7. Suicide Sonnets


    (Sonnets)


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    1


    This night''s as black as misery in bloom;


    Just staying here and waiting out the hours


    Have crushed the wits of better men; my doom


    Lies on the edge of fate; what once was ours


    To keep and cherish now lies in the tomb


    Of love to hatred turned, freezing the flames


    Of passion to the ice of scorn and gloom,


    Adding my name unto the list of names


    Bereft of friendship, loyalty and love.


    And so this lonely pilgrimage commences


    Within these dark and turning ways: above


    The moon shall guide, below the foul offenses


    Of countless sinners goad me on I know


    Not where or wherefore in these hours of woe.


    2 *


    The souls of poets dead and gone do mock


    This drifting shadow moving slow along


    The lonely streets, and when I hear them talk,


    I hear my name in whispers to their song:


    "Dear Shakespeare''s such a daft, an aging songster,


    Who writes so sweet the craft of sweet surrender;


    But little does he know his regal youngster


    Is simply but a show, a great pretender.


    Oh when will Shakespeare see that his dear love


    Is but a falsity he cannot move?


    Such love can steal his art from realms above


    And break his weary heart that cannot prove


    Unto his waning hopes that love is true:


    Ah! See how much he mopes his pains anew?"


    3 *


    "Dream on, you sad and brooding dreamer, dream


    And take with you the prooding tears you shed,"


    They say in laughing spite, "and go redeem


    Them for a single night in someone''s bed.


    Far better shall you be to steal away


    And end your woes for free in harmless fun,


    Than suffer needless pain to rue the day,


    Forgoing every gain for things undone.


    For then and only then can you begin


    To take a happy pen to make you whole;


    So heed our one advice to heal in sin,


    That through an act of vice, you''ll save your soul!"


    What blasphemy is this that makes no sense?


    Such temporary bliss makes no defense!


    4


    I wander to and fro this endless night,


    Alone to find a place within a world


    Of bitter pain that seems a tragic plight,


    A pilgrimage with all my hopes unfurled.


    I look upon the stars as pilgrims did


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Of old, continuing my wayward path


    On weary limbs, as helpless as a kid


    Who''s lost a dearest friend to Fate''s cruel wrath.


    I think of laying down my shattered self


    In some dark alley, dying slowly, death


    Releasing me from love''s corrupting pelf **


    With one last exhalation of my breath.


    But still I live, for graves have not a place


    For suicides that die in such disgrace.


    5


    Although I walk the grounds of Hell and sin,


    With thee I walk the heights of heaven''s bliss;


    I languish by the places thou hast been,


    Alone to weep afresh and reminisce.


    In reminiscing thoughts of thee, I shed


    An ocean full of sorrow''s deep regret


    And suffer countless boils of molten lead


    To pine away so deep a loss in debt.


    The world of life, a world so full of hoping,


    Is dead without the strength of friendship''s clasp


    To hold this breaking heart, and leave me moping


    So high a cost that death can little grasp:


    The fount of sweet forgetfulness won''t cure


    This agony, in which I can''t endure.


    6


    If I''m to die tonight by chance or by


    Mine own design, so be it water lined


    With poison running down my throat or die


    A thousand deaths too vulgar for the mind,


    I''d gladly die a thousand deaths in Hell


    To free myself from this most hellish ache;


    I''d pay the ransom of a king or sell


    My very soul to get this grief to shake


    It''s ghastly clutches off my heart!


    Oh no! If I just had a heart to get


    Possession of that organ, I would part


    Those very clutches off without a sweat!


    Ah! Such an ache compels me to dismember


    My ribs and rip it out to quell the ember!


    7


    Am I at fault to love? How can this love,


    So dear to me, have eyes of piercing truth


    That see with eyes of piercing hate, or move


    This mortal heart to suicidal ruth?


    What thought or word or deed could justify


    So sick a love that only death could cure?


    What cure so strong that Hell should rectify


    This curséd swain in death? What nail so pure


    In Christian blood could strike so strong a stab


    Of palpitation, that to die is bliss


    Upon a crucifixion''s splintered slab,


    That dying death becomes so sweet a kiss?


    I pray to God Almighty, kill me now,


    And on my wretchéd soul His balm endow.


    8


    What eyes hath scornéd love implanted in


    My head, that every object offers sweet


    Surcease from sorrow''s awful bile of sin?


    What feet are these that lead into the street?


    When I do look upon a brick, I see


    My brains and blood upon its cornered edge,


    And looking on this quill, I must agree


    ''T would better suit to ink my bloody pledge


    Upon the living parchment on my neck;


    And looking on a horse''s reigns, I reckon


    Of strangulation''s medicine to break


    My curséd neck and drag my corpse, which beckon


    The beasts of earth to feed upon each shred,


    Because without thy friendship, I am dead!


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    FINISH