40 Sad Poems That Helps You Heal And Let Go

Have you ever felt like people do not understand your pain? 

Like it is nothing for them. 

Maybe that’s because you are not expressing the depth and the intensity effectively.

People will feel empathy for your feelings when they relate to it. 

Everybody has some sort of sadness inside them, you just have to trigger it.

And the best way to do that is poetry. 

Because “A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth” - Percy Bysshe Shelley.

If you can express your feelings in poetry, many will relate and understand you.

So, now you have to figure out how to use poetry. I can help you with that!

I have 40 sad poems that will help you express your grief. 

Read them and see how you can use them for yourself!

Famous sad poems that bring tears to eyes

Let’s see how famous poems reflect sorrow. 

Because it must have done it well, that’s why more people relate to it and it has become so famous. 

So, let’s see:

1. Annabel Lee

Poet name: Edgar Allan Poe

Written In: 1849

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

In her sepulcher there by the sea—

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Summary:

In this poem, Edgar Allan Poe talks about a strong love between him and a lady named Annabel Lee. 

They loved each other so much that even the angels in heaven became jealous. 

Because of this, a cold wind came and made her sick, and she died. 

Even though she is gone, the poet believes their love is so powerful that it will never end, and he feels close to her spirit, even after her death.

2. We Wear the Mask 

Poet name: Paul Laurence Dunbar

Written In: 1895

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And a mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile,

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask!

Summary

In this poem, Paul Laurence Dunbar talks about how people hide their true feelings behind a fake smile. 

Even though they may look happy, they are often sad and hurting from the inside. 

The poem highlights how society tends to overlook the pain beneath the surface, focusing only on what they can see.

3. Daddy

Poet name: Slyvia Plath

Written In: 1962

You do not do, you do not do

Any more, black shoe

In which I have lived like a foot

For thirty years, poor and white,

Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.

You died before I had time—

Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,

Ghastly statue with one gray toe

Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic

Where it pours bean green over blue

In the waters off beautiful Nauset.

I never could talk to you.

The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.

Ich, ich, ich, ich,

I could hardly speak.

I thought that even the bones would turn.

I had to go through the same doors again and again

Wherever I went;

That man in the black suit

Did not help; he only called the cops.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.

You died before I had time—

I have had to kill you.

You died before I had time—

That was a long time ago.

And the stars died before I had time—

I have had to kill you.

You died before I had time—

In the house with the green shutters.

Summary

Sylvia Plath expresses her grief regarding her father in this poem. He died when she was still young. 

She conveys feelings of anger and disloyalty, showing him as a powerful, oppressive man who has haunted her life. 

The poem illustrates her struggle to face and ultimately free herself from the shadow of his memory.

4. Acquainted with the Night

Poet name: Robert Frost 

Written In: 1928

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unyielding as the night.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

And further still at an unearthly height,

One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

Summary

Robert Frost shares feelings of loneliness and sadness. 

He talks about walking alone at night, feeling disconnected from the world. 

Robert describes seeing sad places and hearing distant cries, showing how familiar he is with feelings of darkness and isolation.

Short sad poems that help you heal and move on

Do you think that’s too long for you to handle in the beginning? 

Don’t worry, I have some short ones too. Start with them and then eventually increase the length.

5. Fire and Ice

Poet name: Robert Frost

Written In: 1920

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Summary:

Robert Frost’s poem “Fire and Ice” explores two possibilities of how the world might end. 

He compares two potential forces of destruction, fire and ice. 

But this poem is not that simple.

The poet cleverly uses fire and ice as metaphors for desire and hate, respectively. 

He acknowledges ice’s (hate) destructive capability, but he leans towards fire (desire).

This poem is written like a Japanese haiku poem. 

I mean the structure is quite similar but it is actually a modern lyric. 

It is a short yet thought-provoking poem on our insatiable desires and their potential consequences.

6. Hope is the thing with feathers

Poet name: Emily Dickinson

Written In: 1891

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Summary:

This beautiful piece by Emily Dickinson is a lyric poem that uses an extended metaphor to describe hope as a bird. 

The poem describes hope as an amazing little bird that just keeps singing, no matter how rough things get.

The best thing about the bird is that it asks for nothing in return for keeping the warmth inside. 

Emily Dickinson has written this poem in her signature ballad form, with irregular punctuation and dashes.

7. Still I Rise (a few stanzas can be interpreted as short)

Poet name: Maya Angelou

Written In: 1978

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Summary:

This one is a very powerful poem by Maya Angelou. 

It is a defiant free verse poem that just radiates strength and attitude! 

The poet is basically saying “Try me!” 

She has a vivid imagination like oil wells and celestial bodies as a declaration of her resilience against racism and oppression.

