Web of Loneliness Poems

Poems of the Lonely

Category Archives: Afraid

Here I am

Justin Swerdloff



A tight room,

Four walls,

A ceiling,
And a floor.

No windows,

No furniture,

Not even a door.

Basking in darkness,

Ignoring the pain.

It’s been so long,

But I’m home again.

Shadows whisper to each other,

They call me their brother.

It’s been so long

Since I’ve been here,

So long,

Since I’ve let go of fear.

The doubts slip away

As I embrace the shade.

I let myself go,

And everything starts to fade.

What the Day Said

As we began our journey the sun shone brightly.
My companions: the rusty remains of my trusty bike
And the emptiness that filled me.

The bike took me where it would.
Sailing down winding streets past a patchwork of houses.
Racing through the town where the music lived.
Then, it was off to the sea.

The bike stopped at a bench in the sand.
The respite of motion was murdered on cedar planks.
Now my eyes – long since dead – were forced to witness life.

Colorful umbrellas dotted the landscape, soon to fade.
Beautiful children played in the sand, soon to lose their innocence.
Blissful lovers hand in hand on the beach, soon to argue and part.
In the ocean was an old woman, her face haggard and drawn.
Once she was young and beautiful, vibrant and alive.
Now she stood alone and lonely in the vastness of the sea.

Presently, the bike found a well-worn path running along a busy road.
Flying now along the cobblestone to the beauty of a pond.
The seclusion of the place was not welcome. Still, the water drew me to its edge.
There, I pondered the reflection of an old man.
There, a lovely, lonely bird cried out in sorrow for his mate.
There, the old man nodded and turned away, a voice inside him muttering.

As the sun raced round, the bike moved slowly past mansions
Where loathsome creatures live with the ghosts of those they have wronged.
They pray desperately that no one will betray them with the truth.
Behind vine-covered walls, they know the solitude of the suspect.

Back along the road, the bike returned to the bench and the sea.
Then, the sun dropped from the sky and the afternoon died a fiery death.
Later, sitting in the fading light, my heart heard what the day had told.
I was not prepared for what it had to say.

The day said the old woman’s husband watched from the beach as she swam.
It said the bird’s mate waited just out of sight.
It argued that my loneliness was mine alone, not theirs, as I had hoped.
It said I longed to live among the hated creatures just beyond the manicured hedges.
It shouted that I, too, hid behind walls, alone and torn apart – and by choice!
Then, the day seared my soul with a burning truth.
It said that loneliness was my only friend because I feared life.
It held that Death would not be kind to me.
It whispered that my solitude was suspect.


Poems by Yanci


Dreams is all I have , but I’m not trying to walk through life and make them come true. In one year I will be out of high school and into the world. I am scare , but I know, that I’ll make it, I just have to try harder and harder everyday of my life.
by: Yanci

Comments: when I wrote this I was in the last days of my junior year. All the teachers were talking about how we had to start getting ready for our senior year and that it was going to be hard trying to choose which one was the right college for us. While each of them were saying this I realized that I have all this dreams of what I want to be and were I want to go but I am not trying to make them come true. That is when I started to write this poem because it says that I was feeling before and what I am feeling now.

A life crying

Why is life so difficult. Haven’t I suffered enough. Seventeen years of my life and it won’t stop. Why me, not that anybody deserves it , I guess that is how life is. You have got to suffer to be happy at the end.
by: Yanci

Comment this poem was also written at the end of my junior year. I was passing through hard moments. The problems with my mom were driving me crazy. I was feeling like she didnt’ want me here with her, as if she wanted me to leave and on top of it I knew that I couldn’t go anywhere. The rest of my family is in my country and we would just die of hunger and it would show that I am a failure which I am not. The poem says seventeen years crying because that is how old I am and I have been crying for two main reasons since I remember. Not feeling loved by my mom and knowing that my father denied me and never looked for me. I always think hat my life could had been better emotionally if he was with me.

With a mask

When I was a little girl , I would dream of the beautiful life that I was going to live. But I never thought that it would be the other way. I have to smile to cover up the tears. I have to pretend I am happy when I want to scream. I have to say I am fine when I want to say get out of my life. But one day I will take the mask off and show my real face. I just have to wait. I know that it will happen some day.
by: Yanci

Comments this poem has the same story as the previous one ( a life crying) I wrote it with a couple of days of difference but it was for the same feeling. I don’t show people who I really am.

What’s Wrong?

What the hell is wrong with me? Have I completely lost my mind?
How can it be possible, there was no warning sign.
As I sit in my room and try to keep you out of my head, Everything I think of, still points to you instead.

What the hell is wrong with me? Can this really be true?
All I ever think about is spending time with you.
I told myself I’d never fall for another one.
Because of you in my life that curse has been undone.

What the hell is wrong with me? Have I thought it through?
Every waking hour I want to be with you.
My morals keep asking if what I’m doing is right?
There’s something that comes over me when I hold you tight.

What the hell is wrong with me? Is all of this for real?
Your already taken, that’s a fact and it all becomes surreal.
Should I just let it go and move on with my life?
Why have I fallen for someone else’s wife?

What the hell is wrong with me? I should wake up and see the light.
I just can’t understand how something so wrong, makes me feel so right.
My mind is spinning round and round a hundred miles an hour.
I guess I should accept the fact, that it’s not within my power.

What the hell is wrong with me? Even writing this little poem.
Maybe I should back way way off, and leave it all alone.
I know it sounds real easy, I should just make the call.
It’s really quite the opposite when your heart has taken that fall.




In mysterious union, once found, once lost,

We crossed into our illusion’s peace.

Where the new dawn fades and finds us not together.

Under the sightless stars with nothing left to wish upon.

In lunar lament, the moon is now a groping beacon,

To slumber and illuminate the space between us.


While the axe finds first the tallest tree,

While the sound of the flute returns to the bamboo,

We stroll through our illusion’s peace.

Past the mouth, the gate of our misfortune.

The ears for our loving words, the gaze of salt pillars,

Where for the first time, there is nothing again.


While we hold and harbor the space between us,

And separate the mirror from its reflection,

From our illusion’s peace, I bid thee come.


And you, so afraid of love, with wishes and outcomes

As dried leaves in a tottering breeze.

From our illusion’s peace, I bid thee come.


And you, keeper of the true smile, tormentor and savior,

Who would just as soon roll a stone

In front of our illusion’s peace, I bid thee come.


Come then and see the wounds,

Rest your fingers inside them and contemplate

Partners and partners and days of old.

Surely you need not change

In our illusion’s peace.


Let us stroll then, you and I,

Lost and found in the fading dawn.

Under the wishless stars and groping moon.

Past the fallen tree and the silent bamboo.

Past the pillars of salt.


Between the space and the mirror.

Between the leaves and the breeze.

With the smile and the stone.

With the old and the uncommitted faces

For whom you refuse to change.


Let us gaze then, you and I,

At the wounds and the wounds of love

With resting fingers, and let this time,

The first time, not be nothing again.

For here in our illusion’s peace, I bid thee come.