Epitaph/Suicide/Depression/Sad Poems

Could I but give you comfort in my death,
How might I tell you what you meant to me?
All I did, both night and day, was love you,
Rulers of my kingdom and my heart.
Like gods, at last you claimed my painful breath,
Opening the door to mystery,
The final gift of all the gifts you gave me,
Taking what I could no longer give you
Even if I tried with all my art.

By Dimitri Shostakovich

Remember not the pathos of our plight Or the tears of our too-youthful end. Mourn us not, for we became a light, Eden shining still through deathless night, On all who first pure love would comprehend. Judge us not, although we chose to die, Undone by beauty such as few have known, Love so perfect one could not reply In words less meteoric than its own. Each life must wend its way towards death and pain. Though we died young, our story will remain.

By William Byrd

Do believe I'll never leave you:
Always I'll be in your heart.
Don't forget my soul is near you,
And so we'll never be apart.

By G.P. da Palestrina

You taught me how to love you by
The way that you loved me;
And by your unseen sustenance,
To see what you could see.

You gave to me through who you were
The gift of what I am.
Your pride in me is now my pride;
Your faith, my caravan.

Your life does not conclude with death,
Nor will it end with mine,
For all the lives I touch, you touch,
And so on through all time.

Can't you see? Don't you care
I want to die?
Don't you listen? Can't you hear
My silent cry?
Won't you turn? Can't you hold
Me to your heart?
Are you afraid of what might follow
Once you start?
Would you rather not believe
I'm in such pain
That all your sense and good advice
Must be in vain?
Would you rather tell yourself
I'll be OK,
And all this adolescent angst
Will go away?
Ah! Would I also swim across
This lake alone!
But if you cannot swim with me,
I know I'll drown.

By Dimitri Shostakovich

There's beauty in the barest breath of sunshine,
Wasted on all but those who know despair.
Each wound turns passions just a bit more grey,
Not adding new nor taking old away,
Trading joy for something far less fair,
Yet turning grace to something far more fine.
For such, there is a winding of the way
In which a bleakness, soon become a sign,
Vividly undoes the dying day,
Evoking longings one can hardly bear.

By William Byrd

To say goodbye's impossible forever,
And yet we must too soon exchange goodbyes.
No magnitude of love when someone dies
Can manage the immensity of never.
Yet even death cannot our friendship sever
Though you may rest somewhere beyond our sighs
And all the talk of afterlife be lies.
Eternity is our brief glimpse of ever.
Even as each breeze must alter time
And each unruly rock reshape the sea,
So love lasts beyond our consciousness.
Each pulse of life's a piece of the sublime,
A breath so full of grace it cannot be,
A wave that ripples endlessly through darkness.

By Dimitri Shostakovich