55+ Best Poems About Loneliness And Solitude

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If you are enshrouding in your thoughts about someone you were close to, our list of poems about loneliness and sadness can help you feel better. Loneliness is a profound emotion many experience, reminding us of our shared human awareness. Through poetry, we can explore our feelings of solitude and find comfort in the words of others who have walked a similar path. The feeling of melancholy can be consuming in itself. For example, realizing that though you are surrounded by a room full of people, no one can connect with you can make you feel forlorn. In such a situation, reading poems or quotes related to the same situation you are dealing with can help you process the feelings of alienation and abandonment better and help you understand that you are not alone in this. So read along and find the one that suits you the best.

Poems About Being Alone

Whether you have separated from your partner, moved away from family, or lost a dear friend, these poems about loneliness echo what you feel in your heart.

1. Night

It’s all right
Unless you’re either lonely or under attack.
That strange effortful
Repositioning of yourself. Laundry, shopping,
Hours, the telephone—unless misinformed—
Only ever ringing for you, if it ever does.
The night—yours to decide,
Among drink, or books, or lying there.
On your back, or curled up.

An embarrassment of poverty.

— Michael Hofmann

2. Shy Boy

I wait for my shadow to forget me,
to take that one phantom step that I keep
from taking. I wait for the simple flash
of a dancer’s spat upon this one moon
of stage-light, the mind’s lonely oval
illuminated on the surface of some
windless pond or slew. And the old soft-shoe
practices to get it right, husha-husha-hush
in its constant audition of sawdust.
Even this choreography of useless
wishing is not enough to keep tonight
from becoming nothing more than some floor’s
forgotten routine where faded, numbered
dance-steps silently waltz themselves away.
The orchestra’s now ready to Fauré
into the evening’s last song while I try
to convince myself to cross this room
for the first time all night and rinse
what’s left in some débutante’s silver
sequined waterfall, hope keeling hopelessly
ever closer to the edge. Across the floor
other couples sashay on. A tin flask empties
itself from asking, the shadow’s last chance
now wasted in some chandelier’s dim lust.

— Greg Sellers

3. American Solitude

Hopper never painted this, but here
on a snaky path his vision lingers:
three white tombs, robots with glassed-in faces
and meters for eyes, grim mouths, flat noses,
lean forward on a platform, like strangers
with identical frowns scanning a blur,
far off, that might be their train.
Gas tanks broken for decades face Parson’s
smithy, planked shut now. Both relics must stay.
The pumps have roots in gas pools, and the smithy
stores memories of hammers forging scythes
to cut spartina grass for dry salt hay.
The tanks have the remove of local clammers
who sink buckets and stand, never in pairs,
but one and one and one, blank-eyed, alone,
more serene than lonely. Today a woman
rakes in the shallows, then bends to receive
last rays in shimmering water, her long shadow
knifing the bay. She slides into her truck
to watch the sky flame over sand flats, a hawk’s
wind arabesque, an island risen, brown
Atlantis, at low tide; she probes the shoreline
and beyond grassy dunes for where the land
might slope off into night. Hers is no common
emptiness, but a vaster silence filled
with terns’ cries, an abundant solitude.
Nearby, the three dry gas pumps, worn
survivors of clam-digging generations,
are luminous, and have an exile’s grandeur
that says: In perfect solitude, there’s fire.
One day I approached the vessels
and wanted to drive on, the road ablaze
with dogwood in full bloom, but the contraptions
outdazzled the road’s white, even outshone
a bleached shirt flapping alone
on a laundry line, arms pointed down.
High noon. Three urns, ironic in their outcast
dignity—as though, like some pine chests,
they might be prized in disuse—cast rays,
spun leaf—covered numbers, clanked, then wheezed
and stopped again. Shadows cut the road
before I drove off into the dark woods.

— Grace Schulman

4. Bryant Park at Dusk

Image: IStock

Floodlights have flared on behind and above
Where I sit in my public chair.
The lawn that had gradually darkened has brightened.
The library windows stare.

I’m alone in a crowd—e pluribus plures.
Far from a family I miss.
I’d almost say I’m lonely, but lonely
Is worse, I recall, than this.

