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The sick rose
the rose we know
is in every garden
privately undone
as if it were fit to put
a true but common tragedy
in a box velvet as ash
Poems on the topic: tragedy
Poems on the topic “tragedy” on Poets.by.
This Is Not Love
we listened to sad love songs
wrote miles of forbidden romances
prayed to have our heart broken by you-know-who
because we were told to think
tragedy is beautiful
then it happened
and you romanticized
bullets flying through the air
slit wrists
losing your mind
raw throats
piles of laundry
life willingly spent in a prison of aluminum foil
for the ones you loved
but i learned that tragedy?
tragedy sucks ass
Tragedy
The shadow of a lonely willow
Swings
Ghastly, ghastly;
The roads are lost
In the hoary-haired mists of eve ;
A strange green light in the distance
Drifts
As a wandering fay ;
I hear a wild cry
In the dark air,
In the stream,
In the stars.
Fantasy in Purple
Beat the drums of tragedy for me.
Beat the drums of tragedy and death.
And let the choir sing a stormy song
To drown the rattle of my dying breath.
Beat the drums of tragedy for me,
And let the white violins whir thin and slow,
But blow one blaring trumpet note of sun
To go with me
to the darkness
where I go.
Tide of Storms
Crooked, crawling tide with long wet fingers
Clutching at the gritty beach in the roar and spurt of spray,
Tide of gales, drunken tide, lava-burst of breakers,
Black ships plunge upon you from sea to sea away.
Shattering tide, tide of winds, tide of the long still winter,
What matter though ships fail, men sink, there vanish glory?
War-clouds shall hurl their stinging sleet upon our last adventure,
Night-winds shall brokenly whisper our bitter, tragic story.
The Wreck
Its huge red prow
Uplifted in a tragic attitude,
It waits out there; the seas around
Bubble and hiss with moaning sound:
In sight of port at the gates of the sea,
It waits upreared expectantly.
It has known the joy of battle,
It has known the shock of wreck:
The spray coated its planking,
The sands swallow its deck:
Monument of the sea,
That knows and that forgets eternally.
It heaves its scarred brow towards the city:
The city pays it little heed:
Indifferent, brutal, without pity,
Stern cargo-steamers trudge and speed;
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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