The minute life stops being precious….
A young man I was proud to call friend,
escaped life’s brutal straps.
If you’ll permit a metaphor
for such a selfish act:
He sank beneath the surface
of a sea of futile hope;
reaching the end of a line
gone slack and threadbare.
We’re born to touch the sky;
yet no-one tells us how.
Some find the firmament too high
and dip below the horizon.
They call for help locked
within a soul grown cold;
each beseeching cry
beating on unyielding walls.
Holding friendship cheap,
we blame ourselves for deafness
and paucity of thought.
Forgetting we’re fallible and human.
It’s a frailty we share
along with belief that in the teeth
of dilemma, friends will see our pain
and stop us being swallowed.
We are born to touch the sky and beyond, each in our own way; but most are born just to survive, to leave no trace of their passing.
I savoured each line of this poem. Thanks for sharing
Your comment is so true. Thanks for reading and for the kind comment.
is this about a friend that committed suicide? if so it’s quadruply interesting and must be read many times! if so, I find it extremely inspiring.
Thanks for reading this. It was the son of a friend of mine…
It brought abruptly to mind that sense of futility and impotence we all feel with suicide..