What makes it really interesting is its tone. It's not just defiant but taunting for those who would try to tease her. 

It’s a triumph of inner strength, dignity, and perseverance.

8. Morning Song

Poet name: Sylvia Plath

Written In: 1961

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.

The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry

Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.

In a drafty museum, your nakedness

Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother

Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow

Effacement at the wind’s hand.

Summary:

This is a free verse poem that captures the complex emotions of new motherhood. 

But unlike typical baby poems, there are no sugar-coated words here. 

She is comparing her newborn to a “fat gold watch” and her motherhood as a visitor observing a new statue in the museum.

She is questioning her own connection to her child, portraying motherhood as a great but challenging experience.

9. There’s a certain Slant of light

Poet name: Emily Dickinson

Written In: 1890

There's a certain Slant of light,

Winter Afternoons –

That oppresses, like the Heft

Of Cathedral Tunes –

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –

We can find no scar,

But internal difference –

Where the Meanings, are –

None may teach it – Any –

'Tis the seal Despair –

An imperial affliction

Sent us of the Air –

Summary:

This is another masterpiece by Emily Dickinson. 

Another lyric poem with her characteristic dashes and capitalized words. 

She describes how a particular quality of winter light affects the soul.

The poem beautifully captures that almost oppressive feeling that comes with certain winter afternoons. 

And she compares this feeling to cathedral music, making it a kind of holy suffering, both divine and painful.

She suggests that this feeling is not acquired, it is natural and everybody feels it.

10. Return

Poet name: Jessie B. Rittenhouse

Written In: 1913

You came again, but silence

Had fallen on your heart,

And in your eyes were visions

That held us still apart.

And now I go on hearing

The words you did not say,

And the kiss you did not give me

Burns on my lips to-day.

Summary:

This poem captures the pain of unspoken feelings and love unfulfilled.

The poet senses silence in their lover’s heart and feels their ache. 

Through these short rhymed couplets, Jessie B. Rittenhouse conveys a haunting memory. 

She still regrets the words left unsaid and moments left unrealized.

11. I Shall Not Care

Poet name: Sara Teasdale

Written In: 1915

When I am dead and over me bright April

Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,

Tho’ you should lean above me broken-hearted,

I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful

When rain bends down the bough,

And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted

Than you are now.

Summary:

This is a beautiful couplet poem that describes a sense of peace and acceptance of death. 

The poet, Sara Teasdale, imagines a future where she is no longer alive. 

She says she will be at peace even if her loved ones cry for her.

Just as the leaves stay peaceful when rain falls on them, she will not care about anyone who misses her after her death.

12. When You Are Old

Poet name: William Butler Yeats

Written In: 1862

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Summary:

As the title suggests, this is a stunning sonnet poem that explores love, aging, and memories. 

The poet addresses the imaginary future self of a loved one. 

He encourages them to read the poem and recall their youth and the love they once shared.

This poem is a reminder for us to cherish the moments we have now because we will miss them later on. 

That is the bittersweet nature of time.

Long sad poems that help you ease the pain

After getting used to the shorter version of sad poems, you can increase your skill by learning how to keep the context for longer lengths of poetic content.

13. Ariel

Poet name: Sylvia Plath

Written In: 1962

Stasis in darkness.

Then the substanceless blue

Pour of tor and distances.

God’s lioness,

How one we grow,

Pivot of heels and knees!—The furrow

Splits and passes, sister to

The brown arc

Of the neck I cannot catch,

Nigger-eye

Berries cast dark

Hooks—

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,

Shadows.

Something else

Hauls me through air—

Thighs, hair;

Flakes from my heels.

White

Godiva, I unpeel—

Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I

Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.

The child’s cry

Melts in the wall.

And I

Am the arrow,

The dew that flies

Suicidal, at one with the drive

Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.

Summary:

This is a powerful free verse poem that explores the metaphor of an intense horseback ride for freedom, transformation, and possibly self-destruction. 

It starts in stillness and then goes into movement. 

It’s about breaking free from constraints and embracing a kind of good but possibly destructive freedom.

It’s a challenging and rewarding read, inviting the reader to delve into the depths of the poet’s consciousness.

14. On the Pulse of Morning

Poet name: Maya Angelou

Written In: 1993

A Rock, A River, A Tree

Hosts to species long since departed,

Marked the mastodon,

The dinosaur, who left dried tokens

Of their sojourn here

On our planet floor,

Any broad alarm of their hastening doom

Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,

Come, you may stand upon my

Back and face your distant destiny,

But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than

The angels, have crouched too long in

The bruising darkness

Have lain too long

Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words

Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out to us today, you may stand upon me,

But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,

A River sings a beautiful song. It says,

Come, rest here by my side.

