Melancholy Poetry Novels & Stories

A kind of dark melody with multiple meaning within each simple word and starting line. “Tsk!” he smirks. Kind of having the grasp of the moment that he is within. As he is now standing like a fragment, a spirit that no one can see, nor the most powerful one feels his presence. Into the abyss that is neither a dream nor anyone’s abyss. But a fragment of the impending warning that could be a danger. The words once more echoes, but clearly in that following moment. “One by one everything will come into a fruitful rhyme.” As a melody is heard, echoing into the farthest distance and accompanied by the dread towards the darkness that surrounds everything beyond the light, and the shadows that lurk

Their happiness is both beautiful and heartbreaking, a mysterious paradox I’m unable to solve. It’s a sharp kind of melancholy, one that neither Pyrra’s taunts nor the visions themselves can fully explain. I’m left alone, again, in the never-ending void, my tears the only proof that for a moment, even in this place of hopelessness, I felt something piercingly, confusingly real.

Through the hedges darkly buffeted by the feral state of gravity, of the unspeakable, its melancholy birds preening under the sun caught in the breath of a revelation: summer lying, you. We cannot suspect the horses running to be like the past harnessed still to what’s not fading away; crisp hellos are a theory of disembodied music, gospel at times, your blues most of the time. Let me hold the perfect hand, white, blinding, lifted high

"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.

Nor do the heedless in the throng, One thought beyond the morrow give, They court the feast, the dance, the song, Nor think how short their time to live. The heart that bears deep sorrow’s trace, What earthly comfort can console, It drags a dull and lengthened pace, ‘Till friendly death its woes enroll. The sunken cheek, the humid eyes, E’en better than the tongue can tell; In whose sad breast deep sorrow lies, Where memory’s rankling traces dwell.The rising tear, the stifled sigh, A mind but ill at ease display, Like blackening clouds in a stormy sky, Where fiercely vivid play. Thus when souls’ energy is dead, When sorrow dims each earthly view, When every fairy, hope is fled, We bid the un

I break myself, With words, thoughts, From my own mind. Everything I ran away from, I became. Everything I tried not to be, Everything I walked away from, I see them now. Taunting me, laughing at me, For my darkness was my fault, No other's. So, when I love, it's living death. I walk alone in this path, I made darkness my creed, Formed depression, With hands of flawless poetry. I created my demons, Now I'm haunted by them. Everything I am,

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

“Come on, it’s in the middle of a highway. It’s like a bad omen for the cars who pass by here. It’s like this mural is greeting them like they’re going to die from their journey.” Vernon chuckled and lowered his gaze at me. “Departure doesn’t always mean death, you know that.” I shook my head. “That’s absurd. This is a very sad mural in the middle of the road.” “But it’s still beautiful, isn’t it?” I hesitated then admitted, “Yes-- but still sad.” “Well, there’s this movie called Melancholia. And I quote, “Because of sadness, there is cinema. Because of sadness, there is poetry. Because of sadness, there is music.”

"Well, I still have a much too love for the sung words, yes. But now I can certainly appreciate your views of prose. Poetry conveys something different to every single being. And I learnt it the hard way when I try to write one on a person's melancholia, and someone thought it was about the royal stables and how the horses are being treated." Aelanor chuckled. "Yes, that is one trouble I could never oversee. I also find it extremely difficult to find phrases that rhymes." "Poetry is not about their rhyming scheme, my child. It's more about what you are not able to express in words, either because you are afraid, or because words don't seem enough." "But poetry is composed of words, how can t

The symphony that unfolded on the piano was almost depressing, a cascade of minor chords and somber melodies that seemed to echo the deepest sorrows of the soul. As my fingers danced across the keys, I felt a wave of emotions wash over me. Playing "Falling Dominos" was always a cathartic experience, a way to express feelings that were often too complex for words. Each note I played felt like a release as if I were taking my own sadness and transforming it into something beautiful. The music floated around the room, filling every corner with its poignant, bittersweet tones.