#euthanasia
I hope to find a beautiful end,
A view of somewhere so gloriously golden,
A triumphant barge,
Elegantly flowing down rivers of silver sapphire.
Here lies a great to rest,
With silk cheeks
I will lay my weary face
A bold hand upon my chest
We want the best,
Even when best is a curse,
The body becomes a snare
A soul trapped in a ceiling square.
The grey porous texture is dry,
yellowing with time.
One touch and - crack!
Suspended in a void
Two friends till their bitter ends.
Time was precious,
Now all but a wasted object,
My chapter without end,
Don’t we always want to know,
How far is left to go?
Is this it?
Is this what we wanted?
To die ripe,
before the fruit spoils,
Anything to stop that
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Jul 23, 2025
Jul 23, 2025 at 1:32 PM UTC
Mourning doves built a nest on the patio last week, and I knew it was time
I've been watching and waiting
Wishing that the choice wouldn't be mine
Sleep—sleep, sleep, please sleep
Well, now you're drowsy in my arms
And I'm lost in the way your eyes blink
You're forever with me—etched elegantly into my skin
But I've been watching and waiting
And my arms are emptier now than they've ever been
Sleep—sleep, sleep, shhh sleep
Midnight vigil because I can't—
Still lost in the way your eyes blinked
Mourning doves are laying eggs on the patio—new life, soon-to-be, under our roof
Well, I'll be watching, and I'll be waiting
And I'll be naming the brood after you two
Mar 17, 2024
Mar 17, 2024 at 2:16 PM UTC
brrEXIT
by Michael R. Burch
what would u give
to simply not exist—
for a painless exit?
he asked himself, uncertain.
then from behind
the hospital room curtain
a patient screamed—
"my life!"
Originally published by Setu. Keywords/Tags: brexit, death, exit, suicide, euthanasia, quick, painless, hospital, patient, hospice, final, curtain, existence, nonexistence
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
Aflutter
by Michael R. Burch
"This rainbow is the token of the covenant, which I have established between me and all flesh."—Yahweh
You are gentle now, and in your failing hour
how like the child you were, you seem again,
and smile as sadly as the girl
(age ten?)
who held the sparrow with the mangled wing
close to her heart.
It marveled at your power
but would not mend.
And so the world renews
old vows it seemed to make: false promises
spring whispers, as if nothing perishes
that does not resurrect to wilder hues
like rainbows’ eerie pacts we apprehend
but cannot fail to keep.
Now in your eyes
I see the end of life that only dies
and does not care for bright, translucent lies.
Are tears so precious? These few, let us spend
together, as before, then lay to rest
these sparrows’ hearts aflutter at each breast.
Published by The Lyric, Poetry Life & Times and The Eclectic Muse
NOTE: This is a poem about a couple committing suicide together. The “eerie pact” refers to a bible verse about the rainbow being a “covenant,” when the only covenant human beings can depend on is the original one that condemned us to suffer and die. That covenant is always kept perfectly. Keywords/Tags: Gentle, heart, flutter, aflutter, death, dying, suicide, euthanasia, pact, tears, hospice, hemlock, arsenic, rest in peace
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 3:42 AM UTC
Death isn't casting
not a staged performance
it has its own deadline
Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 10:40 AM UTC
*
***Now
"The euthanasia"
passive,
fundamental right
to die with dignity,
when no possibility,
is legitimate...
I wonder
If "the unrequited love"
depressive,
sentimental
A freewill
without felicity
was ever illegitimate?***
*
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
Lying in a bed,
But it's not my own,
All I can think about,
Is wanting to go home,
But it's come too far,
It's beyond repair,
And so I tell them,
'Please end my despair,'
I close my eyes,
They pull the plug,
It seems my grave,
Has just been dug,
Away I drift,
Away I fade,
And now to rest,
I can be laid.
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
Ten years miserably passed before..."At last!"
Four eyes dizzely cast into blue and brown,
and four, no, six legs on the ground.
Wistfully down a park laid sidewalk, we walked
to meet one another, blissfully.
We walked inside the dried canal, a river of the desert.
It hurts that we go there, no more, to flirt
with the dirt and our companion... infinity.
