Tag Archives: dealing with loss

Signing a Pact in Blood with the Devil (Previously, I wish the Devil was real)

Posted in Poetry English by

Most people would sell their soul for love; he wants to sell his soul that has already loved, to ensure hers is the life that prospers while his becomes haunted.

A haunting narrative poem structured as an imagined negotiation with the devil, where the speaker offers his soul and broken heart not for personal gain, but to ensure his lost love’s happiness and fortune.

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I wish the devil were here, and I would just kneel

I would sign his contract and make a fair deal

He would laugh in victory, and I would sigh my loss,

he would’ve been so lucky; my wounds would never heal

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I wish the devil were here and asked what I wanted,

I would have asked a favor, which he would’ve just granted

I would have asked for her, joy and good fortune,

my life, au contraire, abandoned and so haunted

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I wish the devil were here and demanded what I offered

‘Take my weary soul,’ I would have just proffered

‘Burn it or torment it, it’s yours to own forever,

or take my tired heart, it’s no more really coffered’

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‘I am not short of souls, their cries fill my hell’

The devil would have snickered, ringing his merry bell

‘But my soul is special, for it has loved and suffered’

I would have begged in anguish, a plea and a yell

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‘A heart is so useless, what purpose will it serve?’

The devil would have said, prodding a raw nerve

‘But my heart is of great value, it’s mended and yet broken,

it has reached its end, but still it throbs with verve’

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‘I like what you offer, let’s both sign this pact,

you get what you want, I will make it all a fact

But you must know it all, and I will make it clear,

you will never love again, and you will only act’

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‘My soul that has loved, to be sold for love’s sake?

My heart that has suffered, to be burnt on the stake?’

I would have cried with joy, I would’ve wept in bliss

‘Let’s sign our pact in blood, please never let it break’

Hope in Your Darkest Hour

Posted in Poetry English by

Loss comes in many forms: a son in the ground, a toy in pieces, a life nearly spent - but hope whispers the same message to each broken heart.

A tender, empathetic poem that addresses three figures experiencing profound sorrow: an elderly mother grieving her son, a young boy mourning a broken toy, and an old man facing mortality. Through a recurring refrain that acknowledges “your darkest hour,” this consoling verse offers a gentle perspective on different scales of loss - from childhood disappointments to the finality of death.

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It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,

it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost, and all seems dour,

all appears grey, and smiles are all sour

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You sitting by that grave, yes, you, the old hag,

appearing to be brave, holding onto your old bag

Why do you sob and why do you weep?

Was it your son, whom you loved so deep?

Please, do not cry, wipe off all these tears,

he is not gone, pray hush all your fears

Look into your heart, you will find him there,

he is but a memory away, with a face so fair

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It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,

it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost, and all seems dour;

all appears grey, and smiles are all sour

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You holding a broken toy, yes, you, the poor boy,

crying your heart out, you have lost all joy

Why do you sob and why do you weep?

Was it your treasure, you intended to keep?

Please, do not cry, do not be cross,

it is, but the first step on the stairway to loss

More toys will come, each precious and dear,

more toys will come with each new year

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It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,

it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost, and all seems dour,

all appears grey, and smiles are all sour

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You, lost in your reverie, yes, you, the old man,

all sick and tired, separated from your clan

Why are you sad, and why are you so glum?

Do you feel bad about what you have become?

Please, do not be sad, do not detest yourself,

it is, but our destiny, life always solves itself

Your days were a chapter in the grand book of life,

your soul was a traveler on the path to the afterlife

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It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,

it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost, and all seems dour;

all appears grey, and smiles are all sour