Loneliness is a genuine poverty.
I’m like a man who is flush
But forgot his wallet on the nightstand
When he left for work in a rush,

And now must go without food and coffee
For a few hours more than he’d wish.
That’s all. He still has a wallet. It’s bulging.
It floats through his brain like a fish…

Money for love: a terrible simile,
But maybe it’s fitting here,
A couple of blocks from Madison Avenue
Where commodities are dear,

Where all around me, rich skyscrapers
Woo the impoverished sky,
Having sent on their way the spent commuters
Who stream, uncertain, by—

And as for this whole splurge of a city,
Isn’t money at its heart?
But I’m blathering now. Forgetting my subject.
What I meant to say at the start

Is that I noticed a woman reading
In a chair not far from mine.
Silver-haired, calm, she stirred a hunger
Hard for me to define,

Perhaps because she doesn’t seem lonely.
And what I loved was this:
The way, when dusk had darkened her pages,
As if expecting a kiss,

She closed her eyes and threw her head back,
Book open on her lap.
Perhaps she was thinking about her story,
Or the fall air, or a nap.

I thought she’d leave me then for pastimes
More suited to the dark.
But she is on intimate terms, it seems,
With the rhythms of Bryant Park,

For that’s when the floodlights came on, slowly,
Somewhere far above my need,
And the grass grew green again, and the woman
Reopened her eyes to read.

— Geoffrey Brock

5. Danse Russe

If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!”
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—

Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?

— William Carlos Williams

This poem reminds one to enjoy one’s company and focus on oneself when lonely. Meg Coyle, a stress management and mindfulness blogger, shares her story of rediscovering herself through loneliness. She writes, “For me, even though I had a life filled with family and clients, loneliness still consumed me most of the time. Somehow, I thought a 30-year marriage that left me feeling lonely was better than being single and alone. But what I’ve learned after a long, difficult journey from the misery of loneliness to a détente with aloneness is this: the only way to overcome loneliness is to cultivate and embrace your own authenticity.

“I set out on a creative journey… I started enjoying myself. The life I was building soon became important enough to me that I got better about setting and maintaining boundaries against the things that would interfere with my inner peace and connection to the wisdom within me (i).”

6. Solitude

Image: IStock

It’s something they carry with them
– explorers night shifts seamen –
like a good pair of binoculars
or a camera case
perfectly and deeply compartmented.
It has a quiet patina
that both absorbs and reflects
like a valuable instrument
you have to sign for
– contract with alone –
and at the end of the voyage
you get to keep.
Sometimes it’s very far away.
Sometimes so close
at first you think the person next to you
is picking up putting down
a personal cup
a book in another language
before you realise what
– when talk has moved off
leaning its arms
on someone else’s table –
is being
handed to you.

— Caroline Caddy

7. The Lonely Soul

The lonely soul wanders
Alone in the walks of life
No other soul as his companion
The lonely soul wanders

Alone in the daybreak
He does his duties
In the walks of life
The lonely soul wanders
Alone in the life
He meets many other souls
Who comes to be
Unfit for the lonely soul
The lonely soul wanders

As the days pass by
The lonely soul became
More lonely, with no other
souls as his companion
The lonely soul wanders

Alone in the walks of life
The lonely soul decides
Not to die, but to face
Life in all its hardships
The lonely soul wanders

— Anto Thermadam

8. O Solitude!

O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

— John Keats

9. Vers de Société

My wife and I have asked a crowd of craps
To come and waste their time and ours: perhaps
You’d care to join us? In a pig’s arse, friend.
Day comes to an end.
The gas fire breathes, the trees are darkly swayed.
And so Dear Warlock-Williams: I’m afraid—

Funny how hard it is to be alone.
I could spend half my evenings, if I wanted,
Holding a glass of washing sherry, canted
Over to catch the drivel of some bitch
Who’s read nothing but Which;
Just think of all the spare time that has flown

Straight into nothingness by being filled
With forks and faces, rather than repaid
Under a lamp, hearing the noise of wind,
And looking out to see the moon thinned
To an air-sharpened blade.
A life, and yet how sternly it’s instilled

