Golden Gate Bridge
Now, don't be ridiculous, do open your eyes,
Is it a brave single mother trying to raise
Her daughter or son?
Or is it the man, jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge
In an act of self-slaughter?
How about the elderly, who live alone and are home
bound?
They wake each morn, however...far from
forlorn.
Or is it the man from the Bridge?
His body about to be torn.
By the hungry rocks below
No, I say!
Courage and admiration go to the brave across all nations
Who bravely face life~that are strong.
Never sorry for themselves today.
Their simple gratitude for life~totally
surpasses any jumper...
Trashing a God given life to almost ashes.
Panagiota Romios
2/18/2019
(This poem is about 3 years old)
Hear the whispers as the wind breathes
The world is but a lingering dream
Shards of reality from a deadened tree
Under the bridge you wait for me
Seeing unreal visions in the moonlit water
Dying is humanity, to a self-slaughter
Majestic sights of watching the fall
The silence only whispers death to all
The dreary mornings of a winter’s wind
Are dragging me further and further to the very end
Walking in the shadows of the shore
Haunting these dark waters even more
Illuminating the evil inside my head
Hallucinating the unreal, the undead
Lost in the vicious sea
Singing unto the stars
Please come save me
I have no watcher in the sky
No guidance, just a lie
Rain seeps through my brain
Flooding me with a sense of pain
Shimmering waves of the reflecting moon
Drowning every thought too soon
Gasping for a light of salvation
Swallowing only sin and temptation
Praying the death I’m awaiting
Cursing the life I’m debating
Sinking to the depths of the blue
Waiting in the black water…
For you…
Those beautiful lips I will kiss no more
Through just a few sips, a self-slaughter act
He’s broken his word, a promise we swore
Naive and absurd, were two lovers’ pact
Stepping in the bathroom,
With a razor in you hand,
Your about to meet your doom,
As you have it planned.
You better lock the door,
So that no one can walk in,
During the act of slitting your skin.
Committing your suicide,
Should be a simple mission,
But coming to find out,
Do you give yourself permission?
Sitting and thinking,
As the tub fills up with water,
You're about to particpate in the act of self slaughter
Now accepting the fact that your happiness is gone,
You put away the tool, because it is time to move on...
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