Is it you with me as I find kin company
in the molecules of divinity?
Repeatedly, I go searching the vicinity and nearby
For anything with similarity that I can call you by.
Any tree, light, shadow or star in the proximity
of where we met that belonged to you and me.
Or a feeling of solidarity that I cannot see.
Son, don't let me now survive ten years expeditiously.
Destructively alive, left with the intangiblity of life
that we left at that decision tree at 5:45.
Repetitiously I continue to apologize,
but apologies won't bring you back to life.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 5:06 PM UTC
On thin, white sheets, today, I lay
Each IV drop, brings me dismay
There's something I have longed to say...
You pull the plug and make my day.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 2:57 AM UTC
if i end up a coma patient,
give me a split second cremation
for the fire that burns the brightest
burns the quickest
And charge people tickets
make the event the biggest
bonfire festival and witness
my wonderful photo finish
I might not have been able to live life to its fullest,
but I was never worried about doing things I knew i couldn't.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 1:07 AM UTC
I have a heart full of cement
Solid... Permanent
I've sang your lament over and over again
But every song has the same intent
Like something permanent.
I regret not having a patent on your scent,
Or the way your teeth are bent or broken.
Like at some point a decent person
Had a cruel accident
But, against your jaw
..........A fists descent...
...To punish you..........
And forever augment that one percent of you.
I don't know the intent of the event
But, I do know you underwent some hell
To get to me, in our present
But, that doesn't matter my gent
My denouement is becoming distant
...you are here...
And there you went.
But, our two souls are water and powder
We create cement...
Permanent
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 9:01 PM UTC
The sterile room,
with bleached white walls
and sleeping needles,
ruins lives
and
saves them
with
one injection.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 7:19 PM UTC
Please help me.
I am trapped in my mind, my pain and my morals.
To Go:
The suffering would end.
A cold needle would not be needed five times a day to relieve the throbbing pain in my arms,
my legs,
my chest,
my fingers,
my heart.
I could rest and sleep and allow my mind to float in the sweet, soft abyss of subconsciousness.
My god, to just sleep peacefully.
I’ve never been an earth woman, but somewhere along the line the smell of freshly cut grass and dirt deep beneath the ground became more alluring than the sterile, overwhelming scent that fills every hallway of this ********* hospital.
The thought of being subject to more years of this endless pain shatters the strings of my heart and makes me want to rip these tubes out of my arms and throw them so deep into the ocean that they float amidst the Titanic’s remains.
Sometimes, in my brief hours of tender rest, I feel myself drifting away, and truth be told I crave those moments.
To feel light, carefree; not dragged down by the weight of carrying death everywhere I go. Everywhere that I can go, that is.
Sickness grips me, snakes around my neck; constricts. Swirls through my ears down to my toes, engulfs me into the shadows. But the darkness is inviting, naughty eyes and tempting smiles.
“You know you want to,” the voices whisper.
“Come with us, be free”
Free.
Floating around the clouds, oh the fresh air that does not reach my lungs anymore. Instead; sterile, clean, hygienic, air, burning my mouth and nose with each breath.
I never thought I would crave the feeling of being *****
But now, ***** water in the sink after dinner, sneezing children, grimy public park benches; it all just sound so real and full of life.
I was dead a long time ago, so why should my lungs keep breathing?
To Stay:
The angel perched on my left shoulder screams at me. How dare you be so selfish to think of yourself! Think of the family and the kids and work.
To stay means to see sweet, young Joanna graduate, have boyfriends, get married! How could I leave her?
And Peter. Oh Peter, to leave him would be a sin not even the Lord himself has discovered. Maybe I sometimes cannot feel when he kisses my forehead, and maybe I lash out when the pain becomes unbearable, but oh god I love him.
23 years of marriage; 8 of those spent confided to a wheelchair or, better yet, hospital bed.
Little Joanna struggles enough for her innocent mind to fathom that her mother is sick. I doubt that even three oceans of alcohol could bring me to release the words that would break her pure heart, should I choose to end my life.
The devastation of being unable to bring more beautiful lives into this world has been hard enough, and so I cannot imagine leaving my only child on this earth alone.