All solitude is selfish. No one now
Believes the hermit with his gown and dish
Talking to God (who’s gone too); the big wish
Is to have people nice to you, which means
Doing it back somehow.
Virtue is social. Are, then, these routines

Playing at goodness, like going to church?
Something that bores us, something we don’t do well
(Asking that ass about his fool research)
But try to feel, because, however crudely,
It shows us what should be?
Too subtle, that. Too decent, too. Oh hell,

Only the young can be alone freely.
The time is shorter now for company,
And sitting by a lamp more often brings
Not peace, but other things.
Beyond the light stand failure and remorse
Whispering Dear Warlock-Williams: Why, of course—

— Philip Larkin

10. Solitude’s Serenity

In solitude, I find my inner peace,
A quiet refuge where my soul’s release.
Amidst the silence, I discover me,
Embracing solitude, I’m truly free.
The world outside may buzz with ceaseless sound,
But in this stillness, clarity is found.
No need for pretense, masks, or worldly roles,
In solitude, I listen to my soul’s goals.
Alone, I’m not lonely; I’m in good company,
With thoughts and dreams, a world inside of me.
I delve into the depths of who I am,
Unraveling mysteries like a patient lamb.
I savor moments, each one a precious gem,
In solitude, I find my inner stem.
A chance to grow, to learn, to simply be,
To contemplate the vastness of the sea.
No need for chatter, no need for distraction,
In solitude, I find sweet satisfaction.
A canvas for my thoughts, emotions, dreams,
In solitude, life’s deeper meaning gleams.
So let me be alone, for I am not alone,
With nature’s beauty, wisdom I am shown.
In solitude’s embrace, I am reborn,
A soul at peace, no longer torn.

— Unknown

Caution

While exploring themes of loneliness in poetry, be mindful of your emotional responses. If certain poems elicit negative emotional responses from you, take breaks and practice self-care.

11. Whispers of Solitude

In quiet moments, secrets softly share,
In solitude, the world becomes aware.
The whispers of the heart, a gentle guide,
In stillness, where our truths no longer hide.

— Unknown

12. Alone Among the Stars

Beneath the velvet sky, I stand alone,
Among the stars, my spirit freely roams.
In solitude, I reach for galaxies afar,
A cosmic dance beneath the evening star.

— Unknown

13. Embracing the Silence

In solitude, I find a sacred space,
A timeless pause, a gentle, warm embrace.
The silence speaks in volumes, loud and clear,
A symphony of stillness that I hold dear.

— Unknown

14. I’m My Best Friend

I wonder sitting alone at night,
My thoughts and my solitude are my only light,
In this state of delving into my thoughts deeply,
I realize I am the best friend I should always keep.

— Ritika Shah

15. The Lonely Muse

I often am a lone muse,
I can be more creative by myself.
I allowed my dreams to participate while I was quiet on the canvas of my imagination, a piece of art.

— Unknown

16. Soul’s Solace

I discover a gentle connection and consolation
For the soul in the depths of loneliness.
The outside world may be in a hurry, but I remain still.
Alone, I learn, I dream, and I will.

— Unknown

Famous Poems About Loneliness

The most renowned poets have written some verses about the pain of being can make the most impact when wielded by a alone and described gloom and melancholia in their eloquent poems. Take a look at a few gems.

17. Ode on Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mixed; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

— Alexander Pope

18. A Thought For A Lonely Death-Bed

If God compel thee to this destiny,
To die alone, with none beside thy bed
To ruffle round with sobs thy last word said
And mark with tears the pulses ebb from thee,–
Pray then alone, ‘ O Christ, come tenderly!
By thy forsaken Sonship in the red
Drear wine-press,–by the wilderness out-spread,–
And the lone garden where thine agony
Fell bloody from thy brow,–by all of those
Permitted desolations, comfort mine!
No earthly friend being near me, interpose
No deathly angel ‘twixt my face aud thine,
But stoop Thyself to gather my life’s rose,
And smile away my mortal to Divine! ‘
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning

19. Speak of the North! A Lonely Moor

Speak of the North! A lonely moor
Silent and dark and tractless swells,
The waves of some wild streamlet pour
Hurriedly through its ferny dells.