Each of you, a bordered country,

Delicate and strangely made proud,

Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit

Have left collars of waste upon

My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet today I call you to my riverside,

If you will study war no more. Come,

Clad in peace, and I will sing the songs

The Creator gave to me when I and the

Tree and the rock were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your

Brow and when you yet knew you still

Knew nothing.

The River sang and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to

The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew

The African, the Native American, the Sioux,

The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek

The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,

The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,

The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.

They hear. They all hear

The speaking of the Tree.

They hear the first and last of every Tree

Speak to humankind today. Come to me, here beside the River.

Plant yourself beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed

On traveller, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you,

Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you

Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then

Forced on bloody feet,

Left me to the employment of

Other seekers—desperate for gain,

Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede, the German, the Eskimo, the Scot,

You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought,

Sold, stolen, arriving on the nightmare

Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am that Tree planted by the River,

Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree

I am yours—your passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need

For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain

Cannot be unlived, but if faced

With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon

This day breaking for you.

Give birth again

To the dream.

Women, children, men,

Take it into the palms of your hands,

Mold it into the shape of your most

Private need. Sculpt it into

The image of your most public self.

Lift up your hearts

Each new hour holds new chances

For a new beginning.

Do not be wedded forever

To fear, yoked eternally

To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,

Offering you space to place new steps of change.

Here, on the pulse of this fine day

You may have the courage

To look up and out and upon me, the

Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here, on the pulse of this new day

You may have the grace to look up and out

And into your sister’s eyes, and into

Your brother’s face, your country

And say simply

Very simply

With hope—

Good morning.

Summary:

This poem is an inspiration that calls for unity, peace, and hope. It is a call to humanity for an end to violence, injustice, and environmental destruction. 

The poet describes the interconnectedness of nature using the imagery of a rock, a river, and a tree.

She urges us to embrace peace, regardless of background to rise above discrimination and work together for a brighter future.

The concluding line “Good morning” is the symbol of a new beginning.

15. I heard a Fly buzz – when I died

Poet name: Emily Dickinson

Written In: 1862

I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -

The Stillness in the Room

Was like the Stillness in the Air -

Between the Heaves of Storm -

The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -

And Breaths were gathering firm

For that last Onset - when the King

Be witnessed - in the Room -

I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away

What portion of me be

Assignable - and then it was

There interposed a Fly -

With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz -

Between the light - and me -

And then the Windows failed - and then

I could not see to see -

Summary:

This free verse poem presents a haunting experience of the last moments of life. 

The poem begins with a stillness in the room, like the silence before a storm, that signifies the tension-filled atmosphere.

The dying person is surrounded by some onlookers who are waiting for the death, referred to here as “King.” 

But this moment is interrupted by a fly. 

The fly signifies that we get distracted by insignificant earthly concerns and forget that we are going to die one day.

16. Mending Wall

Poet name: Robert Frost

Written In: 1914

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offense.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,

But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father’s saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

Summary:

A beautiful but thought-provoking poem. 

This blank verse uses a conversational tone to image a stone wall that symbolizes the barriers we humans put between us. 

The poem suggests these barriers are often unnecessary and interfere with human connections.

It encourages us to question the reasons behind these divisions and to understand each other.

17. The Rape of Lucrece

Poet name: William Shakespeare

Written In: 1594

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,

Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;

Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,

Swelling on either side to want his bliss;

Between whose hills her head entombed is;

Where like a virtuous monument she lies,

To be admired of lewd unhallowed eyes.

Without the bed her other fair hand was,

On the green coverlet, whose perfect white

Showed like an April daisy on the grass,

With pearly sweat resembling dew of night.

Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light,

And canopied in darkness sweetly lay

Till they might open to adorn the day.

Her hair like golden threads played with her breath

O modest wantons, wanton modesty!

Showing life’s triumph in the map of death,

And death’s dim look in life’s mortality.

Each in her sleep themselves so beautify

As if between them twain there were no strife,

But that life lived in death, and death in life.

Her breasts like ivory globes circled with blue,

A pair of maiden worlds unconquerèd,

Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,

And him by oath they truly honourèd.

These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred,

Who like a foul usurper went about

From this fair throne to heave the owner out.

What could he see but mightily he noted?

What did he note but strongly he desired?

What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,

And in his will his willful eye he tired.

With more than admiration he admired

Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,

Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.

As the grim lion fawneth o’er his prey

Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,

So o’er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,

His rage of lust by gazing qualified;

Slacked, not suppressed; for, standing by her side,

His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,

Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins.

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,

Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting.

In bloody death and ravishment delighting,

Nor children’s tears nor mothers’ groans respecting,

Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting.

Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,

Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,

His eye commends the leading to his hand;

His hand, as proud of such a dignity,

Smoking with pride, marched on to make his stand

On her bare breast, the heart of all her land,

Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,

Left their round turrets destitute and pale.

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet

Where their dear governess and lady lies,

Do tell her she is dreadfully beset

And fright her with confusion of their cries.

She, much amazed, breaks ope her locked-up eyes,

Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,

Are by his flaming torch dimmed and controlled.

Imagine her as one in dead of night

From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,

That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,

Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking.

What terror ‘tis! but she, in worser taking,

From sleep disturbèd, heedfully doth view

The sight which makes supposèd terror true.

Wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears,

Like to a new-killed bird she trembling lies.

She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears

Quick-shifting antics ugly in her eyes.

Such shadows are the weak brain’s forgeries,

Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,

In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast

(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)

May feel her heart (poor citizen) distressed,

Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall,

Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.

This moves in him more rage and lesser pity,

To make the breach and enter this sweet city.

Summary:

The theme of this poem is sexual violence and the corruption of power which is disturbing. 

The poet, William Shakespeare, uses blank verse structure and dramatic tone to convey the horror of the scene.

The poem’s focus on the physical details of the victim’s body emphasizes the dehumanizing nature of the assault. 

And the metaphors of entrapment and confusion like “new-killed bird” are here to make us imagine the situation of the victim.

The imagery shifts from beauty to terror which illustrates the tragic intersection of love and violence. 

It is a challenging and disturbing read, but it is an important work to describe the hideous nature of this crime.

Sad poems about depression and silent battles

I have some poems for very specific reasons too. Like love, friendship, death, depression, and life. 

Being specific helps you engage your readers more. It seems difficult but once you start writing, it will be easier eventually.

And you can always get some help from AI. The AI poem writer tool will help you write on any topic you want. 

Just express your feelings in simple words and choose a tone, and it will come up with a poem. 

You can use that poem without any copyright infringement, but I suggest otherwise. 

Personalize the poem with your feelings and make it unique, then use it.

So, where were we? Depression is a very common reason for sadness, almost 9.5% of Americans suffer from it. 

So, if you want to express depression, these are for you. 

18. Lady Lazarus

Poet name: Sylvia Plath

Written In: 1962

I have done it again.

One year in every ten

I manage it——

A sort of walking miracle, my skin

Bright as a Nazi lampshade,

My right foot

A paperweight,

My face a featureless, fine

Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin

O my enemy.

Do I terrify?——

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?

The sour breath

Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh

The grave cave ate will be

At home on me

And I a smiling woman.

I am only thirty.

And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.

What a trash

To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.

The peanut-crunching crowd

Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot——

The big strip tease.

Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands

My knees.

I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.

The first time it happened I was ten.

It was an accident.

The second time I meant

To last it out and not come back at all.

I rocked shut

As a seashell.

They had to call and call

And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

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.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.

It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.

It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day

To the same place, the same face, the same brute

Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’

That knocks me out.

There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge

For the hearing of my heart——

It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge

For a word or a touch

Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.

So, so, Herr Doktor.

So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,

I am your valuable,

The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.

I turn and burn.

Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—

You poke and stir.

Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,

A wedding ring,

A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair

And I eat men like air.

Summary:

This poem explores the themes of survival and resilience in a disturbing manner. 

It is a dramatic monologue of a woman who has survived many suicide attempts in her life.

Now she recalls them with a dark humor and a resilient spirit.

The poem describes the human capacity for endurance and the will to live.

It is also a critique for the society who does nothing for the people with mental illness.

19. There’s a certain Slant of light

Poet name: Emily Dickinson

Written In: 1890

There's a certain Slant of light,

Winter Afternoons –

That oppresses, like the Heft

Of Cathedral Tunes –

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –

We can find no scar,

But internal difference –

Where the Meanings, are –

None may teach it – Any –

'Tis the seal Despair –

An imperial affliction

Sent us of the Air –

When it comes, the Landscape listens –

Shadows – hold their breath –

When it goes, 'tis like the Distance

On the look of Death –

Summary:

This masterpiece by Emily Dickinson is a lyric poem that describes the unidentified sadness in the winter. 

She herself admits that the reason behind this pain and struggle is unidentified but is a reality.

The poem reflects the stillness and tension in the landscape during these moments. 

It is a powerful and moving work that continues to resonate with readers today.

20. Caged Bird

Poet name: Maya Angelou

Written In: 1983

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind

and floats downstream

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

Summary:

This poem is among the top 12 famous Maya Angelou poems. It is an evocative free verse with the theme of freedom and oppression. 

The poet compares two types of human conditions with a caged and a free bird.

The free bird represents those who live their life without any constraints. While the caged bird represents the one who lives life according to circumstances.

