A depressed soul writes his suicide letter.
I once had a job that fulfilled me It kept the bad wolf from the door. I once gave my life to the company, Too much, for my wife, that’s for sure. Because, once I got older, they fired me. It completely ruined our life. For once, with no money, we argued. Disagreements and fights became rife. We once had a marriage to envy. It gave succour, to us, without strife. But once I lost heart, she soon left me. She simply walked out of my life. So, once my two loves had divorced me, I lost any passion for life. And once I came home to this empty house, I felt I’d been slashed with a knife. Where once there was hope, there is silence; Now no-one will answer the phone. They once gave contentment and kindness. I can’t face this life on my own. I once felt such warmth, now it’s winter. There’s a huge lump of ice in my chest. Where once there was light there is darkness. Now it’s time to put sadness to rest. I once saw everything clearly. But now I see nothing but dread. So, once I have written these final words, I am taking this gun to my head. ................................................... But, once I came too, my eyes focused On the gun which was still in my hand. And once I remembered my written words, I pushed back, in horror, to stand. All at once, I was conscious of laughter; Happy children at play near my door And at once, with that, the sun flooded in And I realised, that life offered more. If I’d once carried out my intentions I’d leave nothing; a corpse and debris. And that once I’d pulled on that trigger The only one hurt would be me. All at once, I saw that forgiveness Was not something which others should give. But that once I had pardoned those, others, I’d be free, with a new life to live. So at once, I forgave and forgot them. They’re now locked, way back of my head. And once I did that, I had vision; Ambition and light up ahead. We’re only once on this great planet, And though sometimes, it can feel like hell, When you once understand there’s a rhythm to life, There’s no reason, on bad times to dwell. Would we once, recognise which are good times If everything stayed just the same? Once we learn to work through the bad times, Ups and downs become part of the game. Every once in a while, we are down there. Before long, we’re up on a high. But once we dwell on the low points We lose sight of the hills, where we fly. Once or twice, we will all hit rock bottom, Though for some, it’s hard to break free. There is always a reason for living; just as sunshine and laughter saved me.
Tell me what you think. https://www.colinclarkpoet.co.uk/once-too-often
I think you did a wonderful job of putting things in perspective. The downs and then the ups of life. Faith. Sometimes it is not about helping us get our words out, but who and if our words can help someone. This is really a thought provoking poem.
It's admirable, Colin, for you to place yourself in another's shoes. Perhaps it's helpful for you to process your loss by writing and sharing. Regards, Don
Thank you for the critique, however, in my defence, this is not, in any way, a personal anecdote, or from personal experience; few af my poems are.
I often try to put myself in someone else's' shoes when I write.
My brother did commit suicide a number of years ago (not by gunfire) and this me lead me to, sometimes, write about depression, but always with a 'light at the end of the tunnel', in the hope that someone, somewhere, might glean some hope, before committing the final, dreadful deed.
Like this one:
"That Place Called Depression."
I have been to that place called depression,
It’s down there ‘twix dread and despair. I’ll try very hard to describe it to you, And the possible way out of there.
It’s a Hell of a place made of boxes and cells. No windows, no lights and no doors. Though the way you arrived is in an unconscious dive. Stay too long and you’ll sink through the floor.
The unlimited depth a depression can get Seems unending, but can be repaired. Though, it will never go right if you give up the fight, And allow it a one-way affair.
Now, the levels above are the place you should be. While below, is the life of the dead. From that place you will see, there’s a way to get free. You can leave there by using your head.
You must find that faint glimmer of hope in your heart. Look inside, you will find its dim spark. It’s that, which will get you out of that place And assist you to push back the dark.
When you find it, just fan it ‘til it starts to glow. Then you’ll see to the left and the right. But the only way out of that desolate place, Is to stand up and head for the light.
The light is above you, the ceiling is frail, It just needs the strength of your will. But, if it’s too hard to climb out on your own, Ask for help, take a hand; let them pull.
See this link for a further explination
https://www.colinclarkpoet.co.uk/that-place-called-depression
Wow, Colin. This is a powerful poem, perhaps two poems, a before and an after poem paired together like bookends. Suicide is a difficult subject to write on, and you've faced that powerfully here. My only quip here would be to consider whether using phrasing that might be considered cliché is playing it too safe. As a reader, I would rather know what it was for YOU specifically that you felt, and if you could get there, and write that down, how much more powerful a poem this would be. Again, thank you for sharing. This has so much potential. I hope you'll keep writing, sharing, and posting.