Profoundly still the twilight air,
Lifeless the landscape; so we deem
Till like a phantom gliding near
A stag bends down to drink the stream.

And far away a mountain zone,
A cold, white waste of snow-drifts lies,
And one star, large and soft and lone,
Silently lights the unclouded skies.

— Charlotte Brontë

20. The Loneliness One Dare Not Sound

Image: IStock

The Loneliness One dare not sound—
And would as soon surmise
As in its Grave go plumbing
To ascertain the size—

The Loneliness whose worst alarm
Is lest itself should see—
And perish from before itself
For just a scrutiny—

The Horror not to be surveyed—
But skirted in the Dark—
With Consciousness suspended—
And Being under Lock—

I fear me this—is Loneliness—
The Maker of the soul
Its Caverns and its Corridors
Illuminate—or seal—

— Emily Dickinson

21. Childhood’s Retreat

It’s in the perilous boughs of the tree
out of blue sky the wind
sings loudest surrounding me.
And solitude, a wild solitude
’s revealed, fearfully, high I’d climb
into the shaking uncertainties,
part out of longing, part daring my self,
part to see that
widening of the world, part
to find my own, my secret
hiding sense and place, where from afar
all voices and scenes come back
—the barking of a dog, autumnal burnings,
far calls, close calls— the boy I was
calls out to me
here the man where I am “Look!
I’ve been where you
most fear to be.

— Robert Duncan, poetryfoundation.org

22. Alone

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—

— Edgar Allan Poe

23. I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

— William Wordsworth

24. Solitude

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all,—
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

— Ella Wheeler Wilcox

25. [He is pruning the privet]

He is pruning the privet
of sickly sorrow desolation
in loose pieces of air he goes clip clip clip
the green blooming branches fall—‘they’re getting out
of hand’ delirious and adorable what a switch
we perceive multiple
identities when you sing so beautifully the shifting
clouds You are not alone is this world
not a lone a parallel world of reflection
in a window keeps the fire burning
in the framed mandala, the red shafted flicker
sits on the back of the garden chair in the rain
the red robed monks downtown in the rain a rainbow arises
simple country practices thunder
lightning, hail and rain eight Douglas Iris
ribbon layers of attention
So constant creation of ‘self’ is a tricky
mess. He is pruning the loquat, the olive
which looks real enough in the damp late morning air

— Joanne Kyger, poetryfoundation.org

26. This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison

Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost
Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance even when age
Had dimm’d mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile,
Friends, whom I never more may meet again,
On springy heath, along the hill-top edge,
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
To that still roaring dell, of which I told;
The roaring dell, o’erwooded, narrow, deep,
And only speckled by the mid-day sun;
Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock
Flings arching like a bridge;—that branchless ash,
Unsunn’d and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves
Ne’er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still,
Fann’d by the water-fall! and there my friends
Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds,
That all at once (a most fantastic sight!)
Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge
Of the blue clay-stone.

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge, interestingliterature.com

Trivia

Samuel Taylor Coleridge was not only a poet but also a philosopher and literary critic. Besides ‘This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison,’ he wrote about his loneliness in the poem ‘Frost at Midnight.’

Short Poems About Loneliness

The fewest of words can make the most impact when wielded by a master poet. These short poems express longing and grief. Have a look at the poems below.

27. I’m Nobody! Who are you?

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

— Emily Dickinson

28. On Broadway

About me young, careless feet
Linger along the garish street;
Above, a hundred shouting signs
Shed down their fantastic bright glow
Upon the merry crowd and lines
Of moving carriages below.
Oh wonderful is Broadway-only
My heart, my heart is lonely.

Desire naked, linked with Passion,
Goes trutting by in brazen fashion;
From playhouse, cabaret, and inn
The rainbow lights of Broadway blaze
All gay without, all glad within;
As in a dream, I stand and gaze
At Broadway, shining Broadway-only
My heart, my heart is lonely.

— Claude McKay

29. Flood: Years of Solitude

To the one who sets a second place at the table anyway.
To the one at the back of the empty bus.
To the ones who name each piece of stained glass projected on a white wall.
To anyone convinced that a monologue is a conversation with the past.
To the one who loses with the deck he marked.
To those who are destined to inherit the meek.
To us.

— Dionisio D. Martínez

30. Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?

— Robert Hayden

31. Alone Looking At The Mountain

All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other –
Only the mountain and I.

— Li Po, poemhunter.com

32. Things

What happened is, we grew lonely
living among the things,
so we gave the clock a face,
the chair a back,
the table four stout legs
which will never suffer fatigue.

We fitted our shoes with tongues
as smooth as our own
and hung tongues inside bells
so we could listen
to their emotional language,

and because we loved graceful profiles
the pitcher received a lip,
the bottle a long, slender neck.

Even what was beyond us
was recast in our image;
we gave the country a heart,
the storm an eye,
the cave a mouth
so we could pass into safety.

— Lisel Mueller

33. The Lonely Street

School is over. It is too hot
to walk at ease. At ease
in light frocks they walk the streets
to while the time away.
They have grown tall. They hold
pink flames in their right hands.
In white from head to foot,
with sidelong, idle look–
in yellow, floating stuff,
black sash and stockings—

touching their avid mouths
with pink sugar on a stick–
like a carnation each holds in her hand–
they mount the lonely street.

— William Carlos Williams

34. One Lonely Afternoon

Since the fern can’t go to the sink for a drink of
water, I graciously submit myself to the task, bringing two
glasses from the sink.
And so we sit, the fern and I, sipping water together.

Of course I’m more complex than a fern, full of deep
thoughts as I am. But I lay this aside for the easy company
of an afternoon friendship.

I don’t mind sipping water with a fern, even though,
had I my druthers, I’d be speeding through the sky for
Stockholm, sipping a bloody mary with a wedge of lime.

And so we sit one lonely afternoon sipping water
together. The fern looking out of its fronds, and I, looking
out of mine . . .

— Russell Edson

35. Evening Was Lonely

The evening was lonely for me, and I was reading a book till my
heart became dry, and it seemed to me that beauty was a thing
fashioned by the traders in words. Tired I shut the book and
snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was flooded with
moonlight.
Spirit of Beauty, how could you, whose radiance overbrims the
sky, stand hidden behind a candle’s tiny flame? How could a few
vain words from a book rise like a mist, and veil her whose voice
has hushed the heart of earth into ineffable calm?

— Rabindranath Tagore

36. Lonely Am I

Image: IStock

Lonely are the nights
Lonely are the days
Lonely am I, in so many ways

Lonely are the seasons
Lonely are the years
So lonely am I, that it brings tears.

Lonely is this place
Lonely is my life
Lonely am I, that I reach for a knife

Lonely is this courtroom
Lonely is my sentence
So lonely am I that I ask for repentance.

— Jim Foulk

37. Are You Lonely Tonight

Image: IStock

Are you lonely tonight
Because your heart was broken?
Are you lonely tonight,
Shedding tears from all the emotion?
Please don’t be shy.
Just tell me if its okay for me to dropp by.
I’ll be the man you’ve always dreamed of.
I’ll hold you close to me and show you love.
I’ll help you through your pain and sorrow.
And after you wake up tomorrow,
We’ll take a walk near the ocean shore.
As time goes by, I’ll love you more and more.

— Jeff Fleischer

38. The Sounds of Isolation

In the eerily quiet hallways,
Echoes of a far-off cry,
Loneliness, my never-ending enchantment,
I am lost in this little world.

— Unknown

39. Whispers of the Heart

Lonely hearts under the gentle radiance of the moon,
whisper their secret information,
I want a soft, warm flow of affection.
They discover their plight in solitude.

— Unknown

40. The Unoccupied Chair

The chair across from me is vacant.
Being alone is my only pair,
The air is thick with memories,
We must both endure a silent emptiness.

— Unknown

41. Island of Solitude

In a sea of stars, I’m an island.
Loneliness is my compass as I go through this vast ocean
While being surrounded
Yet still so far away.

— Unknown

42. The Unseen Tears

There is a sea hidden behind my smile,
Tears I can’t see,
Loneliness I can only feel in my company,
My soul’s decree is a hushed storm.

— Unknown

Sad Lonely Poems

Having no one to share your pain can be tormenting and these poems capture this state to perfection. These poems on heartache and despair might give you comfort on a lonesome night.

43. Love Was True to Me

Love was true to me,
True and tender;
I who ought to be
Love’s defender,
Let the cold winds blow
Till they chilled him;
Let the winds and snow
Shroud him—and I know
That I killed him.

Years he cried to me
To be kinder;
I was blind to see
And grew blinder.
Years with soft hands raised
Fondly reaching,
Wept and prayed and praised,
Still beseeching.

When he died I woke,
God! how lonely,
When the gray dawn broke
On one only.
Now beside Love’s grave
I am kneeling;
All he sought and gave
I am feeling.
— John Boyle O’Reilly

44. In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad

In my own shire, if I was sad,
Homely comforters I had:
The earth, because my heart was sore,
Sorrowed for the son she bore;
And standing hills, long to remain,
Shared their short-lived comrade’s pain
And bound for the same bourn as I,
On every road I wandered by,
Trod beside me, close and dear,
The beautiful and death-struck year:
Whether in the woodland brown
I heard the beechnut rustle down,
And saw the purple crocus pale
Flower about the autumn dale;
Or littering far the fields of May
Lady-smocks a-bleaching lay,
And like a skylit water stood
The bluebells in the azured wood.

Yonder, lightening other loads,
The seasons range the country roads,
But here in London streets I ken
No such helpmates, only men;
And these are not in plight to bear,
If they would, another’s care.
They have enough as ’tis: I see
In many an eye that measures me
The mortal sickness of a mind
Too unhappy to be kind.
Undone with misery, all they can
Is to hate their fellow man;
And till they drop they needs must still
Look at you and wish you ill.

— A. E. Housman

45. I Am!

I am! yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
And e’en the dearest—that I loved the best—
Are strange—nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil’d or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

— John Clare

46. I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everyday jug,
like my mother’s face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.

— Rainer Maria Rilke

47. Lonely Is Just One Word

Lonely is just one word chosen to represent so much
To tell of feelings inside that the senses cannot touch

Lonely can be in the teardrops on a bereaved person’s cheek
Lonely can be in the silence of sorrows too deep to speak

Lonely can haunt a deserted room that Laughter once made proud
Lonely surrounds you when you’re alone or finds you in a crowd

Lonely is heard in echoed footsteps of a departing friend
Lonely penetrates the solitude of nights that will not end

Lonely will not listen to the pleadings of a broken heart
Lonely stays and torments until new Love shatters it apart

— Mary Havran

48. On Broadway

About me young careless feet
Linger along the garish street;
Above, a hundred shouting signs
Shed down their bright fantastic glow
Upon the merry crowd and lines
Of moving carriages below.
Oh wonderful is Broadway — only
My heart, my heart is lonely.

Desire naked, linked with Passion,
Goes trutting by in brazen fashion;
From playhouse, cabaret and inn
The rainbow lights of Broadway blaze
All gay without, all glad within;
As in a dream I stand and gaze
At Broadway, shining Broadway — only
My heart, my heart is lonely.

— Claude McKay

49. Solitude’s Embrace

In shadows cast, I find my grace,
A lonely heart, a solemn space.
The world outside, a distant song,
In solitude, I do belong.
A tearful night, the stars above,
Remind me of a long-lost love.
With empty arms and heavy sighs,
I search the void in tearful skies.

— Unknown

50. Fading Memories

Memories of love now dim,
Loneliness creeps from within.
Like ghosts of the past, they haunt my mind,
In solitude, I’m left behind.
A love that once burned bright and bold,
Now withers in the bitter cold.
Alone, I tread this weary path,
As echoes of a love that couldn’t last.

