Grieving poems bring the best collection of short and long grieving poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great grieving rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these grieving poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on grieving are here for you.
It was just a bullet A bullet which changed everything Which made the land wet Wet with tears Thousand , million tears Which immediately Scarred thousand hearts Filled them with tireless grieving , A deep scar, A haunting memory ,
I see the colours shading the pretty smile in thoughts forlorn, The tears as bright as a diamond, but that shone aloof and alone. I hide the whimsical rays in the pocket of hope, But the hope that knows nowhere
When shoulders are in dearth whereby to cry, And frozen tears would stab with loneliness, A smile I dare that unto heaven try, For wish, my prayer speaks with holiness; The dirge that grieving lips would sadly sing, On hollow
How far? How far the goodness will survive? Born to suffer, a troubled mind was punished, for melting down. Livid with revenge sun bleaches the man-made God, a personal anger. Executioner was on the street lighting bonfires of your principles.
In the ancient lives of the comrades who speak and heroes and sheroes who sleep, Sailed in the dim hopes of them who stood stubborn to believe did I, They lay captive at the merciless grip of the local oppressor
The Storm was fierce with deadly winds that pointed to a farmland, that once was filled with life, and love, a farmer’s precious homeland; but droughts had hit and done their deeds, and things began to die, and all the
Faith was not taking him near the truth. Staring at reason his inner self became a burden on the whispering road. They were going to exhume the body of the martyr for finding the ethos of hope invoking the afternoon
I guess it is never late to live where I am, For the past has left me grieving alone, Future is unforeseen showing fresh and green, For none of them appear here, where I am. Past memories linger grieving, Was
I do not want to become plaintiff or defendant. Untethered, I will punish myself for metaphysical nuances. Sometimes a silence talks to grieving sky about a fake truth. The tears will never stop now. Give me my freedom to cry,
We were the best of friends All summer long and through the fall and winter Cruising through the worlds we knew On beat-up bikes in faded jeans and sneakers Weaving in and out of high adventure Knee deep in grassy
unrearthing the fallen saint you wash your feet and enter the temple of forgotten god: cult of escapc from tangled half- truths with dramatic entry of hysterics you fail to accept yourself, the grieving death – mask transcends a fresco
After the putsch, through night he set himself alight ensnared in flames of societal conflicts, for a vision of tomorrow, in the birth of a bloody dawn. The drone of history had failed on a loaded salt. A solitary murder
It was burning again like goldenrods in drift valley of ethnic hate. You start climbing down deeper in fear holding tight your identity. The anguish of ruined home under the shadows of bribed hands, runs on the bodies of pilgrims
It erupts and then sublimates in thirst of response from the faraway wholeness of truth. Will not be the same again this life in motion of reverse malignity. Lifting the passage from script to justify the suicidal chair of kingdom.
Love offers countless tears To bemoaning lovers with grieving affairs, As it’s roaring past them in whimsy rides And fades away to deceiving dale. Still the men plant the trees In zone safer And hope to flower them In fancied
Fearing death, mourning is just nonsense Wearing black, crying for the dead makes no sense Love a person when he is living Sharing smiles is a wonderful feeling. Death is just another goodbye, A silent message saying, “Please don’t cry.”
I am a man with an Unreservedly positive frame of mind. Knowing that frames are fatefully important As matter and metaphor. I wear shirts chiefly made of roomy pockets Trope for optimism And space for the melange of likelihoods, On
The fondness and affection which I always came to give, Has now gone away, simply ceases to exist, My mind is now contained by a deep and heavy mist- Cant concentrate on others, nothing more I have to give, My
Me, in my morning rush hour cook scrub and clean a nightingale amidst a concrete jungle screams and orders me to stop to listen to her melody ‘stop your chores, spare me your ear I thought you missed me’ my
Sign of what once may be left Breath taken deeply denial of death Presence of grace to have a place to hide As family leaves fall temperatures will rise Accepting the passing of a goodbye For moments of inscription Left
(If Mother Earth could speak…) I’m the first light of dawn setting fire to the skies, the awe that ends with a soft, sated sigh. I’m the slow, gentle sway of ancient, lofty trees, branches of life filled with wonders
Hi John and Mary, A few months ago, I heard that you were contemplating leaving. And the move was not across town nor another region of the state. But it was way across country, and at least a thousand miles
Cohabiting: my poems make me sad. You reflect the times my body leaves the wound marks on sand. Again I had gone to my tattered home to sleep under the moon. There was only a small window. I would look
The falling poem was in bruising gamble of winter of troubled life, bound to a staircase: up and down up and down, on the rosette of grieving thighs. From sunset to sunset a moon rises in all its glory as
Distance separates lovers, who compress the gap to create rainbow. The happy spell is transitory, elastic distance regains space. Passion framed my entity. Affection nursed till I broke shell. Friendship made my spine erect and love gifted a pair of
Life sans light They are sitting in a remote dark room to relax without switching on light. For they want a real light that brings peace and solace in their laborious humdrum life. They toil from dawn to dusk without
A fat island burns under a looming sun. Bleeding rays will enter your eyes to see the blundering world. The gods were melting down looking at the corpses of faltering orchids, spread out at the feet of a white blaze.
Your eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long. -Anonymous Switch off the TV, it is performing to blind eyes Unplug the internet, let’s disconnect the outside Pile duvets on the sofa and we’ll
once it breaks then mends again it’s never quite the same the wall goes up…uninviting less willing to play the game remain on guard don’t lose yourself don’t give it all away tread cautiously don’t assume be mindful what you
There’s something about the feeling i get, when i’m lying on my shower floor slumped down, looking at the water travelling down my body as if the water will wash away my identity, my sins and insecurities that it is
When the antagonist speaks with oozing vileness, the glib atrocity is hard to grip. The obvious monstrousness lays unhidden and he walks through the hellish waters walks through a malicious sea. Gravitates towards the unfathomable depth, succumbs to the irresistible