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Best Poems Written by Emily Midea

Below are the all-time best Emily Midea poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Holiday Hijinks

Grandpa snored loud by the fire,
Dreaming of treats he’d admire.
He woke with a yawn,
Found the cookies all gone—
Seems the dog’s now our chief cookie buyer!

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The Hole in My Wall, the Hole in My Heart

A little bird whispered, soft yet clear,
?Truths I never wanted to hear.
?Echoes of laughter, sharp like knives,
?Behind my back, they carved their lies.
Once we were twenty, a vibrant crew,

?Now I’m alone, the sky's gone blue.?
Faces I trusted, hearts turned cold,
?Stories of betrayal, cruel and bold.
After the grind of a long school day,

?I found the words wouldn’t go away.?
My fists clenched tight, I couldn’t stall,
?Pain exploding, I punched the wall.
A jagged hole, a symbol of rage,?
Of friendships lost, a bitter stage.

?Where did I go wrong? What did I miss?
?I long for loyalty, not venom’s kiss.
The search for true friends feels like a fight,?
In shadows, I stumble, chasing the light.

?But deep in my chest, a fire still burns,?
For a day when love and trust return.
So I’ll mend the wall, and I’ll mend my heart,
?Each crack and scar, a brand-new start.?

Though I stand alone in this chapter’s pain,?
I’ll rise stronger, through loss and rain.
One day, I’ll find a friendship that’s real,?
A bond of respect, where wounds can heal.?
Until then, I’ll carry this heavy toll,?
But I’ll never let it break my soul.

Details | Emily Midea Poem

Whispers of Grace

There’s a peace that whispers soft  
when I step beneath the open sky,  
trees stretching in green prayer,  
branches swaying like the hands  
of a thousand saints, lifting their weight  
toward something higher.  

In moments when I’m alone,  
that wide sky pulls me in close—  
a blue blanket tucked around shoulders  
on a night lit only by stars.  
Crickets keep time, their gentle song  
finding rhythm with my heart.  

I think of the quiet crack of a baseball bat,  
the ball arcing high, a promise carried on the wind,  
a flight so clear it feels like love.  
In a way, it's the same—a swing of hope,  
the reach for connection,  
the leap toward something more.  

And isn’t that like a prayer, too?  
Those small moments when I feel Him,  
like sunlight slipping through autumn leaves,  
or in the crisp warmth of pajamas fresh from the line,  
or the sacred stillness of a Sunday afternoon.  

Nature wraps around me like comfort,  
reminding me I am never truly alone,  
even when no one’s near—  
because in each bird’s song, each gust of wind,  
each blade of grass bending beneath my feet,  
there is something holy, something here.

Details | Emily Midea Poem

Silent Battles

They called me a coward, said my words would hide,
Too scared to face the storm, I’d run and confide.
My thoughts were shadows, secrets locked tight,
In silence, I fought my own ing fight.

They wanted thunder, loud as hell,
To shout like lightning, break the spell.
But my voice shook, a flickering flame,
Afraid the truth would tarnish my name.

They spread their bull, twisted my life,
Throwing stones, cutting like a knife.
I carried my truths in whispers, not screams,
Afraid to face the pain, caught in my dreams.

So call me dramatic, call me what you will,
These scars are mine, but I’m standing still.
I’ll find my voice when the time’s right,
And when I speak, I’ll be ready for the fight.

Details | Emily Midea Poem

Echoes of the Unspoken

They called me a coward, said my words would hide,
Too timid to face the storm, I’d run and confide.
My thoughts were shadows, secrets bound tight,
In the echoes of silence, I fought my own fight.

They wanted bold thunder, unyielding and loud,
To speak like the lightning, piercing the cloud.
But my voice trembled, a flickering flame,
Afraid of the sparks that might tarnish my name.

I carried my truths in whispers, not roars,
Let them drift behind unguarded doors.
Perhaps it was fear; perhaps it was care,
To speak of the absent felt too much to bear.

Still, they threw their stones, their judgment like chains,
Mocking my struggles, dismissing my pains.
But courage, I’ve learned, wears many a guise
It’s not always in voices, but in how one tries.

So call me a coward if that’s how you feel,
But my wounds are my own, and they’ve yet to heal.
I’ll find my voice when the moment is true,
And when I do speak, I’ll be ready for you.