poem

 AcousticsThere are those who hope thatThe other side of suicideIs a white room with perfect acousticsPerfectly calibrated to amplify The whispered reminiscencesOf familiar voices who haveBorne witness to the otherwise fullnessOf a prematurely curtailed life.The sonorous resonance of sadnessReverberates off these wallsAnd the lone curtained window quaversAlways on the edge of a radial shatter.This dream is the last Solace of all defeated souls,Where there is a first realization,Finally, once gone, of whatIt means to be deeply missed.But this was never a real placeNor even a conceptual solaceWhere fearful stowaways couldSurreptitiously hide, gravitating Toward the negative spacesBehind curtains or lurkingAround corners just off stage.Everyone sounds as sad As you used to feel.And maybe that can be enough,A small salvation, a finalFeeble attempt at self forgivenessWhich is the best heaven,Given the circumstances, thatOne can hope to get.The other side of this choice Is a blank page on whichEveryone else gets to writeThe story of your dumb, abbreviated days.But you don ’t get a pencilAnd you ’re not allowed to eraseAnything you don't like, becauseEvery heaven must have its own hell.But the reality is here,In a quiet room, the window Cracked to allow a breezeWhich carries the songOf a fat speckled wood thrushAnd that ’syouat the desk, hunched Over piles of blank, loose leaf sheets And your corded veins are surging with lifeAnd th...

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - September 30, 2021 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs