SUICIDE

The final act of a desperate man

A stepping out of life, emboldened in a rash act

Of destruction, and the monster speeding down the track,

Hell-bent, just as the man is, who waits to fall

Into the downward spiral of logic from too many years

Of abiding, slowly dying, never resting, now

Makes his final decision alone without thought

Of the consequences, and embraces the notion

Of foolishness by saying that there is no God

To show him love nor anyone else for that matter.

A stepping out from the crowd of mocking

Witnesses, brave and unwavering in resolve, he

Has become an angel, ready to fly high

And reach the utmost place, where none

Can harm or destroy him. But the man is hell-bent

In deceiving himself, as he rushes forward to meet

The catastrophe head-first, and fall onto the track.

Author's Note

Don't think for one moment this is me! However, I'm sure there have been occasions when we have been close. Life is precious, and must not be discarded like a piece of garbage. It is with this in mind I wrote this poem. For this man (as an example of what might happen!) it is too late. But for others I say, thank God for the Samaritans and others who are at the end of a phone line as a listening ear for someone who is encouraged to talk, knowing that they will not be judged or criticized, but helped to make their own decision as to how to get their lives back on track.

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[Dante Balsote]

The world raises children competent enough to compete with the rest of the world. They go about stretching their fingers long. After all, the longest finger wins. "So, go stretch your fingers kids, we don't care if they break. You see, we just want it to be long."