In this year of China’s moon,
there ends a life too soon.
On the cliff’s outcropping, I stand,
not yet daring the mile-down view.
I wait for the scene seekers to disperse,
then pin this sorry note to the grappling tree.
You see, ah…
I cannot shake them.
Like brain bees, they buzz.
Dark stories they tell, without end.
All help seemed too busy with life.
Now, I will walk backwards,
fixing on the air’s horizon,
leaving no room for a second thought.
I will count the paces.
Ten, twenty, thirty.
I will wait for the surge of crazy strength.
I will run, arms wheeling,
and be gone.
I hope to make the river,
winding in the sun’s silver,
to spare you the sight’s abomination.
My pile of jellied bones,
entrails of pastel,
If the punctured eyes contrive a stare,
it is not accusatory.
Only a mirror
of a hell that slowly did go by.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Depression at times brings one to extremes, especially when help seems unattainable.
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has written columns for the Shelburne Free Press, and writes mainly on his personal blog at AreMyFeetOffTheGround.