Bird Set Free

“The marks humans leave are too often scars”
I’m far removed from reality; from my thoughts debarred
Grossly unsettled my heart, frantically seeking a new beginning
Yet squeamish about sinning
Trying to find perfection in my imperfections
Guiding myself into misdirection
Amid all the subterfuge, endeavoring to make sense of it all
Demanding myself to have the gall
But I wonder if questioning the genesis of this disarray and disorder
Will make me lose myself or make me want to battle harder
Perhaps it’s best to be stoic; lest perchance it’s comprehensible
But then again, I realize it’s all transient and abstruse; it’s all dispensable
“Ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come”;
I ponder over, as I succumb…

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I lost someone to suicide recently. It was a very dark time, and deeply unsettling for me so I wrote a poem about it; I have always taken refuge in poems in difficult times, and this was one such time.