Desperation poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best desperation poems ever written. Read all poems about desperation.
A speck that would have been beneath my sight
On any but a paper sheet so white
As the Sun withdrew his rays from the garden, and the moon threw cushioned beams upon the flowers, I sat under the trees pondering upon the phenomena of the atmosphere, looking through the branches at the strewn stars which glittered like chips of silver upon a blue carpet; and I could hear from a distance the agitated murmur of the rivulet singing its way briskly into the valley.
When the birds took shelter among the boughs, and the flowers folded their petals, and tremendous silence descended, I heard a rustle of feet though the grass. I took heed and saw a young couple approaching my arbor. The say under a tree where I could see them without being seen.
Name, my Laura, name the whirl-compelling
Bodies to unite in one blest whole--
Name, my Laura, name the wondrous magic
By which soul rejoins its kindred soul!
A pathetic tale of the sea I will unfold,
Enough to make one's blood run cold;
Concerning four fishermen cast adrift in a dory.
As I've been told I'll relate the story.
A young man of strong body, weakened by hunger, sat on the walker's portion of the street stretching his hand toward all who passed, begging and repeating his hand toward all who passed, begging and repeating the sad song of his defeat in life, while suffering from hunger and from humiliation.
When night came, his lips and tongue were parched, while his hand was still as empty as his stomach.
- New Orleans, November 1910
Four weeks have passed since I left, and still
I must write to you of no work. I've worn down
FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
When nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
Any which way the wind blows outside my window, I lied right through my brain, death we smile at, why can't I cry for thee, is this the end? can life be conquered, I don't want to let you go, you wouldn't know my wonders, as I finished out life next, I lost my way tangled in the heap created from desperation and bittle loneliness, maybe I should head back to the days of old, conliness struck well...but it protected better, nothing can be thought of to explain this...I've always walked it alone, a feeling I may always, so many lived this life and few survive, few are stronger, all I can do is apologize for me, maybe everchanging, I answer for them now, road to hell, I can't pave enough good, I'm gone there is no when, a new way has shown with wait as solitude, giving up is for the weak, may be or not, but in a way true is truer, I didn't give neither should you.
To save a fakin'.
A birth amid colourful celebration
A festival of glamorous expectations
An end of a prolonged anticipation
A birth in everybody's gratification
A man had sat down in desperation
I did not know the man
But I knew the desperation
So I went to him
And extended my hand
Holding my hand, he rose
He did not know me
But he knew the extending of my hand
We walked together
We did not know each other
But we knew walking together.
Many have vanished
Inside the hole of desperation
Never to be seen again
Many have been swallowed whole
Internal darkness, internal pinning strain your very nerve,
Gobbling the tender heart which quivers like autumn grasses
Wherwithal being graced by sofest dews of pensive sense
it's only a few degrees, just five
or seven, by which the scorching city
increases in heat, in semantic drift, haitiesque,
a tunis perhaps, floating towards the equator,
The desperation is
The desperation is
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