mine · poetry

Poem: Dying

A year or two ago, I can’t remember exactly when, one of my old schoolmates committed suicide. This left a deeper mark on me than I’ve had the courage to admit until now. We weren’t close, he was more of a friend-of-a-friend, sort of an acquiantance, really. But he was one of those freer spirits, someone you’d either love or hate.
Every now and again it comes to my head, even though I try not to think about it – or anything like it, really, I can’t see things about death and all that, it affects me somehow way too strong. I don’t even watch the news because of this.
So here’s something I wrote with this in mind.

Dying

What did it feel like to die?
Did you feel the fall,
the cars coming;
hear the rattling structures
as they gently swayed under you?

Was the ground as hard
as it seems to me now?
Was it cold when you’d decided;
was it night or day?
Were you lonely, maybe,
spent hours standing there?
Did it rain?

Did you feel it?
Did you want to?
A horrid weight crushing your bones…
What did it feel like, to die?
Was it painful, scary, terrifying?

Or was it peace at last?
Was it just now,
and then nothing at all?

 

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