Poem – Suicide Is Bravery

Imagine standing at the edge
No more reasons of anything in life to pledge
Looking down as the wind bleeds your eyes dry
When you fall you have seconds to say goodbye to the sky
Adrenaline causes the mind an instant rush
Anticipating freedom until you become crushed

Now a coward alive would say this man was weak
Yet this man in life couldn’t imagine thinking deep
Instead of jumping for problems, you take a jump for power
I’ll live more in 10 seconds than you do in a million hours
So as your standing at the edge giving life your last salute
Remember your brave, realize most wouldn’t jump even with a parachute
Most would run as they saw death screaming 1000 feet down
A brave man would dig is own corpse into the ground

So as you read about another suicide statistic being
He did it because of strength, something your not seeing
When life screeches to an end and you want to be saved
This ‘coward’ was brave, this soul was brave

The Suicide – Louis Macneice

And this, ladies and gentlemen, whom I am not in fact
Conducting, was his office all those minutes ago,
This man you never heard of. These are the bills
In the intray, the ash in the ashtray, the grey memoranda stacked
Against him, the serried ranks of the box-files, the packed
Jury of his unanswered correspondence
Nodding under the paperweight in the breeze
From the window by which he left; and here is the cracked
Receiver that never got mended and here is the jotter
With his last doodle which might be his own digestive tract
Ulcer and all or might be the flowery maze
Through which he had wandered deliciously till he stumbled
Suddenly finally conscious of all he lacked
On a manhole under the hollyhocks. The pencil
Point had obviously broken, yet, when he left this room
By catdrop sleight-of-foot or simple vanishing act,
To those who knew him for all that mess in the street
This man with the shy smile has left behind
Something that was intact.

Suicide In The Trenches – Siegfried Sassoon

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.