sean wright


The Loser


The Loser

He lost his money first of all
(It was the start of his sad story) ,
Then later on he had a fall
With fate: in things less transitory.
He lost his heart - and found it dead
(His one and only true discovery) ,
And after that he lost his head,
And all his chances of recovery.
He lost his honor bit by bit
Until the thing was out of question.
He worried so at losing it,
He lost his sleep and his digestion.
He lost his temper, and for good
The remnants of his reputation,
His taste in drink and friends and food,
And then in rapid culmination,
His certitudes, his sense of truth,
His memory, his self-control,
The love that graced his early youth,
And lastly his immortal soul.
(Hilaire Belloc, alt.)

Submitted: Sunday, February 10, 2008
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Loser by sean wright )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. When I Die A Teacher, Pius Didier
  2. Family, Kolade Seun
  3. Mothers!, John Ugolo Umah
  4. I Just Do Not Know, John Ugolo Umah
  5. Are you looking, gajanan mishra
  6. Not worth as human, hasmukh amathalal
  7. Multicolored, gajanan mishra
  8. The Light that was Lost, Alexandra Matthews
  9. Interdependent, gajanan mishra
  10. Perhaps Of ofasianperhapsswayshymm, sEaN nOrTh

Poem of the Day

poet Edmund Spenser

Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,
My love like the spectator ydly sits
Beholding me that all the pageants play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]