The poet encourages the later category to be resilient and stay hopeful.

21. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Poet name: Robert Frost

Written In: 1923

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Summary:

This is a sonnet, one of the best works of Robert Frost. The poet symbolizes his responsibilities by using a beautiful image of a landscape. 

He is in a hurry but stops to admire the beauty of a farmhouse.

Even his horse is confused to see him stop which is a representative of the sense of urgency being reflected here. 

The beauty of the woods is enchanting but he has to move on because he does not have time to stop.

This is a message to humans who are too busy to give importance to anything good nowadays.

Sad poems about friendship that ended in silence

Friendship is a source of happiness is, but the irony is that it is a source of sorrow too. 

So here I have some sad poems on friendship for you.

22. Walk Away

Poet name: Mili Jain

Written In: 1914

I watch you walk away from me,

And the tears start to fall.

I ask myself a million times,

How did we lose it all?

For the first time I had no words

That to you I could say.

I cling to old memories

And I watch you walk away.

I just don't want to let you go,

But inside I know I must.

My heart's whimpering with pain,

But it's my mind I trust.

There's confusion around me,

There's numbness in my heart,

But looking at you walk away

My world just fell apart.

If only I could handle it

And bear to just say,

I'd use my breath and say the words:

Don't Walk Away!

Summary:

The speaker has watched a loved one leave in this poem. Now the poet is struggling with the overwhelming sorrow and the sense of loss. 

This is an elegy poem that recalls the memories of a loved one who has left for good.

Despite the pain and desire for them to stay, the poet stays silent.

 This reflects the internal turmoil and helplessness of watching someone important depart.

23. The soul selects her own society

Poet name: Emily Dickinson

Written In: 1890

The Soul selects her own Society — 

Then — shuts the Door — 

To her divine Majority — 

Present no more — 

Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing — 

At her low Gate — 

Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling 

Upon her Mat — 

I've known her — from an ample nation — 

Choose One — 

Then — close the Valves of her attention — 

Like Stone — 

Summary:

Emily Dickinson has beautifully described the helplessness of humans in choice. 

She says that the “soul” makes its own choices in selecting circles and does not care about the world.

The finality of the decision made by the soul is symbolized by “like stone” in this poem.

But we humans are moved by external influences, like by powerful figures or societal expectations. 

This encourages us to be self-reliant.

24. The Applicant

Poet name: Sylvia Plath

Written In: 1963

First, are you our sort of a person?

Do you wear

A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,

A brace or a hook,

Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,

Stitches to show something’s missing? No, no? Then

How can we give you a thing?

Stop crying.

Open your hand.

Empty? Empty. Here is a hand

To fill it and willing

To bring teacups and roll away headaches

And do whatever you tell it.

Will you marry it?

It is guaranteed

To thumb shut your eyes at the end

And dissolve of sorrow.

We make new stock from the salt.

I notice you are stark naked.

How about this suit——

Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.

Will you marry it?

It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof

Against fire and bombs through the roof.

Believe me, they'll bury you in it.

Now your head, excuse me, is empty.

I have the ticket for that.

Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.

Well, what do you think of that?

Naked as paper to start

But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,

In fifty, gold.

A living doll, everywhere you look.

It can sew, it can cook,

It can talk, talk, talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.

You have a hole, it’s a poultice.

You have an eye, it’s an image.

My boy, it’s your last resort.

Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.

Summary:

This poem is a satire on the face of societal expectations. 

Sylvia Plath has used the surreal imagery of a job applicant who is going to be judged according to a conventional mold to ensure they fit.

The speaker presents a “living doll” wife as a product with standardized functions. 

This means she has to fulfill traditional roles which are dehumanizing according to the poet.

This dramatic monologue employs the speaker's ironic critique reveal social pressures.

25. When I Think About Myself

Poet name: Maya Angelou

Written In: 1971

When I think about myself,

I almost laugh myself to death,

My life has been one great big joke,

A dance that's walked

A song that's spoke,

I laugh so hard I almost choke

When I think about myself.

Sixty years in these folks' world

The child I works for calls me girl

I say 'Yes ma'am' for working's sake.

Too proud to bend

Too poor to break,

I laugh until my stomach ache,

When I think about myself.

My folks can make me split my side,

I laughed so hard I nearly died,

The tales they tell, sound just like lying,

They grow the fruit,

But eat the rind,

I laugh until I start to crying,

When I think about my folks.

Summary:

Maya Angelou uses humor to tell her experience in this free verse poem. 

She reflects that she has to face racism, inequality, and resilience in her life. 

Not just her, she confronts the pain and hardship faced by African Americans, in a society that treats them as second-class citizens.

