What is the saddest poem you have ever read?

Question: What is the saddest poem you have ever read!?

The winner of the 10 points will be the one that makes me blub!!!Www@QuestionHome@Com

Best Answer - Chosen by Asker:

Suzy brought a gun to school!. She aimed it right at me
She pulled the trigger and smiled as the bullet hit my knee

I screamed and fell down to the floor as my knee turned bloody red
But all she did was laugh at me as she aimed for my head

My whole thirteen years flashed before me, and I thought back to my friends
The brother that I’d never see!. Is this really the end!?

I cried out in pain and fear!. Afraid of Suzy’s gun
And pained that my life would really end, before it really begun

I never got to graduate or dress up nice for prom
I never got to have a wedding or be a brand new mom

Surely she was joking, Come on Suzy, drop the act
You would never really kill me and I know that’s a fact

I started shaking from the tears and from the agonizing pain
I wanted to do something special I didn’t want to die in vain

Tears fell down Suzy’s face and she, too, dropped to the floor
She tried to hold back her tears, and yelled, “I can’t take this anymore!”

I was already dizzy and didn’t think I saw right
Was this really over!? Had she given up the fight!?

She took her gun in her hands and aimed it at her head
She didn’t wait to pull the trigger and now my friend Suzy’s deadWww@QuestionHome@Com

I think it's far too hard to pick one!. Even picking a few is difficult because there are so many brilliant poems!. Here are just a few:

When the lamp is shattered

When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead -
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed!.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot!.

As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute -
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell!.

When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed!.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier!?

Its passions will rock thee,
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky!.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come!.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle!?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns!.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons!.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires!.
What candles may be held to speed them all!?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes!.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds!.

Wilfred Owen

I think both are really quite sad!. The first is essentially a love poem, but what I find sad is the reference to the seaman who has died, as Shelley himself drowned!.

The Wilfred Owen is about the futility of war and the unnecessary loss of life in the first World War!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares2 we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest3 began to trudge!.
Men marched asleep!. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod!. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots4
Of tired, outstripped5 Five-Nines6 that dropped behind!.

Gas!7 Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets8 just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime9 !. !. !.
Dim, through the misty panes10 and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning!.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering,11 choking, drowning!.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud12
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest13
To children ardent14 for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori!.15

8 October 1917 - March, 1918

1 DULCE ET DECORUM EST - the first words of a Latin saying (taken from an ode by Horace)!. The words were widely understood and often quoted at the start of the First World War!. They mean "It is sweet and right!." The full saying ends the poem: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori - it is sweet and right to die for your country!. In other words, it is a wonderful and great honour to fight and die for your country
2 rockets which were sent up to burn with a brilliant glare to light up men and other targets in the area between the front lines (See illustration, page 118 of Out in the Dark!.)

3 a camp away from the front line where exhausted soldiers might rest for a few days, or longer
4 the noise made by the shells rushing through the air
5 outpaced, the soldiers have struggled beyond the reach of these shells which are now falling behind them as they struggle away from the scene of battle

6 Five-Nines - 5!.9 calibre explosive shells
7 poison gas!. From the symptoms it would appear to be chlorine or phosgene gas!. The filling of the lungs with fluid had the same effects as when a person drowned
8 the early name for gas masks
9 a white chalky substance which can burn live tissue
10 the glass in the eyepieces of the gas masks
11 Owen probably meant flickering out like a candle or gurgling like water draining down a gutter, referring to the sounds in the throat of the choking man, or it might be a sound partly like stuttering and partly like gurgling
12 normally the regurgitated grass that cows chew; here a similar looking material was issuing from the soldier's mouth
13 high zest - idealistic enthusiasm, keenly believing in the rightness of the idea
14 keenWww@QuestionHome@Com

This one is a bit sad

FAIR GREEN THE FIELDS by Andrew McCulloch

Fair green the fields I played upon

When I was young and in all those youth-full years bygone

Fair sisters ran with skirts all disarrayed

Whilst brothers swam in waters white on rounded boulders sprayed

A glimpse of my sweet mother's eye

Through hazed glass through ashen leaves

Where thorn-plucked sleeves of greying tunic short

Caught arm as by an apple tree all crabbed round was girt with bitter fruit

Fair gold the corn in yonder field

As each strong ear-crowned stalk

Bent sun-ward as I passed on shoeless feet

And as a nymph in treeless wonder walk

What time, the enemy, has fleeting sped

Naught seemed standing between rising and once more to bed

Now here I am with sixty years escaped unnoticed in my path

And that sweet selfsame sun spins golden and does swift confound my ageing wrathWww@QuestionHome@Com

The saddest is here:

http://www!.youtube!.com/watch!?v=P0-NxvShZ!.!.!.

