Sorrow poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best sorrow poems ever written. Read all poems about sorrow.
When these graven lines you see,
Traveller, do not pity me;
Though I be among the dead,
Let no mournful word be said.
One heavy day I ran away from the grim face of society and the dizzying clamor of the city and directed my weary step to the spacious alley. I pursued the beckoning course of the rivulet and the musical sounds of the birds until I reached a lonely spot where the flowing branches of the trees prevented the sun from the touching the earth.
I stood there, and it was entertaining to my soul - my thirsty soul who had seen naught but the mirage of life instead of its sweetness.
Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,
The sunset hangs on a cloud;
A golden storm of glittering sheaves,
Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,
Then a woman said, 'Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.'
And he answered:
Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck
with my tears of sorrow.
The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet,
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:
I need to find time-
a scrap of time
by the demands of everyday life
HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre
Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire.
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wandering light,
Began to cry, but God, ever nigh,
Appeared like his father, in white.
If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life
then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight
---let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
LIKE this alabaster box whose art
Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart,
Carven with delicate dreams and wrought
With many a subtle and exquisite thought.
He. Where thou dwellest, in what grove,
Tell me Fair One, tell me Love;
Where thou thy charming nest dost build,
O thou pride of every field!
Don't take us for the wall itself
For when the earthen plank behind the wall
Gets soaked through
We'll let the sorrow of burdonsome wetness
At night, when the sea cradles me
And the pale star gleam
Lies down on its broad waves,
Then I free myself wholly
No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed
Joy stayed with me a night --
Young and free and fair --
And in the morning light
He left me there.
Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I’d been better without:
This story is about a mother and her little girl…and another mother and her little boy…
and how sometimes in life sadness and sorrow is linked with happiness and joy.
After years of happiness with her son…we find one mother crying
I'm walking through a slimy foggy world and I can't find any way out. That simple light of my world has flashed off and away. Little interest, slimy sorrow, all the things that were once fun they are long over and done. No ease to the brain and sorrow it pours over us dragging us down, down, down into a slimy cold graying river of sorrow suppose we are built with stone our minds tortured and grim, hauntings of past or future drag us down to ways of little or no return things feel wrong to feel Ahh judgments are in the air but we still get pulled and dragged way, way down a slimy cold river of sorrow turning us to stone never fear the end isn't near we may be tortured but there's a desire to live and breathe Ahh yes we are the broken never a dull moment I suppose to the other eye they see fine perhaps even pretty? But they see no further than to skin while deep down in our bones and our detached souls we are the broken our commands of light never answer the broken shadow of us we may haunt others the strong the ones that have broken us and torn us from good screams of our voices broken by dawn the slime of our sorrow moved to yours sure we have differences but our shared river of loneliness, sorrow, destroyed love, our world is different why can't you see? Perhaps you pretend to seam the hurt the pain but you really can't wrap it around your brain perhaps the untouched wonder or ask how can one be like that? It must be a tale A faking of such! But truly we walk around in haze these days only lighted by friends but guarded with stone and perhaps sorrow Indeed you may ask but truly our days of our heads held proud It's no longer around we hang our heads in defeat showing that truly as we walk perhaps drown in the slimy river that we know as sorrow we must be built of stone the river of sorrow it clearly seems our feet are sinking perhaps there's a door somewhere upon this foggy mist perhaps we'll escape someday...
When thinking of writing a poem This time I wanted to write about a person without sorrow. Buddha said only one thing! What is the cause of all the world's sorrows? Only desires! Is it true? Why this sorrow? You become Buddha, Bartruhari or Vemana. Give up everything, man! Is there anyone like that now? Money, Money, Money! Mine, mine, mine, What ash is left at the end! Unless You're enlightened sorrow will be forever When you are not an honest person When you are a corrupt person When you are a person of jealousy and envy When you do not seek the welfare of society How pure the life is like the breast milk of a living mother! How pure the life is like the tears of eyes After impurities are lost, Life becomes a diamond! One who knows the value of life in the face of difficulties, One who sees the life in an equal way Where would be the sorrow? The journey from sorrow to no sorrow life Means selfless life is the true path for man.
Sorrow is like a scorched and desolate land.
Barren and dry built on sinking sands.
Is it possible for joy and sorrow to share the same space…
together…in the here and now…
My answer use to be maybe…but, for the life of me, I couldn't see how
Like a swarm of bees
Sorrow follows me
In every moment
Sorrow engulfs not only my body
There will be moments of sorrow in our life…down whatever path we choose…moments when we fail…moments when we lose.
This fog of sorrow can descend unexpectedly…anytime…night or day…moments we are hurt…moments someone we love has passed away.
Sorrow the pirate
Twas about to walk,
The mighty wooden plank
With shackled wrists
When our heart is filled with sorrow we find it hard to comprehend
why this happened in our life…why to our family or friends?
Yet it's preposterous to think in a world where every living thing must die
I think about
The sorrow of man,
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