She reveals the emotional weight carried by those who work tirelessly but receive little respect. 

Her laughter in this poem is a mix of strength and sorrow. 

It masks deep frustration and pride in her heritage.

26. Out, Out—

Poet name: Robert Frost

Written In: 1916

The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard

And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,

Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.

And from there those that lifted eyes could count

Five mountain ranges one behind the other

Under the sunset far into Vermont.

And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,

As it ran light, or had to bear a load.

And nothing happened: day was all but done.

Call it a day, I wish they might have said

To please the boy by giving him the half hour

That a boy counts so much when saved from work.

His sister stood beside him in her apron

To tell them ‘Supper.’ At the word, the saw,

As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,

Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap—

He must have given the hand. However it was,

Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!

The boy’s first outcry was a rueful laugh,

As he swung toward them holding up the hand

Half in appeal, but half as if to keep

The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—

Since he was old enough to know, big boy

Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart—

He saw all spoiled. ‘Don’t let him cut my hand off—

The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!’

So. But the hand was gone already.

The doctor put him in the dark of ether.

He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.

And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.

No one believed. They listened at his heart.

Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.

No more to build on there. And they, since they

Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

Summary:

This poem tells the tragic story of a young boy who loses his life in an accident with a buzz saw.

The poem uses both the beauty of the natural setting and the brutality of industrial machinery.

It captures the boy’s innocence and youth as he does a man’s work.

Frost’s tone is sad, underscoring the harsh realities of life and death as the family moves on with their lives despite the loss.

Sad poems about love that fades away

I remember a beautiful quote by E.A Bucchianeri, “So it’s true when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” 

I cannot pronounce her name but the quote is great. 

Anybody who has ever loved somebody will relate to the love poems for her and him. 

Observe how you can do that by reading the following poems.

27. I cannot live with You

Poet name: Emily Dickinson

Written In: 1890

I cannot live with You – 

It would be Life – 

And Life is over there – 

Behind the Shelf

The Sexton keeps the Key to – 

Putting up

Our Life – His Porcelain – 

Like a Cup – 

Discarded of the Housewife – 

Quaint – or Broke – 

A newer Sevres pleases – 

Old Ones crack – 

I could not die – with You – 

For One must wait

To shut the Other's Gaze down – 

You – could not – 

And I – could I stand by

And see You – freeze – 

Without my Right of Frost – 

Death's privilege?

Nor could I rise – with You – 

Because Your Face

Would put out Jesus' – 

That New Grace

Glow plain – and foreign

On my homesick Eye – 

Except that You than He

Shone closer by – 

They'd judge Us – How – 

For You – served Heaven – You know,

Or sought to – 

I could not – 

Because You saturated Sight – 

And I had no more Eyes

For sordid excellence

As Paradise

And were You lost, I would be – 

Though My Name

Rang loudest

On the Heavenly fame – 

And were You – saved – 

And I – condemned to be

Where You were not – 

That self – were Hell to Me – 

So We must meet apart – 

You there – I – here – 

With just the Door ajar

That Oceans are – and Prayer – 

And that White Sustenance – 

Despair –

Summary:

This poem by Emily Dickinson is a metaphysical representation of eternal separation from a beloved. 

The speaker is sad with the idea of life after death and that she will not be able to meet her loved one ever after.

She compares the relationship to delicate porcelain that, like life, can easily crack or break. 

This elegy is an imagery of watching a beloved die.

28. Phenomenal Woman

Poet name: Maya Angelou

Written In: 1978

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It’s the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can’t touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,

They say they still can’t see.

I say,

It’s in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed.

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing,

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It’s in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need for my care.

’Cause I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Summary:

The poet celebrates her inner strength, self-confidence, and uniqueness that captivates others. 

This free verse is a celebration of womanhood and female empowerment. 

Rather than using conventional standards of beauty, she shows her charm and grace through her presence and care.

She is mysterious and no man can pinpoint what about her is attractive to them. 

The appeal lies in her self-confidence and dignity. 

The pride in her dignity defines her as “Phenomenal.”

29. Love Letter

Poet name: Sylvia Plath

Written In: 1960

Not easy to state the change you made.

If I'm alive now, then I was dead,

Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,

Staying put according to habit.

You didn't just tow me an inch, no-

Nor leave me to set my small bald eye

Skyward again, without hope, of course,

Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake

Masked among black rocks as a black rock

In the white hiatus of winter-

Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure

In the million perfectly-chisled

Cheeks alighting each moment to melt

My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,

Angels weeping over dull natures,

But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.

Each dead head had a visor of ice.

And I slept on like a bent finger.

The first thing I was was sheer air

And the locked drops rising in dew

Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay

Dense and expressionless round about.

