Existential Poetry Quotes

“In vain I try to jump into the photo
To create again a time so simple
That a piece of paper might encapsulate it
From the erosive winds and waves of time
Which bring even the greatest of loves to a grave of dust.”
― Justin Wetch, Bending The Universe

“We all suffer our causes
yet not everyone calls our life a tragedy.”
― Laura Chouette

“I Am the City

The spaces between streets,
The lights that bloom on corners,
The lines that hold us together.

I may be a name,
I may be a crossroad,
I may be a saint.

I am a city.
I am a name.
I am.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“Unseen in their flight,
wild geese faintly call,
passing high overhead,
in the depths of night.
Instinctive travelers,
on invisible highways.
I envy their lack of lostness.”
― John Mark Green, Taste the Wild Wonder: Poems

“I was a girl, a girl was me. Forgive her, please — she tried to be.”
― Felicia IANCU, SONG FOR YOU / CÂNTEC PENTRU TINE (Bilingual English–Romanian Edition / Ediție bilingvă engleză–română / 2025): Poems of Love, Madness & Resurrection / ... nebunie și renaștere

“This piece of inked paper stands a colossus
A monument to a string of moments once dear;
The only surviving testament to a time
When these background bridges remained unburned,
Before they became so much unswept rubble.”
― Justin Wetch, Bending The Universe

“Uneven ghosts pave the pathway of a sinner;
Yet, I walk by alleys and chapels without looking up to saints.”
― Laura Chouette

“I don’t know how to end a war I was born into;
how to end a conflict and a fight that I don’t understand even the people say I am on their side;
What is the wrong one and how can I end this?”
― Laura Chouette

“We become numb ourselves while the world calls it a tragedy.”
― Laura Chouette

“Poetry is enough for a soul in pain.
Love would only heighten the senses and destroy the illusions of it.”
― Laura Chouette

“We are our own tragedies.
The people we love seemingly are only endings that we prefer before the curtain falls on its own accord.”
― Laura Chouette

“While we haunt ourselves, we become part of others.
With all our broken pieces, we are gathered in mosaics—
reflecting every careless smile, echoing every careless word.
We become them eventually,
in the way we live and survive each night.
Ghosts, bohemian wallpapers, and shiny crystal whiskey glasses,
used by them—hauntingly beautiful, collected, and far behind.
And after all this, nothing of ourselves remains.”
― Laura Chouette

“How the pale green leaves press upon the gray mountain silhouettes,
I saw mortality inside myself,
inside my own family.”
― Laura Chouette

“I always knew the mountains would take something from me one day.
I wrote about their fine lines, their graves, and their shades.

Then, one day, I looked up upon the gray—
it takes everything and then nothing,
even if you offer them everything.

You can’t survive it,
you live with it—
in small pieces,
small steps,
small moments.

All along, it takes you,
survives you—
you’ll never understand it.”
― Laura Chouette

“(WHEN I WAS A CHILD)
I was told that I was insane,
seeing doctors in hospitals
far away from home.

LITTLE WHITE PILLS
inside small transparent containers
that could fit my baby teeth
like seashells, I dreamed.

WHEN I WAS A CHILD
my mind made up things—
not castles of sand,
nor careless childish dreams.

NOW I AM GROWN
I can’t see myself anymore,
behind walls of lights
I painted on as a child.

(BUT NOWADAYS)
I cannot think back and wonder
if these things ever really happened.”
― Laura Chouette

“Poem with Adjustments

And I write out of worry,
I write out of fear,
I write for writing's sake,
And I drown in between these motives.

I become a poet,
I become a lover,
I become a human,

And still, I seek to become a writer.

I become still in the seeking.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“My Lines

My lines cross tragedy,
Hope, and love;

A mere poetry of life
Keeps anyone alive.

I may wander along,
Yet I’ll be a part of it—

Life—I seek.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“All The Ink I Wasted

All the ink I wasted
Climbing up ivory pages and cursive titles
Of whoever asked to buy and sell -
Words and souls and hope and pain.

All the nights I spent
Crying out to the world what I thought
Or blaming myself for not hearing back -
Worlds are crashing inside myself.

All the fights I fought
Calming my strife to succeed and feel
Overwhelming hopes and dreams in spare -
Wondering if I write my fate or dare to seal.

All the wasted words
Counting each number up I tried to spell
Only to be reminded of despair once again -
Worth is nothing nowadays with a price to sell.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“What Other Can a Man Lay but Tragedy?

What other can a man lay but tragedy?
No other thing would be ripe in time.

Grief is a flower that blooms often,
And sorrow is the rain that waters it sometimes.

Each man reaps what he once sows—
With pain, and some with bitter ease.

The sky above every head of gloom
Grows thicker with clouds and earthly deeds.

The field does not bloom in summer
But on the last day of every man's each.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“The Weight of Perception

I destroy myself by thinking about what I’m not;
And they who love me destroy themselves by thinking that I am.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“The Tragedy of the Ordinary

The ordinariness is tragic—
Not because it happens all over again,
But when it doesn’t, it hurts every day.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“Wasted Chances
I think life offers many chances,
And we waste most of them by never taking them—
(Just like untouched glasses of champagne.)”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“Unmoored

I set myself abound,
Like a new ship standing against the ocean;
The waves set free
By land of long imprisonment—
Alone.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“I Want…

I want to inhale life,
Not just exhale it.
I want to feel alive,
Not just go on living.
I want to exist,
Not just fade away.”
― Laura Chouette, The Willow Song

“You call it coping.
I call it hiding.
We both know what it really is.”
― Eddie Joe Beers, Look At Me When I'm Hitting You

“Full schedules, empty hearts. Maxed-out memory, corrupted essence.”
― Phoenix Moon, Emotional Roller Coaster: Confessions of a soul reborn from the ashes

“On Darkest Paths by Stewart Stafford

Temporal loop on a ravenous street,
A vampire denied a ticking heartbeat,
Restless spirit of night's prettified edge,
Bound acolyte of the infinite pledge.

Human life, another planet’s memory,
This skittish flock, a prized delicacy,
Blood frenzy mingles with death's choir,
A living essence merged with undead fire.

No loving touch nor warmth of light,
I must stay numb, shun my plight,
Solitary, not lonely; sated yet lost.
A fickle captive in my permafrost.

I spurn self-pity’s indulgent call,
My wastrel's drudge to primal thrall.
A millstone for necks of mortal strays
Perishing slowly in diminished ways.

An inversion of creation, a deviant lie,
A predator's bloodlust can never comply,
Rogue feeders, unbound by pack affliction.
Until driven away or freed of addiction.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Vengo huyendo de nada porque nada queda ya de lo que alejarse.”
― Amara Muhurta, Momentos que se esfuman para crear otros