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Elegy Suicide Poems | Elegy Poems About Suicide

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Details | Elegy | |

A Tribute to Robin Williams

A good man's gone, loved by us all
on the screen both big and small.

The fire is cold, the lights are out.
His soul's moved on, without a doubt.

The laughter's gone that masked the pain.
The house is still and peace does reign.

He fought his battles on life's wild ride,
but lost his war with the demons inside.

How can one thrive on acclaim and wealth
without the love of one's own self?

I hope you found the peace you sought.
The life you lived won't be forgot.

July 5, 2015

Copyright © Janece Terry | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy | |

life after suicide

LIFE AFTER SUICIDE

In our barrenness, mourning reigned in our bosom
Our wait conquered years, filled our bucket with tears.
My wife taught me to give up,
But Chidi’s arrival widened our joy-horizon.
His birth birthed our real lives,
Reflected his mothers image in my likeness,
My pretty-smart son made us a home.
Twelve months later started the civil war,
Dodging bullets, we forgot our greatest asset
In running for our lives, we ran from our life
Risked it back to the battlefield, my boy was gone.
My heart wept from his mother’s eye, another covenant with pain.
His birthday was our only sweet memory,
Hoping to celebrate his heroic return someday, but
It wasn’t enough consolation for our undeserving loss.
Years later, poverty and vengeance introduced us to a life of crime,
We built a mud house by the village entrance,
Entertaining strangers with death to possess their substance.
One day, the lot fell on a certain man in clergy regalia,
He acted like a lost son of the soil tracing his origin
Such patriotism kills my zeal to send souls beyond,
But my wife insisted I do the usual, again I gave up.
Did the usual; he kicked that bucket of tears.
But unusual was, his death interfering with my peace,
Reluctantly I ransacked his luggage, found a photo
An image of a smiling-innocent infant boy,
I remembered snapping Chidi in that pose, just like him.
As I observed and pondered, I heard my wife from behind
‘How much is in the bag’, my confusion responded with silence.
When her curiosity sighted the cause of my dreary mood,
It loosed a scream from her tongue, she ran to the cadaver,
Stripped its panties, the butt birthmark was not faded.
Confirming my suspicion, she fell dead after another scream.
 Still staring at the photo, I saw the image lying lifeless before me,
Only then was I convinced that I killed my reason-for-living.
At that point I didn’t wish for death, I wished I wasn’t born
Wished we remained barren, wished the war ate him up.
My son Chidi was my life, his death was my suicide
That day turned my world to a morgue, I am a walking corpse.


Copyright © Kingson Ahaneku | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy | |

The Lost Boy

There was a boy I used to know.
He never let his feelings show.
Turns out he wanted suicide.
When he died, I cried.
Why did he have to go?
Was that why he never let his feelings show?
He hung himself like a criminal.
That’s not what he was like at all.
He still had time to grow.
Maybe he should’ve let his feelings show.
There was a boy I used to know. 

Copyright © Nikolas Fantocone | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy | |

Let Go

A long list of names with not a friend among them
Is it just of book of hidden faces
Forgotten faces?
Not a single word I've ever said was
written with truth
And here's the proof

When there's tears streaming down my face
Stuck in place
Is a smile that is a lie
When every time  I look around
I want to die

No friendly faces, in the brightest of places
And I can't make a sound
Is this life or is it just a dark hell
 How is one to live without living
Feeling lonely
Lost in a sea of sound

The darkness inside me
Is seeping through my heart
and making me lose my self control
Turn the shower up higher so they don't hear me cry
It's all I can do, just living a lie

The friends I thought I had
left when I was reaching my lowest
Now as I sink below the surface
The sun is the dimmest of lights

Scratching at my sides
Not ready to go back to the blade
So long gone, I've reached the breaking point 
but I'm afraid to let go

Copyright © Cassidy Metcalf | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy | |

Gone

You told me you wouldn’t leave
You promised you would stay
But now because of her
You’re considerably far away 
You reassured me that you loved me 
That you’d always be by my side
But once she pledged her loyalty
You left and so I cried
Without you I felt lonely 
Unable to move on
I knew that life would get easier
‘Cause it’s darker before dawn
I tried so hard, I really did
To forget how you betrayed me
So many years of marriage
And to think how you repaid me
What does she have that I don’t?
Did I ever do something wrong?
It feels like it’s been forever 
Since the last time I felt strong
You left me in the dust
So cold and hard like stone
In all the years I spent with you
I never thought I'd be alone
I remember walking down the street
When our hands were intertwined 
I remember the time of innocence
When I was so sure that you were mine
Your fingers entangled in my hair
Your kisses upon my cheek
Your soft breath upon my freckled face
That made my knees feel weak
You said that I’d recover
I just can’t help but see
You caressing her tender face
While I’m wishing it were still me
I feel the life drain out of me
Just as when you did leave
But I smile to myself as I go
Because it’s you who’ll get to grieve
As much as I am filled with hate
It pains me to see you cry
I wish you’d realized you still loved me
Before you saw me die

Copyright © Christine Wieder | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy | |

TO A FORGOTTEN SUICIDE NOTE

   TO A FORGOTTEN SUICIDE NOTE...

On the gallows o time my soul
     Hung in despair.
Faith released its terrible swift sword;
     Least my thoughts forgot.

Least my thoughts forgot the footprints 
     You walked
To be free of the mystified feelings locked
     In catacombs of dreams
Stroking spiraling smoke to blurred visions
     Gone stale like yesterday's day.

Time passes and grief remains dissatisfied.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy | |

Trilogy for My Father

IMPRINTS
(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father)

His shoes by the front door make me cry,
like his glasses resting atop an
unfinished crossword
and his toothbrush in its holder
the bristles still damp.
And I wonder...

Did he brush his teeth before he
put the gun to his heart?

A cereal bowl waits in the sink;
The laundry basket overflows.
"To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator.
Suicide is not on the list, and I am
almost surprised.
He was a tidy person, neat
organized almost to the point of obsession.
That's how he lived; that's how he died.

But Dad...

I'd have felt better if, for once in your life
you'd left a mess. But no
even in the ultimate act of selfishness, 
you strove to be polite, choosing to lie 
on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt
thinking we could just flush the blood away
   with the turn of a faucet.

Yes, the place is spotless.
A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile
are the only signs that a life ended here.

It seems, somehow, that there should be more.


ASTROTURF AND SNOW
(Part 2 of Trilogy for My Father)

We stand on cemetery Astroturf
     strategically placed to spare us the dread hole,
     snow scaling the tops of our shoes
          to compete with the ice in our hearts.

The old priest’s boots peek from beneath
     a cassock that dangles below his parka.
He jokes gamely about the weather,
     reading prayers for my father, a man he never met,
     with shaking hands and chattering teeth.
He is a stranger recruited by the others lest someone
     discover the shame of self-inflicted death.

Numb in every way it’s possible to be numb,
     we await the blows of a grief that suicide denied us
     and summon memories that refuse to respond 
     while, in their place, we have 
Astroturf
and snow.


THERE WILL BE NO FLOWERS TODAY
(Part 3 of  Trilogy for My Father)

I took my children to the cemetery, a rare visit,
But they did not understand
---could not understand---
the reality
the finality 
of lives and dreams turned to dust,
of a childhood lying buried in those graves.
Or is it the childhood I wished for those many years?

"Where's Anddad?" my daughter asked.
"There, beneath that stone. His ashes," I said.
Ashes of a relationship as cold as this frosted grass.

"Anddad all burned up!" chortles my youngest.

"And here is Grandma," I tell him, but it's just a word.
"See the rose on the plaque? She loved roses."

I remember when the dog peed on her prized
yellows until they died. Until she cried.
I thought her tears silly at the time but not now.

"Grandma would have loved you," I inform my
bored offspring. 
Loved you like she never loved me.

I reach for the vase set in the grave marker,
but time has rusted it in place.

There will be no flowers today.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy | |

Suicide

Suicide

By Sharon Carlson

How do you look them in the eyes?
The friends of those you caused demise.
When you gaze up at the golden sky,
And there's no way you can deny
The pain you’ve caused 
Lives paused.
The words you say- Do you mean them?

Do you see them?  
The family
Staring at their child.
Lying stoically in a matte black casket
Do you see?
His mother weeping
While you stand back
Sipping one-cream coffee
How do you look them in the eyes? 
The family of those you caused demise.
You should have thought
That maybe just maybe
Calling someone ¨Faggot¨
Or saying ¨Kill yourself¨
Doesn't impress the zombies you call friends.
But look what you have done.
Do you see?
Can’t you see?

