John Berryman

Drunk and exhausted, he waved to the onlookers, And threw himself from the bridge, tired of living through The suicides of poets and writers, Tired of cheating women, of religion, Of marriage, of talking to himself – Weirdly on wings, and with maximum pain, He waved to the onlookers, Leaving his poems to terrify and comfort While the critics said: ’’They are so tearfull! So funny. His poetry is the mixture Of crankiness, brilliance, and cruelty.’’ Weirdly on wings and with maximum pain, He waved to the onlookers, And joined his father And maybe, just maybe He forgave him.