Suicide

[rshreve]

When the thought of dying seems like your only bet
When you think death is all your going to get
When your thinking of jumping from a jet
And you don't even fret

When six feet under
Looks like a good plunder
When all you do is blunder
When everyone steals your thunder

When you think it's your last set
When you can only listen to one cassette
When you have to go into debt
To buy a lousy headset

When suicide is sitting ringside
When your sitting poolside
When the feeling won't subside
When the moment comes you have to decide
Is it life or suicide

[justwalt]

I get it... But I think... A life worth dying for comes first.

[dadio]

Suicide is jumping the death queue. But I can understand why people choose suicide over life. But I would not urge them either way. your poem is simple and to the point and well crafted.

[joel]

The final question is the crux: the penultimate ponderings "do we thrive?" or "do we swan dive into the swansong alive?" ...penultimate because of the crux of the final question....

I preside over a lot of funerals...and, for the first time, recently over the funeral of a man who'd taken his own life -- by will or mistake isn't known. For whom is grace most important...and to whom is it not held important at all? Deep questions...best for poetry and prayer.

[Hollweg]

Your life is forfeit.
That leaves you free to choose how
you might redeem it.

[stilltrucking]

"no mistake is serious unless it is permanent" the Spinoza of Baltimore


The Savage God

Thank you for the interesting poem.
I think Camus was right.

What interests me more than just suicide is the suicide of children. Something I almost accomplished when I was very young, seven or eight. I still wonder was I a precocious child, a budding philosopher?

How absurd can the world be to a child?


I wonder why so many of the writers and poets I love were suicides. Even Freud who I idolized as a rational man was also a suicide.

I can have compassion for an adult, but why a child? I can't remember.

[Arcadia]

I just read today some fragments by Osvaldo Soriano and in one of them talking about lonileness and existencial angst said something like this: a person from Denmark kill him/herself, an argentine deambula, deambula (wanders and wanders) or se mete en problemas, she/he get in trouble... it´s a big generalization but it made me smile. Gracias for your poem!