The Art of Suicide
I grew up with thoughts painted with rainbows and a sun,
With clouds and birds singing songs of bliss and success.
Gold and red silhouettes of puppets danced with fun,
And laughter and smiles; symbols of perfect happiness.
Those were the years of ignorance and perfection;
Years of childhood dreams and of memories,
Like a tapestry of the past in a mere mention
Shadows dancing and singing life’s stories.
But as seeds grow to towering trees,
The paint of color turned gray with time.
Puppets went from honest to a devilish tease
And it was then I felt that there are things I miss;
Life’s details and beauty I never noticed
‘Cause I was preoccupied with its default;
Happiness, perfection and the temporary bliss
Life’s a paradox and truth’s conviction.
The fire that once ushered the dream of perfection,
Burned everything to dust and mistrust
And to life I felt foreign;
And discovered the truth behind life’s shallow definition:
In perfection, a flaw is born
In every light, there is a shadow,
And union in every hearts that’s torn,
In every bliss, there is sorrow.
Right after a storm, there is a rainbow,
And sunrise in every sunset.
And to myself I told:
There is eternal life after death.
With nature I wished to commune
To mix with the travelling dust and the wind,
To listen to the sad notes of the birds’ tune
And to discover eternity with death; pale skinned.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the last air I’d smell
And with a graceful move took hold of the silvery knife
I smiled and thought of a story of a man, people would tell
And like a blood-thirsty tigress, the blade took away my life.
Copyright © Joseph Sabido | Year Posted 2011
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