I didn't know what to make of it.

I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded

To pour myself out like a fluid

Among bird feet and the stems of plants.

I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.

Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.

My finger-length grew lucent as glass.

I started to bud like a March twig:

An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.

From stone to cloud, so I ascended.

Now I resemble a sort of god

Floating through the air in my soul-shift

Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.

Summary:

This poem right here is perfect for late-night reading. 

In this lyric poem, Sylvia Plath describes the intense transformation of a person due to love. 

She says love can change the state of a person from death-like dormancy to a divine sense of being.

As the ice thaws and changes its state, Plath conveys a rebirth catalyzed by a loving connection.

30. Touched By An Angel

Poet name: Maya Angelou

Written In: 1997

We, unaccustomed to courage

exiles from delight

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight

to liberate us into life.

Love arrives

and in its train come ecstasies

old memories of pleasure

ancient histories of pain.

Yet if we are bold,

love strikes away the chains of fear

from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity

In the flush of love's light

we dare be brave

And suddenly we see

that love costs all we are

and will ever be.

Yet it is only love

which sets us free.

Summary:

This poem is a free verse lyric, centered on love’s spiritual and emotional liberation.

Angelou’s style here is urging readers to recognize love’s transformative and freeing power.

She describes that people fear love and live cautiously, distanced from joy. 

But when love appears in their life, it brings pleasure and joy along. 

They enjoy life then.

The crux is that people find bravery, as love demands everything from them but, in return, offers true freedom.

31. Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines

Poet name: Pablo Neruda

Written In: 1924

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is shattered

and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.

Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

Summary:

This elegy poem is on love, loss, and the enduring nature of memory. 

The poet expresses deep sorrow and longing for a lost love. 

He reflects on a past romance, reliving the joy of being with his love, only to confront the sadness of separation.

Even though he no longer loves her, his soul isn’t fully ready to let go. 

In a beautiful first-person tone, the poem explores the truth that “love is so short, forgetting is so long.”

Sad poems about life and all its struggles

Life is tough man! It is full of broken dreams and insatiable desires. I think everybody relates to that. 

You can use this to express your feelings in front of anybody.

32. Suicidal Temptations

Poet name: Desaray Machinine

Written In: 2008

Shattered soul, tattered mind.

The way back is what I hope to find.

Broken dreams lost without a trace.

Lately I've been feeling a little out of place.

Broken heart fills me with sorrow.

Please God, tell me there will be a brighter day tomorrow.

There's only a temporary enjoyment I feel.

If you looked deep into my eyes, they will reveal

The hurt, the pain.

Please God, tell me I'm not insane.

Summary:

This heartfelt poem reads like a free verse prayer. 

It conveys a deep emotional pain and a need for hope. 

The speaker shares feelings of a “shattered soul” and a “tattered mind,” which reveals an intense struggle with sorrow and disconnection.

Each line is a plea for a brighter future. 

The poem is an expression of human vulnerability and the universal desire for healing and happiness.

33. Birches

Poet name: Robert Frost

Written In: 1915

When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.

But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them

Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning

After a rain. They click upon themselves

As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored

As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.

Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells

Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust—

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away

You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,

And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed

So low for long, they never right themselves:

You may see their trunks arching in the woods

Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground

Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair

Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.

But I was going to say when Truth broke in

With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm

I should prefer to have some boy bend them

As he went out and in to fetch the cows—

Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,

Whose only play was what he found himself,

Summer or winter, and could play alone.

One by one he subdued his father's trees

By riding them down over and over again

Until he took the stiffness out of them,

And not one but hung limp, not one was left

For him to conquer. He learned all there was

To learn about not launching out too soon

And so not carrying the tree away

Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise

To the top branches, climbing carefully

With the same pains you use to fill a cup

Up to the brim, and even above the brim.

Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,

Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.

And so I dream of going back to be.

It’s when I’m weary of considerations,

And life is too much like a pathless wood

Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs

Broken across it, and one eye is weeping

From a twig’s having lashed across it open.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over.

May no fate willfully misunderstand me

And half grant what I wish and snatch me away

Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:

I don’t know where it's likely to go better.

I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,

And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk

Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,

But dipped its top and set me down again.

That would be good both going and coming back.

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Summary:

This reflective blank verse poem captures a longing for escape from life’s burdens. Not by death, but by swinging on birch trees. 

He has a bent birch tree in his sight, which he acknowledges might be bent by the ice storm. 

But he prefers to imagine they were bent by a boy swinging on them.

The speaker imagines childhood memories of swinging on the trees and a desire to return to a simpler time.

34. Silent Tears

Poet name: Amanda Smith

Written In: 2011

Shh...listen, don't you hear?

I'm crying, but they are silent tears.

