Poem Tag : sad

That Part of Me Still Loves You

Published on Thu, 26^th Feb 2026 at 00:06

by William Troup

There was a part of me that loved you, there was a part that died; as suddenly as you came, my heart did part the blood, and through the path, I walked, with no rhythm, and no sight, as the walls came crashing down; that part of me still loves you ...

A Stillness Found My Form

Published on Sun, 1^st Feb 2026 at 23:59

by William Troup

A stillness found my form, flailing silently away; fame, a fickle food, conferred the chosen day. Crumbs of graceless photos furnish the scrolling plays, and then came the hawks to denude the welcome stay! Pieces of my soul adrift, yet quietly, my
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Death Is a Common Fight

Published on Sun, 1^st Feb 2026 at 02:09

by William Troup

Death is a common fight we find within the light; do you jest? or stay your hand? an ocean reeps the floor, with little chance of succour; and what of tomorrow? Death is a common fight we crown before the night; do you prevail? or flaunt your coronet?
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Her Smile

Published on Wed, 29^th Oct 2025 at 00:15

by William Troup

Effulgent, her smile; soft and warm, where sunlight wraps its soul ... behold! Weary, yet dogged, the moon does ache; what of her day will grace this heart? Vast, yet sewn, these swathes of trees; deeper from me, her lies do bleed. Effulgent, her smile; sweet, but worn,
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Why Am I So Different?

Published on Fri, 5^th Sep 2025 at 01:00

by William Troup

Why am I so different? Is it my mind, heart, or soul? When will this madness end? What will be the toll? I am further away from my youth, and fewer days latch to any sense; yet onward, I continue; Why am I so different? I am shunned by differing
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Hollow Dreams

Published on Wed, 20^th Aug 2025 at 16:20

by William Troup

Hollow dreams awaken me from an anxious sleep; opaque skies cloud the arcane sun, and what looms is crushed beneath my soul. Velvet rays dry my eyes, as yearning beats no more; madness lingers, but not what's seen, and cerulean skies cast the pastures
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Eyes

Published on Sun, 25^th May 2025 at 21:52

by William Troup

No eye, for this eye; as for me, you are blind; as unraveled as the sheets that await before my sleep. No rivulets seep from my skin, no fallacies reign in the deep; for time is a war of attrition, nothing more than a tradition; and what of me, you ask? my
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