Through the ages, things have changed a lot,
But this mysterious God is hard to spot.
We seek answers, but they slip away,
Leaving us in doubt, day by day.

It's like having a friend we can't quite see,
But we know this God is part of you and me.
A mystery, a puzzle, a guiding force,
An invisible presence on our life's course.

Details | Abigail Cole Poem

Sitting In Silence

No edifice harbors more profound silence than this,
Each door creaks with a mournful cadence as if bearing the weight of years.
The stairs emit a plaintive screech, echoing the passage of time.
All that once flourished now lies entombed in layers of dust,
Save for the painting adorning the whitewashed living room wall,
And the old man, ensconced in his wheelchair, who still blinks, albeit infrequently.

He departed this realm years ago,
Yet someone else had forsaken him first,
The woman in the painting, her smile haunting, her beauty transcendent,
Her essence seeping from canvas to soul, ensnaring his gaze.

He waits, as he promised he would,
Pondering if perchance his warranty has been extended,
Or if Heaven reserves his solitary existence as a form of penance.

Now he resides within the painting,
His prolonged stare transmuting into a serene smile,
For he is seated beside the woman on the wall,
Enraptured by a dream, hypnotized by her presence,
No longer shedding tears for a love lost.

I presumed him long departed, as we all moved forward with life,
How ironic is death, and the remnants it leaves behind.
As I removed the painting, I watched his eyes glaze over,
What a price to pay for a lifelong devotion.
If this act seals his fate,
Then, with a smash to the ground, I slain his love again.

Details | Abigail Cole Poem

Reciprocal disdain

I was once asked, what's the one thing I despise?
But words faltered, for she, my reflection, listens to my cries.
In the mirror, her gaze sharp, like daggers, meets mine,
A silent dialogue of disdain, an internal sign.

I detest her patience, unrequited and unearned,
Kindness persists, tears withheld, a lesson unlearned.
A heart forgiving, releasing the past's unrepentant grip,
A trait I loathe, an internal conflict to equip.

Her unwavering persistence for love's elusive embrace,
Believing in hearts where skepticism might find a space.
Open to learning, correcting the course she's charted,
Yet defensive, perpetually on edge, guarded.

Scared of friendships, a fear she can't dispel,
Misunderstanding the world, a tale she tells.
Believing in change through explanations, a futile endeavor,
Apologizing, though blameless, a gesture she'll sever.

Her reasons dismissed as mere excuses,
Feeling misinterpreted, a sentiment she accuses.
Sometimes alone, a solitary state,
Concern dismissed, a consequence she contemplates.

Suppressing signs of sadness, a stoic masquerade,
Consistently right, a truth that won't fade.
Undeserved hate cast upon her tender frame,
Trust reserved solely for her, a self-imposed claim.

She despises me most, a self-inflicted plight,
Yet in mutual hatred, comfort takes its flight.

Details | Abigail Cole Poem

A Second Glance At Belief

You firmly declare, "No God," you say,
Claiming life's a game, no creator in play,
No guiding hand to greet each new day,
No reckoning, no one for mistakes to sway.

I once stood beside you, with disbelief's might,
Then witnessed people, under sun's warm light,
Worship ancient trees, with devotion so tight,
I thought, "How quaint," as they took their flight.

Gathering together, their prayers ascend,
For death, sickness, losses, their hopes extend,
Sacrifices made, a faith they defend,
Yet their god responds, causing me to suspend.

Those who proclaim, "No God," unaware,
Of powers mystical, beyond what they dare,
Who deny a supreme force's care,
Have not glimpsed wizards, and witches, out there.

If in these other powers, you put your trust,
I ponder why you falter, doubts unjust,
Why you hesitate when I confess,
I worship the mightiest, I must profess.

Is it because you deemed, He doesn't heed your call?
Or because you felt abandoned, thinking Him so small?
Would that be reason enough to deny Him, overall?
To say, "I loved, but He didn't catch my fall."

The moment you deny, it's trust you never held,
This thought, lurking beneath, long concealed.
The moment you sigh, unbelief, long withheld,
An opportunity you sought, your true stance revealed.

I wish you'd offer Him another chance, anew,
Blend patience with faith, see what might accrue,
I wish you'd believe, despite doubts you construe,
I admit, I'm quite persistent, it's true.

Don't mind others' words, their judgmental sway,
Look up to Him, for all answers, I pray,
In His grace, in His time, find your way,
With unwavering belief, let doubts allay.

Details | Abigail Cole Poem

Maturity

They stripped away my former self,
Reduced me to a mere shadow, for "maturity."
Before and after, I remained the same,
But different personas emerged, all in the name of "maturity."

No more colorful socks or shoes with playful straps,
I was told, "You're older now," by the voice of "maturity."
"Compose yourself," they said, "Your voice is too loud,
And your laughter is awkward," all due to "maturity."

"Look ahead, not behind," they advised,
"Your dreams are beautiful, but not for you,"
I was informed, at this stage called "maturity."
Before and after, I wondered, "Why?"
Same person, different facades, all attributed to "maturity."

Oh, "maturity," you've transformed me so,
But what's the path forward, I must know.
How to live within, not without,
How to embrace the truth, cast off doubt.

How to express, not withhold,
How to believe and feel, be bold.
How to return to the child within,
And learn, once again, to begin.

The fault, dear "maturity," lies not with me,
But with your heavy hand, you see.
Oh, "maturity," why change me so?
It's a question I'm left to ponder and mull over.