Archive for soul

Dead Men

Posted in Nature Poems, Poems with tags , , , , , on February 19, 2013 by Myra's Circle

 The tragedies heard again and again,

Over the Dead Men’s mournful moans,

For we are the bones of the Dead Men,

But the Dead Men are not their bones.

There are memories heard from time to time,

When the Dead no longer sing,

Their song of songs, as old as rhyme,

It’s a tune with a sad sort of ring.

You may have heard it once or twice,

Tis a quiet little tune,

Softer than soft and to be precise,

It makes the Dead Men Swoon

The cries of the Dead Men are no longer heard,

For wherever their bones may lie,

Their bodies may always belong to the earth,

But their souls shall belong to the sky.

What was Inside?

Posted in Nature Poems, Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , on February 18, 2013 by Myra's Circle

What is in that dying soul,

That was left out in the cold?

In the counterpart of spring,

Oh, that awful, windy thing!

What is in that heart of mine,

 The one frozen over, for years at a time?

What feelings were trapped inside,

Inside that terrible heart of mine?

What was in that poison of yours,

The one that burned right to my core?

The one which no antidote will heal,

Left my wound to slowly congeal?

What was in the sadness so strong,

The one that made me doubt you were wrong?

The one that destroyed me, once and for all,

The reason why we all need to fall?

Memory

Posted in Fantasy Stories, Sad Stories, Stories with tags , , , , , , on February 16, 2013 by Myra's Circle

I know I lost something…. just, what was it?  It was something important.  Very important.  But if it’s so important, how come I ‘ve forgotten about it?  I don’t remember anything.  That word… what was that word?  It meant something to me.  It means something to everyone, I just know it.  This something shouldn’t have been forgotten.  It was far too important.  If only I could remember.  I am old now, and until I remember what I have forgotten long ago, I will not die.  I will simply shrivel up until I am a pile of rotting bones, but still, I won’t die.  My spirit will still be there, waiting, begging for finality, for closure.  It will stay there, wondering, hoping to remember what time made it forget.  My time is limited, but still, my soul stays.  It will stay there, still intact with my body until I remember that word.  That one word that will set me free, free from this world of agony and death.  My body begins to die, but my soul does not budge.  I am too stubborn for that.  And suddenly, the word comes back to me at last.  Memory.  Remember.  I remember everything that I have forgotten, and my soul starts to drift away from my old dead body.  “Thank you,” I whisper.

Winter

Posted in Nature Poems, Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 5, 2013 by Myra's Circle

The freezing wind, it sweeps the land,

Leaving it cold and bare,

With nothing left but cold white sand,

And no more warmth to care.

Ice drips from the leaf-less trees,

And there’s a cold beauty here,

But all the ice-cold winter sees,

Is the empty land so dear.

No creatures frolic in the cold,

None dare to play now,

But only the most care-free and bold,

Dare to climb into the bough.

Snow, it’s called, blankets the earth,

Sucking out all warmth,

No trace left of the centre’s hearth,

No heat is now called forth.

This winter, it fills the land’s soul,

It covers all and everything,

Nothing I can condole,

What will this dying winter bring?

Hello

Posted in Posts with tags , , , , , , , on January 25, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Whilst everyone wallows in pain within,

They blast their music to erase the din,

I listen sadly for their cries,

Mournful, despairing, as they fill the skies.

I breathe a little deeper, hold on to my thoughts,

What more destruction have they now wrought?

I won’t, I can’t, I will not let sorrow win,

For I’d be opening the door, welcoming darkness in.

Hope, faith, mean nothing now,

Honour and chivalry reduced to a bow,

These once beautiful gestures are only just that,

They too fade away, not an eyelid was bat.

A river, a beauty, don’t ever forget,

The River of Life, where at the shore, Death met,

All this despair, so empty of hope,

Leaves one and for all to cry and to mope,

But one lonely soul there, it is somewhere quite low,

That one lonely souls whispers, “Hello, hello”.

Dream again, little soul, past all remorse,

With the river left to carve its course,

When all is lost and you’re on the down low,

Always remember, that who said, “Hello.”