Boxes made of wood.
Leaves dissolve to mud.
The apple of the bag.
Colors wander, colors return.
Shade is a different place.
Preference favors the repast.
Earth eats in the dark.
Ground grows old in the light.

Cast down beneath a waterfall of sorrow
Begging to know if there will be a tomorrow
While sinking into a morass of self-doubt
Unable to see if there’s a possible way out.

The voices one hears have so many sharp edges
Some driven right down to jump of high ledges
While ghouls stand around to share an excitement
Victims themselves, their lack of enlightenment.

The last-minute thoughts of where life was breached
A finality of purpose is sadly now reached
One step and it ends and the pain goes away
There’ll be no more living and no more next day.

What causes some people to end things this way
That last final action that takes all away
Perhaps it’s our failure, we’re not watching out
We get wrapped up in our life and don’t hear their shout.

There isn’t a person whose life ends this way
Who’s not shown the signs of unhappiness’ sway
But we’re blind to their problems, we don’t want to know
As blithely we miss all the pain that they show.

It’s only much later when it’s far far too late
When notices come with a church service date
That we express surprise and say ‘course we will come’
But the signs were all there, we were just far too dumb.

©Joe Wilson – Some Choose Suicide 2014

when the war is long over
apart from the obvious
children suffer their
parents false view of normal
like children really don't matter
forgotten generations of horror
and its all their fault for being born
in a time of no war

I have felt loved
love made real;
most real
when most in need

I have no more poems left in me,
The moonless sky has taken them all away,
And because stars are beautiful I let them be,
Hoping they would light up your way.

I cant do this anymore
words no longer flow
the mind is now an empty place
the words no longer flow

I loved to write poetic verse
but recently I've lost my nerve
because
the words no longer flow

I used to write of birds and flowers
of time spent in tranquil hours
Writing of the spume capped waves
writing of the things I love
but the words no longer flow

I've had my ups had my downs
been serious been the clown
but now it all has got to stop
because the words no longer flow