I'm crying on the inside so you can't see

all the pain running through me.

I cry for you, I cry for me.

I cry for the times I can't,

so if you listen, you may hear my silent tears.

Summary:

The poet expresses feelings of sadness and loneliness, conveyed through the image of silent tears. 

The speaker reveals that you might not see it, but she is crying on the inside, the tears no one else can see. These tears reflect some unspoken pain.

The free verse poem builds an emotional connection with readers by inviting them to “listen” to what cannot be heard.

35. Let It Rain

Poet name: Justin Raphael Lopez Gutierrez

Written In: 2019

Clouds of thunder, pouring rain,

The hurt I feel, the throbbing pain.

Droplets trickling down my face.

Shall rain give me this one embrace?

Drenched and cold, my biggest fears,

Not by the rain but by my tears.

When will this storm come to an end?

Embrace me rain, my only friend.

Summary:

The poet is using the metaphor of a rainstorm to symbolize the poet’s emotional state. 

Basically, the poet is crying and the raindrops on his face are covering his tears. 

That’s why the rain is referred to as the only friend in this poem.

These rhyming couplets suggest deep loneliness and a desperate search for comfort, even if it comes from nature rather than people.

Sad poems about death of those we lost

Departure of a loved one is the ultimate grief. It fills us with sorrow and guilt, that we could not give proper time to that person when they were alive. 

Like Anne Frank said, “Dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude.”

36. Because I could not stop for Death

Poet name: Emily Dickinson

Written In: 1890

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –

The Dews drew quivering and Chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown –

My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity –

Summary:

This is Emily Dickinson’s worth-reading poem - a remarkably unique take on mortality written in her signature ballad meter.

She personifies death as a gentle companion who escorts her on a journey towards eternity. 

She is making the frightening concept of dying surprisingly civil and calm.

The shift in time perspective in the final stanzas, where centuries pass like days, masterfully captures the timelessness of death.

37. When Great Trees Fall

Poet name: Maya Angelou

Written In: 1990

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.
When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.


When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words

unsaid,

promised walks

never taken.

Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their

nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their

radiance,
fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of
dark, cold

Caves.


And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.

Summary:

Maya Angelou compares the loss of great souls to the falling of great trees in this free verse elegy. 

The poem captures the shock and clarity brought on by grief, as memories and regrets rise sharply to the surface.

She says as time moves on, a slow peace will eventually come and do not lose hope, because everything will be better.

38. Mowing

Poet name: Robert Frost

Written In: 1913

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,

And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.

What was it whispered? I knew not well myself;

Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,

Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—

And that was why it whispered and did not speak.

It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,

Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:

Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak

To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,

Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers

(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.

The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.

My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

Summary:

Robert Frost captures the quiet beauty of honest labor in this sonnet. He is describing a conversation between a farmer and his labor. 

What makes this poem special is how it rejects romantic fantasies in favor of honest work’s simple truth.

He says that reality is far more beautiful than fantasy. 

Like when farmers get their crops ready, it is a joyful occasion for them. That’s because if the hard work.

39. Nothing Gold Can Stay

Poet name: Robert Frost

Written In: 1923

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

Summary:

This lyric poem by Robert Frost is a clear message to all of us that nothing is permanent.

Whatever gold, beauty, or anything delicate you have right now is like a new leaflet. 

And it is going to become a leaf one day and it will eventually become dry and fall.

Frost captures a bittersweet truth: the most precious things are often the most short-lived, reminding us to cherish them while they last.

40. Edge

Poet name: Sylvia Plath

Written In: 1965

The woman is perfected.

Her dead

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,

The illusion of a Greek necessity

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,

Her bare

Feet seem to be saying:

We have come so far, it is over.

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,

One at each little

Pitcher of milk, now empty.

She has folded

Them back into her body as petals

Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed

From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,

Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.

Her blacks crackle and drag.

Summary:

This is Sylvia Plath’s one of the final poems before her death. 

This is written in free verse, it is an unsettling concept of death with a sense of completion.

A woman gave everything she could have to nurture her kids. 

Now she is dead, Plath suggests that the woman’s suffering is over.

Wrapping Up

We humans have many emotions; happiness, fear, anger, surprise, disgust, and sadness. But sadness is the most prominent one.

Because almost everybody can relate to it, but not the depth. For that, you have to find a unique way. 

And poetry is the best way to express any kind of sorrow.

There are poems for each sad condition you might face in your lifetime. There are sad poems for love, friendship, death, life, and depression. 

You will find variety in length also. Whichever length you feel is okay, you can read and replicate.

So, take a moment, let yourself feel, and let these poems guide you to clear expression. 

And if one resonates deeply, share it—someone else might need it just as much as you do.