Why do some poems, like this one, help deal with loss after shedding a tear?

Question

Snow Queen

The tiny pink glove
offers warmth, even now.
Her hand could have been cosy in there
shaking off the snow.
She’d be skating, about now.

Her look of shock and delight
would spread to my face too,
as she slipped.
But she’d know I’d grasp her hand
in the pink glove.

She’d wait for her white gold
to be brushed away, about now.
I can see the silent wind playing
that snow flake on her nose.
Forever young

I could see it all in her eyes.
No disguise, no lies.
More snow would settle on her coat,
drawn to her aura.
The coloured lights meant everything
to her. Magic and safety
in her little heart.

So many songs unsung.
So many snowflakes, since then,
have fallen to the ground, through that little space
that was her.

Time has told me to place the plastic bag
with the garbage men.
Will they know what’s in there?
A picture of dragons, expertly
and proudly drawn with brown crayon.
A koala, badly torn, but loved.
And a pink glove. Too fragile
to beat the grinder.

The neighbours can see me cry.
I don’t care as I stumble to the
road looking for the whole of her life
in that plastic bag.
Oh how I cry when I see the
garbage truck dash away
through the snow. I can’t write the last line…

Answer 1

words are mightier than the sword

Answer 2

Wow!

Because you can relate to it. Since I was young whenever I was upset I sat down and wrote a poem about the problem.

Writing it down , in a way that is descriptive , emotive and from the heart is like shaking a huge weight off my shoulders. As it is private it is exactly what I am going through, how I feel ........

When my mom died , I wrote poems for weeks - I wrote about the fun we had , sad times, family times and how was I greaving and it honestly helped me to work my way through the pain.

Probably too much info and doesn't answer your question!

Answer 3

poems....they've helped me through huge issues in my life, i watched a friend drowning to her death when i was 9ish and never really got over it. and then one day i saw this poem by a women called Mary Elizebeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

the last 2 lines for me were major. this helped me get over my traumatic experience. i guess the poem helped me understand that my mate hasnt really left me.
R.I.P Jess

Answer 4

Hi clueless nice poem wrong poet nobody knows who wrote it though some people make claims the BBC favourite poems book explains

Answer 5

Know how you feel dude.

Was in a car accident 15 years ago when a drunk drive hit my car. I lost my fiance and was almost killed as well, it still hurts even though the years have gone by.

Take care Nessie

Answer 6

Some things allow us to empathise with the author and that sense that you both know. It 'gives permission' to release. Catharsis.

Answer 7

your asking for an opinion...it was good and it held images of life, until you got to the trashbag part. that was a screeching halt to anything related to feeling good at all.

Answer 8

what a melancholy poems !

Answer 9

that was great.