— Unknown

51. Empty Promises

Promises made, now broken and gone,
In loneliness, I carry on.
The love we shared, a distant ember,
In solitude, I’ll always remember.
A heart once full of hope and trust,
Now crumbles into silent dust.
Alone, I face the endless night,
With tears that fall out of sight.

— Unknown

52. A World Apart

In a world apart, I dwell alone,
Loneliness, my constant tone.
The laughter of others, a distant sound,
In solitude, I’m tightly bound.
A love that promised endless bliss,
Now nothing more than a fading kiss.
Alone, I face the endless night,
With tears that fall out of sight.

— Unknown

53. Echoes of Regret

Regretful echoes fill the air,
In loneliness, I slowly tear.
The choices made, the love we lost,
In solitude, I count the cost.
A love that once burned like a flame,
Now just a ghost, a fading name.
Alone, I tread this path of woe,
As loneliness continues to grow.

— Unknown

54. Whispers of Desolation

In the depths of my despair,
Loneliness, my constant prayer.
I hear the echoes of my cries,
Beneath the cold and starless skies.
A heart once whole, now torn in two,
Longs for love it never knew.
Lost within this world of pain,
I wander through the endless rain.

— Unknown

55. The Broken Heart’s Lament

In the silent depths of night,
I weep alone, out of sight.
A shattered heart, a wounded soul,
Loneliness takes its heavy toll.
The world outside, a distant dream,
In solitude, I silently scream.
A love that’s lost, a pain that’s real,
Loneliness is all I feel.

— Unknown

56. Deserted Dreams

Dreams we shared, now turned to dust,
In loneliness, I’ve placed my trust.
The hopes we held, so bright and true,
Have faded in the evening’s hue.
A love once strong, now lost at sea,
In solitude, I’m never free.
I long for a love that’s yet to find,
As loneliness consumes my mind.

— Unknown

57. Forgotten Promises

Promises once etched in stone,
Now shattered and left alone.
The love we had, a distant dream,
In solitude, I slowly scream.
A heart that once knew joy and light,
Now battles through the endless night.
Alone, I bear this heavy load,
In loneliness, my heart erodes.

— Unknown

58. The Long Goodbye

In the long goodbye, I find my place,
Loneliness etched upon my face.
The love we shared, a distant memory,
In solitude, I seek serenity.
A heart that once beat in time with yours,
Now aches in silence behind closed doors.
Alone, I navigate this endless sea,
As loneliness becomes a part of me.

— Unknown

Note: The poems in this collection are not original works of MomJunction but have been sourced from various authors. No claim of ownership is being made by us. Credit has been given wherever the details were available. If you are the original author of any poem and wish to have it credited or removed, please contact us. We value the creative rights of authors and will address your request promptly.

Illustration: Best Poems About Loneliness And Solitude

Image: Stable Diffusion/MomJunction Design Team

Infographic: Writing Poems As A Means To Combat Loneliness

The feelings of loneliness can become overbearing at times. But, with the help of poetry, you might be able to deal with those feelings. Pouring out your emotions in the form of a poem can help you deal with your feelings. We have prepared this infographic to help you know more about the benefits of combating your loneliness with the help of poems. Give it a read and save it to refer to it later.

Illustration: Momjunction Design Team

A poem to help those feeling lonely. A reminder that you are not alone, and that hope is still alive. A reminder to keep going and never give up.

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Reviewer Author Editor

Vinita AgrawalPoet

Vinita Agrawal is an accomplished poet hailing from Indore, India. She has garnered significant recognition for her poetic endeavors, including winning the prestigious Proverse prize in Hong Kong in 2021 for her collection of poems titled "Twilight Language.

Read full bio of Vinita Agrawal

Shivank JoshiBA (Mass Communication)

Shivank is an experienced professional with a passion for writing, editing, and research. With a bachelor’s degree in Mass Communication from IEL, Dehradun, he previously worked as a production editor. Shivank transitioned into a writer/editor, contributing to various publications as a freelancer.

Read full bio of Shivank Joshi

Akshay NairMA

Akshay is an associate editor and former journalist with more than four years of experience. A post graduate in Mass Communication and Journalism, he has strong professional and academic background in the field of content writing and editing.

Read full bio of Akshay Nair