by Cheryl Williams

Created on: August 03, 2009

Standing on the edge,
she felt sweet gravity's pull;
Like a lost lover,
it whispered to her,
promising a soft place to fall
amidst jagged edges,
amidst white frothy waves
crashing against rocks
bloodied by those
who had succumbed before,
deemed lost by those
who never gave a damn
when they were still alive,
slowly drowning
in their own tears.

Oh, how sweet it would be!
Freedom from pain,
freedom from despair,
freedom from loneliness,
floating on a breeze,
dancing with God.
She could hear His voice,
gentle like a dove...
Not now...it is not your time.

But what was left?
What more could she do?
She was broken and bruised,
addicted to her inner demons,
tired of trying,
tired of failing
day after day after day.

Like a ghost in the darkness,
Sweet Death whispered
freedom.

Now, standing on the precipice,
the ocean sang to her
with ancient voices gone before
in words she could not understand.

Those who knew her
would call her selfish,
a coward...
talk about how she
would go to hell;
But they never cared before.
Their words meant little;
And gravity's pull continued...

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