by Frank Balara

Created on: July 11, 2008

Thoughts On A Premature Death

It happened laying in the dark,
No sound of swallow or love-sick lark.
Created - a scene of the very end -
A suicide, though just pretend:

The wrists were slit, the blood flowed warm;
Outside peaceful, inside storm.
I watched on high, from above,
My body limp, draped over tub.
A loved one walked into the room.
She smelled the scent of bloody doom.

She touched my body and as it fell,
I heard a clang - a tolling bell.
She cried my name. I tried, but faltered.
A body spiritless, could not have answered.

Then in the dark I realized,
Why a premature death I would despise.
Not just because I could not answer.
So many more reasons sprung out faster:

Because I couldn't laugh or play,
Or watch the sunset everyday,
Or watch it rise in all its glory,
Or read a happy ending-ed story.
Because of flowers, birds and bees,
And the savoring of a summer's breeze.

If for you it's still not seen,
How bout the scent of evergreen?
The thought of loved ones far and near,
At your death saddened and full of tear?
How bout decendants - babies born -
So that when you've grown old and worn,
You might give them in this world of mystery,
With a sense of pride your lengthy history?

Look to this beginning and you'll find an end.
It's very short - and, of course, pretend.
Then judge it by all I've said of life.
Then think again and drop your knife.

End.

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