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Quiet is the eve with ire I passed among the dead.
Yet, Still… are the thoughts that banged around within my head?
So peaceful rests the fear, thus gone?
The night doth leave at break of dawn?

My soul the night forever haunts.
My heart it cries for love not taunts.

The stairwell echoes of my breathing,
My heart is pounding hands are seething.

The roof hatch closed, yet rafters waiting.
The hour is near, my heart debating.

The rope just lies upon the ground,
The task so easy thus I've found.

Thoughts of cost do linger here,
Rationalizations leer.

Grab the rope… my hands are sweating.
First try miss, bad luck, I'm betting.

The second… brings one step, closer near fate.
One more breath, may be all, my lungs do take.

Another time stood the task before,
I wept, I thought, and shut the door.

To end up six feet under ground,
Would that be all? Of dust, a mound?

To be so certain of such a fate,
Would make it easy, I wouldn't wait.

That window gone the time draws near.
Another arrives, hide the fear.

Again that roof hatch, closed I'll see.
Another chance for life to be…
Or not…


(The use of 'ire' was placed as meant. The end, though brings thoughts of another famous poet, was meant to evoke conflict for the reader. PR

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