Morning cuddles with Peter, and Joanna squished in between us would no longer be. This is the only warmth I feel these days. And maybe those small moments of warmth are enough to fight away endless cold.
Oh so patient is Peter. Holds me when I cry, kisses me when I scream at him. To lose him, to give up when we’ve come so far, would be detestable of me.
Joanna is so young.
Wide-eyed and oblivious, she is alive.
She jumps and climbs and cries when she falls but does it all again the next day. I am envious of that. Oh to be young and clueless.
Warmth.
As hard as it gets, the feeling of a heartbeat next to mine and the soft brushing of skin next to one another is enough to keep my faith in life.
Human connection is precious.
Life is precious and I see that in Joanna’s eyes and Peter’s smile and the nurse’s kind hands and my mother’s sad smile and the way the husband of the old woman next door brings her flowers every Tuesday and my gosh, aside from my suffering, the world is beautiful, and perhaps I just forget that when I am blinded by the constant pain.
Maybe, just maybe there is hope for me.
Please help me.
I am trapped in my mind.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 10:06 AM UTC
Bruce,
The first American
To commit euthanasia
In the media,
And later,
Be interviewed.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
Comparatively speaking,
It's grand to live
In Canada.
It's as free as one can get,
Comparatively.
We have one hundred percent
Control over our destiny
And our bodies:
That is,
Until we near the end.
Then,
Our government decides
How we die.
I suspect they want to know
That I'm one hundred percent
Disposed and dispossessed.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
Spinning and spinning
Six little circles
Flushing a life down the drain
Naught but a smidgen of straining, my pidgeon,
A blurr to the vision, euphoric, no pain
My brain,
Will just shut down
I’ll get
Out of this town
The rain
Gonna pour down and wash me away
Whirling and twirling
My heart in the middle
Graphing the pathway to get the right spin
Crisp calculation, the subtle equation
Causing elation, at last cashing-in
Your brain,
Will just shut down
You'll get
Out of this town
The rain
Gonna pour down and wash you away
You must be THIS tall to ride this ride
It’s your human RIGHT to a nice
suicide
This celestial plane, ...and all of it’s
strife
We can help you jump past it,
It’s YOUR ******* life!
It’s all in your hands.
You know what to do.
Now is the time
To become the late YOU
Your brain
Will just shut down
You'll get
Out of this town
The rain
Gonna pour down and wash you away
My paradigm’s shifting
The veil is lifting
What was I thinking
My heart rate is sinking
And something is stinking
My consciousness shrinking
And what is that ringing
Do I hear choirs singing?
-
Julijonas
Fancy yourself the angel-reaper?
Julijonas Urbonas
Aren't you your brother’s keeper?
Is this just a "what-if", ...for fun?
O Julijonas
Julijonas Urbonas
…What have you done?
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
We face death as we know,
Written in facets of stone under our feet,
we have built or own demise
, the weight of ourselves holding
us to that blue undertow,
as we sink into our black euthanasia.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
Drink the stars.
Consume them and let them course through your bloodcurrent,
Carrying the fluorescence to your furthest capillaries.
You will see glowing veins scintillate beneath your skin,
As if a thousand cracks are forming on your body--
Allowing the pureness and beauty of your bright soul
To escape its host.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
If I gave a knife and asked you to take the tip
and run it's icy breath across my face
Would you do it?
If I danced across a burning flame
and asked you to step into the light
Would you question it?
And If I looked to you in an hour of need
My skin pulled paper taught
and a look of wordless want across
the sand dunes of my face
Would you help me do it?
For perhaps a deeper need is not within the things
we would or wouldn't do, but in the things we share.
You needn't take the knife
You do not need to watch me burn
You do not have to help me die
But if I ever turn to you and ask of you a sin
I ask, if you cannot, that you quietly still keep me in your mind.
Longing
Dancing
Dying
My wrinkled hand scorching a single
frozen sandprint in your palm
as I drift away for one last time
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 7:17 AM UTC
A sandpaper tongue
Brushed across my skin
One last time.
That alone was worth
The 850 dollars it cost
To say goodbye.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
don't we all deserve
to live a life that no one
has the right to take?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC