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What's the saddest poem you have ever read? Why is it so sad to you?

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd -Walt Whitman, 1865-6

This is one of my favorites. The sense of loss is intoxicating. The melancholy embraces and I too wish to sing my song 'of the bleeding throat'. He asks so many questions, emphasising his abandonment. He carries on like a child grieved in the begining, so much so I initially thought the piece would turn out to be abhorent and distasteful. But as I read on I saw the grieving process and the maturation of a man who embraces the process.

Sing on! sing on, you gray-brown bird!
Sing from the swamps, the recesses?pour your chant from the bushes;
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.

Sing on, dearest brother?warble your reedy song;
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.

O liquid, and free, and tender!
O wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer!
You only I hear......yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart;)
Yet the lilac, with mastering odor, holds me.

"Imagining Defeat" by David Berman, probably. I dunno, it just makes me feel terribly empty.

She woke me up at dawn,
her suitcase like a little brown dog at her heels.

I sat up and looked out the window
at the snow falling in the stand of blackjack trees.

A bus ticket in her hand.

Then she brought something black up to her mouth,
a plum I thought, but it was an asthma inhaler.

I reached under the bed for my menthols
and she asked if I ever thought of cancer.

Yes, I said, but always as a tree way up ahead
in the distance where it doesn't matter

And I suppose a dead soul must look back at that tree,
so far behind his wagon where it also doesn't matter.

except as a memory of rest or water.

Though to believe any of that, I thought,
you have to accept the premise

that she woke me up at all.

Richard Cory
by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked,
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich--yes, richer than a king--
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Oh my, all of those poems are sad. I can't think of any of my own.

The Other Side of A Mirror by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

I sat before my glass one day,
And conjured up a vision bare,
Unlike the aspects glad and gay,
That erst were found reflected there -
The vision of a woman, wild
With more than womanly despair.
Her hair stood back on either side
A face bereft of loveliness.
It had no envy now to hide
What once no man on earth could guess.
It formed the thorny aureole
Of hard, unsanctified distress.

Her lips were open - not a sound
Came though the parted lines of red,
Whate'er it was, the hideous wound
In silence and secret bled.
No sigh relieved her speechless woe,
She had no voice to speak her dread.

And in her lurid eyes there shone
The dying flame of life's desire,
Made mad because its hope was gone,
And kindled at the leaping fire
Of jealousy and fierce revenge,
And strength that could not change nor tire.

Shade of a shadow in the glass,
O set the crystal surface free!
Pass - as the fairer visions pass -
Nor ever more return, to be
The ghost of a distracted hour,
That heard me whisper: - 'I am she!'

daclawson2 wrote:Richard Cory
by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked,
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich--yes, richer than a king--
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

I was just going to post this poem until I saw that you already had!

Hi,
I really thinks that it is one of the sad poem and I always read this poem .


Something
by Raquel



And so it came to be
this isolation that I am
I can only look to me
to find the way it all began -
this confusion, constant
hunger for something more than this
I strive to find this being
that I envision, yet seem to miss.
Could it be that I am empty-
or maybe a little lost?
Could it be that I am lonely,
or seek happiness at any cost?
This never-ending Something
that I am living deep inside,
depicts the illusion of myself
and all I have to hide.

In time, writing a sad poem can help you get over of the grief of losing a loved one in death. I wrote this poem back in 2002 to help cope with my own grief. For background music, I played Natalie Cole's song: I Wish You Love.
________________________

A FINAL FAREWELL

Saying goodbye to you is the hardest thing I have to do
I never thought this awful day would ever come true
This breaking heart of mine, you see
It was never planned, never meant to be

I've tried my best to hold onto the memory of you
But through each passing year, it became more difficult to do
My love for you is on its final wane
My life without you will never be the same

I must go on with what life I have
I will search out love again
Joy and happiness in my life I do long
One day soon, I will sing a happy song

And as I stand above where you were laid to rest
I bow my head in solemn prayer
And after asking comfort from God who never fails
I bid you my final, a hard farewell

I have to be obvious and say Lady Lazerus by Sylvia Plath. Although its more angry than sad. This is my favourite part:

"Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call. "

wow. that poem, Richard Cory, is horrifically sad yet somehow such a simple portrayal of the mysterious human mind.
i am always trying to emphasise the fact that what makes some people happy is not necessarily prevalent.

i also adore Sylvia Plath. The Bell Jar and all her poetry - beautiful.

I Went to a Party Mom

I went to a party,
and remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom
so I had a sprite instead.

I felt proud of myself,
the way you said I would,
that I didn't drink and drive,
though some friends said I should.

I made a healthy choice,
your advice to me was right
the party finally ended,
and the kids drove out of sight.

I got into my car,
sure to get home in one piece,
I never knew what was coming, Mom
something I expected least.

Now I'm lying on the pavement,
And I hear the policeman say,
'The kid that caused this wreck was
drunk, '
Mom, His voice seems far away.

My own blood's all around me,
as I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say,
'This girl is going to die.'

I'm sure the guy had no idea,
while he was flying high,
because he chose to drink and drive,
now I would have to die.

So why do people do it, Mom
Knowing that it ruins lives?
And now the pain is cutting me,
like a hundred stabbing knives.

Tell sister not to be afraid, Mom
tell daddy to be brave,
and when I go to heaven,
put 'Daddy's Girl' on my grave.

Someone should have taught him,
that its wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his parents had,
I'd still be alive.

My breath is getting shorter, Mom
I'm getting really scared.
These are my final moments,
and I'm so unprepared.

I wish that you could hold me Mom,
as I lie here and die.
I wish that I could say I love you, Mom
So I love you and good-bye.

The author of this poem is unknown, but every time I read it, it sends chills down my back. Drink driving is a terrible thing.

What It Took to Understand by Shinjii Moon

It ends like this, and always kind of devastates me:

"There is a shipwreck between your ribs. You are a box with
fragile written on it, and so many people have not handled you
with care.
And for the first time, I understand that I will never know
how to apologize for being
one of them.”

Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden. His use of imagery gets me every time.
__________________________________________________________

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.