Copyright © Sharon Carlson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy | |

Rondelet: Yang be evil

Rondelet: Yang be evil

  for the continuously raped and hidden
     minors of India

Yang be evil
Yin acts with rash impunity 
Yang be evil
No power controls the Devil
Wombs despoiled in mad enmity
Innocence: raped humanity
Yang be evil

(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2012

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy | |

Some Words Are Like Mountains

Sticks and stones, may break my bones,
but some words are like mountains that can swallow you in its depth,
overtake you in its splendor -
I've known caverns there that will wrap you in its arms
happy to take the brunt of a storm made of angry remarks.
Some may counter and say, "A stake can stab you in the heart,"
but your words came like a monsoon
leaving gashes in my umbrella

(what was left blew away in the winds of your indifference)

You say you're a gift wrapped in pretty pink paper
yet belittle those unfortunate enough
to crawl in the shade of your inflated presence

(laughter to fill a cathedral,
too loud to hear the sound
of a silent tear)

Sticks and stones - so they say -
but some only dream of decay
because the comments you made
deprived them of their essence.

Why are you even      Here?
If not to raise people up;
instead all you do is sneer
and leave everyone feeling crippled
with the weight of a flippant syllable.

Cain may have killed his brother with a jagged rock,
but some are still bleeding scarlet threads
left hopelessly entangled,
because all you do is talk
      ... and talk
            ... and talk
(all consideration be damned,
etiquette you pissed on)

Is stick and stones, gonna be your swan song?

Like a mantra with no end,
please, say it once again,
as you tell it the wind -
the only witness that remembers
those who leaped in late December:
spread-eagled,
believing they could fly,
believing they'd have release,
but instead all they found ...

... was the concrete.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy | |

Minus Season

There are no seasons for you anymore,
since you chose to leave us for death's favor.
No day to await or night to savor.
And so now left to me,
still lips curl a child's bittersweet smile,
April's breath hangs on the orchid's gloom,
but I've no mind to bear such ironic blooms.
And so now left of me,
only shade to labor, hiensight to see.
There are no seasons for me either.
No days to await or nights to savor.
Just a haunted heart that limps to linger.
8/10/15

Copyright © Chad Knight | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy | |

Imprints Part 1 of Trilogy

(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father)

His shoes by the front door make me cry
like his glasses resting atop an
unfinished crossword
and his toothbrush in its holder
the bristles still damp.
And I wonder...

Did he brush his teeth before he
put the gun to his heart?

A cereal bowl waits in the sink
The laundry basket overflows
"To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator.
Suicide is not on the list, and I am
almost surprised.
He was a tidy person, neat
organized almost to the point of obsession
That's how he lived; that's how he died.

But Dad...

I'd have felt better if, for once in your life
you'd left a mess. But no
even in the ultimate act of selfishness, 
you strove to be polite, choosing to lie 
on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt
thinking we could just flush the blood away
   with the turn of a faucet.

Yes, the place is spotless.
A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile
are the only signs that a life ended here.

It seems, somehow, that there should be more.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy | |

There Will Be No Flowers Today Part 3 of Trilogy

(Part 3 of  Trilogy for My Father)

I took my children to the cemetery, a rare visit,
But they did not understand
---could not understand---
the reality
the finality 
of lives and dreams turned to dust,
of a childhood lying buried in those graves.
Or is it the childhood I wished for those many years?

"Where's Anddad?" my daughter asked.
"There, beneath that stone. His ashes," I said.
Ashes of a relationship as cold as this frosted grass.

"Anddad all burned up!" chortles my youngest.

"And here is Grandma," I tell him, but it's just a word.
"See the rose on the plaque? She loved roses."

I remember when the dog peed on her prized
yellows until they died. Until she cried.
I thought her tears silly at the time but not now.

"Grandma would have loved you," I inform my
bored offspring. 
Loved you like she never loved me.

I reach for the vase set in the grave marker,
but time has rusted it in place.

There will be no flowers today.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Philosopher's Elegy

Prof. Twittie died from an
experiment; like and unlike Socrates, he intentionally
took hemlock, to see how the afterlife looks like

He intended to return
to the physical world after his
observations, which he didn't

For a century now, no one following
Prof. Twittie’s school of thought
has yet dared to take poison,
in order to return with Prof. Twittie
back to the physical world,
and finally conclude their findings
in pen and print

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy | |

For Chris on the 1st Anniversary of Your Suicide

I guess he lost his way when
he left the beaten path,
I guess he was confused when
instinct and logic crashed.

