This page is specially prepared for lost poems. You can reach newest and popular lost poems from this page. You can vote and comment on the lost poems you read.
I Saw Him
I saw him leaning on a tree
Wine shirt blue jean
Perfectly shaped hair perky lips
He smelled like Prince charming in my fairy tale
I was alone with a chair on a plain
Which lost itself in an empty horizon.
The plain was flawlessly paved.
Last night I fell asleep watching the moon from my bedroom window
I imagined that you were watching it too
And for that moment
A friend I lost, a friend so close,
A friend I cared about the most.
A friend I loved, cherished like a rose,
A friend I admired, beyond words.
Do memories last forever?
This thought runs through the mind of thinkers.
Memories are destined to fade,
But your most important memories,
Sitting alone that night
Trying hide her fright
Pulling her sleeves
thinking if the demons ever leave
Have I Lost You
Why did you leave without saying goodbye
Or was it because l pretended not to like you
I found a way to communicate with you
But you only replied once
Walking miles and miles,
In search of lost smiles.
I wonder where it's gone,
Or someone has stolen it leaving me alone.
A Burnt Ship
Out of a fired ship, which by no way
But drowning could be rescued from the flame,
Some men leap'd forth, and ever as they came
Near the foes' ships, did by their shot decay;
The knight came home from the quest,
Muddied and sore he came.
Battered of shield and crest,
Bannerless, bruised and lame.
I decided to write a diary,
In a regular way.
As I got encouraged,
By my teacher a day.
I also took grief and suffering in love.
Ask me, what types of streets that I have passed.
What type of fire on my chest
I see a dysfunctional future
Wailing in hunger. Many tongues scrabbling for a single bone
Living corpses pile the street.
I hear soothsayers boast in their ignorance and claim a stolen future
Innocent Killings In Kashmir
My dear friend, I see everyday bloodshed in Kashmir.
My dear friend, I see every day in Kashmir innocent Rose's lost their lives.
My dear friend, I see everyday mother's lost their innocent Rose's in Kashmir.
My dear friend, I see everyday blood flowing in the rivers.
Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Nothing mattered or had a name:
I Want To Cry
I want to cry ...
I'm tired of life
Beginning it sound so lovely
I never thought I would be in such a catastrophe
Because of my cross, I find this life a misery
Like every cast in this dramatic adventure
Pray For Me
She rushed into a house
darkghost where haltup
evildims where hiddown
Her room was tumultly dreadful
Saviour A Willie
What Would Freud Say?
Wasn't on purpose that I drilled
through my finger or the nurse
laughed. She apologized
three times and gave me a shot
Late October Woods
Clumped in the shadow of the beech,
In whose brown top the crows are loud,
Where, every side, great briers reach
And cling like hands, the beechdrops crowd
Madison Julius Cawein
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows
My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes-
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Love Will Wane
When your love begins to wane,
Spare me from the cruel pain
Of all speech that tells me so -
Spare me words, for I shall know,
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
I Am Not Yours
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
The Prodigal Son
Here come I to my own again,
Fed, forgiven and known again,
Claimed by bone of my bone again
And cheered by flesh of my flesh.
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing:-'Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover
And your English summer's done.'
Mon Reve Familier [english]
Oft do I dream this strange and penetrating dream:
An unknown woman, whom I love, who loves me well,
Who does not every time quite change, nor yet quite dwell
The same,-and loves me well, and knows me as I am.
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent