Suicide

It is my life to make of what I will,

or can in any given moment, although

the darkness in that shrivelled creep

contains me, often, holding tight

with bony fingers of fear, clutching

at the edges of my sanity, playing

with the frayed fringes of mind,

teasing, taunting, calling me to be

other than what I am, drawing me on

and through, the valleys which

huddle beneath soaring mountains

of possibility that I fear to climb,

for I might fall, and drown in that

great ocean of sky which threatens

to engulf me in waves of imaginings,

as if I were a young eagle, feather-

fluffed on a first, timid, unexpected

flight, flung from rocky outcrops

of cold reality; avalanched into

eternity, crumbling down through

thundering dreams and nightmares,

careering in a pebbled dance of

probability; scattering at last in

silence, far below where I began,

leaving only shreds of myself and

broken pieces of my life, waiting

to be brought together in mosaic,

by all those I had left behind

and to whom I offered my ending

and my beginning to make of it

what they would, while I soar

high above on shining wings.

In memory of a friend and others who have chosen the same path.

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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One Response to Suicide

  1. julespaige says:

    So many choices. What of those great elders who knew their time was nigh and were allowed to walk into the woods and meet the Great Creator on their terms. There might be those of a younger age who know this as well. Though many try to tell us that those mangle thoughts can be straightened…if there was just someone who would listen.

    I did not know the young student well at all who chose to leap off of our High School roof. We can only hope those who choose to leave us earlier than we would like them to will be remembered for their life, and not how they chose to end it.

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