I guess he killed his brain cells
with alcohol and hash,
I guess that his insanity
held him firmly in its grasp.

Asleep, I guess his paranoia
seemed to grow and bloom,
I guess he sensed something
paranormal in the room.

I guess his blackened pupils
must have scanned and searched the gloom,
I guess he thought he heard the
icy rattle of the tomb.

He pretended to have a job, I'm told,
and daily left the house,
then sat all day in the cellar,
I'm told, as quiet as a mouse.

I heard that when she wasn't there,
he sometimes wore her clothes,
I imagine him sashaying 
on his man-sized tippy-toes.

His insanity made him mad, i guess,
if that makes any sense,
I know his thoughts were warped though,
by no coincidence.

I see him in a fetal posture,
vulnerably curled.
I see him having lost all hope
and contact with the world.

I see him sitting all alone,
re-reading what he wrote,
a madman's twelve page ranting
in his sad and final note.


©Danielle White

Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2009

Details | Elegy | |

Elegy to a Hanged Man in Birds Hill Park

And if the winter comes
It will come too soon for autumn
But a branch shall be the angel’s arm
To raise me from the bottom;
I shall not sink into the snow
Nor feel the winter’s dark white breath
For here my eyes shall always open
To the sun; it, to my death.

Copyright © Garth von Buchholz | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy | |

Suicide


Death becomes her lying there, 
 her brunette hair perfectly framing the silky interior.
The lacy white pillow perfectly props her up for all to see. 

Though death has taken her life and stolen her soul. 
We must admit she still has a glow. 
It is as though her radiance was to bright to extinguish. 

Her life wasn't easy, 
 she had more pain than she could bare. 
You wouldn't know, she hid it well within her heart 
 so only she knew the enormity of it all.

Copyright © Lanna Carpenter | Year Posted 2006

Details | Elegy | |

suicide attempt

You told me you’d be here. 
You said you wouldn’t leave.
You had me at hello,
You stole my heart.
You told me everything would be ok.
I heard you tell me how nice I was.
I yearn for your sweet voice.
It echoes through my heart and soul.
I’ve told you nothing but the truth.
The feeling of betrayal consumes me.
The sadness has come again.
This pain is all too real.
The way it runs up my spine,
Lurking its way through my whole body.
I feel nothing, not the knife at my throat
Nor the pain of being alone.
Life shouldn’t end for the happiness
I once had keeps me going.
You still possess my heart.
I think that giving up would
Be the biggest mistake.
If I stop trying now I will lose
My heart forever, for you will
Walk away holding my heart prisoner.
Your face haunts my dreams.
Your beauty dances in my thoughts.
You won’t become just another memory.
Your image is being carved into my soul.
My arms drip red liquid.
This can’t be real,
I’ve lost all feeling.
Without my heart I am
Just another empty soul.
I hear a voice calling out my name.
I start to fall forward into the red pool
Of liquid that poured out my arms from
My self-inflicted cuts,
My vision becomes blurred.
I hear that voice as it comes closer.
I look up and see a beautiful silhouette running towards me.
This strange silhouette holds me.
I start to feel the pain I’ve caused.
I see your gorgeous face and I smile
As you tell me once again, you’re here for me,
That everything will be ok.
I smile for you came back. 
You still hold my heart in your hands.
You give me hope….

	Thank 	
	      You

Copyright © Brandon kaiser | Year Posted 2007

Details | Elegy | |

A Poem of An Unwanted Soul

Born crooked and cradled half-hearted
I was a residue of false hope and demented feelings
Each day suffers my existence
A paralysis to my mother, burden to my stepfather
Seeking attention, looking for love; do I deserve?

I was nice to the touch, a burning torch deep inside
My parents lived a slow death; I was high
Unfulfilled, unwanted and scarred
To my family, I was a broken mold
They were adamant, would I contest?

To my fair share of love
To the pieces I have given and I have never taken back
I am slowly dismembered; now darkness embraces me to see the light
A bottle of intoxication and a few pills to add
To all the ones I loved, will this occasion be joyous or sad?

Copyright © Yvette Dignos | Year Posted 2016