On the Edge
He’s on the dark side of an unknown land.
A land where no-one cares about his name.
He’s cold and lonely – afraid of himself.
He’s through with caring…he’s through with fears.
The sun comes up now giving way to dawn.
Dawn’s cold, crisp air seeping into his bones.
The sun’s warmth spying on his huddled form.
He’s through with crying…he’s through with tears.
He can’t remember if he were e’er free,
free of life’s burdens that surrounded him.
Was there ever purpose – did someone care?
He’s through with people…he’s through with lies.
Is there a dark side on the other side?
Will the bright light await and brighten him?
He longs for something but knows not what.
He’s through with waiting…he’s through with life.
About this poem
I had sat and cried. What could I do? This man was so low, he could see no other option than to end his life. I was at the time - and still am - his only friend, and he has no family. I did the only thing I could do - write him a poem. Poetry says more succinctly what prose finds clumsy!
Written on December 12, 2020
Submitted by susannaelliott on April 15, 2024
- 43 sec read
- 55 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | XXXX XXXX XAXX XAXX |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 758 |
Words | 144 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4 |
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Citation
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"On the Edge" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 1 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/187203/on-the-edge>.
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