(style/video changes after t = 95 sec)Www@QuestionHome@Com

Lil Wayne's "I feel like dying"

!.!.!.!.it's a song; but, I think of rap as poetry to be read by ears!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

An empty chair,
No smiling face
No one here
Can take your place!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

The one I wrote!. I came close to tears, realising my ability!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

either Annabell Lee or The Bells both by Edgar Allen Poe!.

Annabel Lee

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 winged 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 kinsman 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 it 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 the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea

The Bells
I

Hear the sledges with the bells -
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells!.

II

Hear the mellow wedding bells -
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight! -
From the molten - golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle - dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! - how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III

Hear the loud alarum bells -
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now - now to sit, or never,
By the side of the pale - faced moon!.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells -
Of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
In the clamor and the clanging of the bells!

IV

Hear the tolling of the bells -
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan!.
And the people - ah, the people -
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone -
They are neither man nor woman -
They are neither brute nor human -
They are Ghouls: -
And their king it is who tolls: -
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells: -
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells: -
To the sobbing of the bells: -
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells -
To the tolling of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells, -
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

The following poem is from my childhood book!. I hope that you take time to read the entire thing, it really is touching!.

The Unicorn
by Marivi Soliven

Once there was a little boy
And of the many toys
his most favorite one
was a pink-and-purple
polka-dotted velvet unicorn!.

She had no horn
for it had been worn
away with years of
cuddling in bed with
the little boy!.

He would snuggle under
his blanket and say,
"I will love you until
the end of your horn
grows back!."

And to make sure that
it never did,
to make sure that he
would never have to
stop loving her,
he would bury his face
into her forehead
and kiss the tip
of her flattened brow!.

The odd thing was,
as time passed
and the little boy
grew bigger,
he grew more and more
ashamed of loving his
pink-and-purple
polka-dotted velvet
hornless unicorn!.

He came to believe
that there was little need
for softness and peace
and cuddling late at night
with an old stuffed toy!.

The little boy
grew up!.

And he learned about
Serious Things!.
Like School and
Careers and
Making Money!.
Lots of Money!.

And as he busied himself
with the serious business
of growing up,
he spent less and less time
with his pink-and-purple
polka-dotted velvet
hornless unicorn!.

He would come home and say
grown-up things like,
"Oh, I've had a Hard Day
but then Life is Hard!.
I have no time
to cuddle in bed!.
I need my rest!."
And so it went!.

Stuck inside the innermost corner
of the boy's toy closet
the pink-and-purple
polka-dotted velvet
hornless unicorn
felt lost and alone!.

She sat inside
through many a night
listening to him
dream dreams of making money
to help him live his Hard Life!.

And after many nights of this
she thought:
Why should he want a soft
old pink-and-purple
polka-dotted velvet
hornless unicorn!?

After all, he's said often enough
that Life Is Tough
He's had enough of
cuddling from me!.
So the unicorn thought of
growing up too!.

She decided to grow
a grown-up unicorn horn!.

Each night, as
the little-boy-grown-up
dreamt his money dreams
the unicorn concentrated
on growing her horn!.

And as time passed,
the hollow in her brow
later levelled out
later grew a lump,
later grew a point,
still later pointed out
until it had become
a hard and pointed horn!.

The velvet unicorn
was proud!.
So she said aloud
to the boy
through the closet door
one night:
"it's all right
to let me out tonight!.
Little boy,
for I've grown a horn
as hard as your
own Hard Life!.

The boy was surprised
to hear his unicorn speak!.
She had always been so soft and meek!.

But he opened the closet door anyway
and was surprised to see
his pink-and-purple
polka-dotted velvet friend
waving a long hard
large white horn!.

The horn was too long
to let him cuddle her close!.
it was far too hard
to nuzzle his nose against!.

He stared at the horn
and the unicorn
soon realized that the stare
was not a happy one!.

He had grown too old
to love an old toy-
and she had grown too hard
to be loved by the little boy
still inside of him!.

Ever so slowly
her hard white horn
began to shrink!.
Down to a lump,
down to a hollow
and when it was gone
The rest of her followed!.

First went her fuzzy ears
and then her dark brown eyes
and soon after, the rest
of her pink-and-purple
polka-dotted velvet body!.

And before he knew it
the little-boy-grown-up
had nothing but
the faintest scent
of soft velvet left
to remind him of
his childhood friend!.

He never saw her again!.

But many many years after,
when the little-boy-grown-up
had a boy of his own,
he would sometimes hear
soft laughter from
his little boy's bed!.

And then he could almost swear
that he could hear
his own little boy's voice
whisper to an unseen friend,
"I will love you until the end
of your horn grows back!."

And the faintest scent
of soft old velvet
would come wafting
through the night!.Www@QuestionHome@Com