Melancholic Poems Novels & Stories

With that we talked through the night . There are times that you would close your eyes, Those special memories of me will always bring back a smile, Calling my number repeatedly but with no response , If only you could have me back for just a little while you would say ,When I fade like the shadow of moon or like the whispers of the sea, The times of pain and the days of sorrow ,Miss me a little but not too long ,I want no cries, why cry for a soul gone to a better place, a home built with gold ,The time when living feels like dying ,Miss me but let me go , When I come to the end of the road and the sun has set for me , Miss me but let me go , For this journey is one we all must take , Bury

The air was heavy with the scent of despair, mingling with the acrid stench of liquor and broken dreams. Behind the bar counter, I stood like a specter, a harbinger of sorrow serving liquid poison to lost souls. The dim glow of crimson-hued lights accentuated the hollows beneath my eyes, reflecting the abyss that consumed me. The clinking of glasses echoed like a morbid chorus, each sound a discordant note in the symphony of despair.

I continued, keeping my eyes fixed on my pale, skinny fingers clutched around my knees, “and goes back to reading. But then there’s a tap on his window, and a raven flies in. He asks it questions, and it only answers with one word: ‘nevermore.’ He asks it about Lenore, but still its reply remains the same. “The man asks the raven if he will join Lenore in heaven when he dies, if their souls will be joined once more. At the raven’s answer – you guessed it, ‘nevermore’ – the man says, well, ‘be that our word of parting’ – he wants it to leave. It is a reminder of death, yet it sits, unmoving, watching him as he dissolves further into madness. Death remains with him, as it does with us all.” “G

With that we talked through the night . There are times that you would close your eyes, Those special memories of me will always bring back a smile, Calling my number repeatedly but with no response , If only you could have me back for just a little while you would say ,When I fade like the shadow of moon or like the whispers of the sea, The times of pain and the days of sorrow ,Miss me a little but not too long ,I want no cries, why cry for a soul gone to a better place, a home built with gold ,The time when living feels like dying ,Miss me but let me go , When I come to the end of the road and the sun has set for me , Miss me but let me go , For this journey is one we all must take , Bury

A part of his spirit, the part that burned so brightly, has been extinguished. He looks up at me, his eyes hollow. “Lily?” he whispers, as if waking from a long dream. I go to him, hold him. The workshop is silent. The war is over. But the twist is in the air we breathe. The shattered Muse is now part of the environment. A faint, lingering melancholy infuses everything. I look at my clumsy, joyful painting and see, in the strokes of yellow, a subtle, sorrowful undertone. I hear it in the silence after my spoon stops banging on the pot. A haunting echo.

"What about her?" "There's a poem written on the notebook she gave me on my dream last night saying, ‘With or without, it's the same. Family is a blessing-or not? Complete yet feels like broken; in a mess, in chaos. I should be thankful—or not? My heart, my mind-helpless. Atmosphere; sadness, anger, pain. What can I do? It feels like everyone is drowning to the brokenness and hatred. They’re hurting each other; emotionally, verbally. My heart keeps on pounding-pained. Is it better to be just apart?’ Finally,” he said. "Either you have a complete family or not, happiness seems unfriendly," I said.

I hate her for leaving me and making me sad like this. ‘I hate you, Grandma Momma. But I still love you so much.’ I stepped away from my grandmother’s grave. It’s getting dark and the silence of the place intensified the sadness that I am feeling right now. The cold wind blew my hair and I couldn’t help but to hug myself. How can I live now? “Merida Green, if you don’t come out now, I’ll break this door and drag you out,” I heard my Dad outside my room, shouting with anger in his voice.

He sat feeling uncomfortable, he wondered what Sarah was up to. "Ryan, Incase I die, do not weep by my grave." "How...like what do you mean?" He looked at her perplexed. "Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight.