He who spoke out without a care
or he who could not even force out air.
He who bore a spotless mind
or he who lived only on rewind.
Through a furrow starts a cave
winding down in muddy waves,
tunneling in grime, slush and mud--
Bend not or you fall without a thud!
Within the deepest caverns of this mind
lie stories that were never timed.
Through crests and troughs, no matter--
Trouble, it does, even The Creator!
Of bounty, of desolation, of courage and cowardice,
of smiles, of cries, of sniffles stolen betwixt these.
Of banter, of reticence, of friends and foes,
of freedom, of tranquility, of life that never grows.
Of love and care... From love and care
starts this pain. Grow it does, it does not pare.
Pining, a mortal, does not dare
and leaves this cave without the fare.
Suicide is never the answer.
Yet those who bow out this way have some reason beyond human measure of grief.
A sudden slash is all it takes but the terrible outcome is for the ones left in their wake.
I am neither a prophet, nor a priest, not a philosopher, not even much of a poet. But I do know that "the end" is not for our choosing.
