My Reader, My Friend

Sat, 03/31/2018 - 22:28 -- Arlea

The fingers that I type with
and the eyes with which you read
are both, just now, quite filled with life - 
of that, we are agreed? 

 

One day will my fingers 
be painted death's grey shades?
Or the eyes you see with now
weep for endless days? 

 

You know me not, I do admit
yet should this rope go taut,
pray do think on the effect
were I a stranger, naught. 

 

I beg, implore, and plead with you,
my reader and my friend: 
in each day that follows this,
let us not pretend
that suicide is not an issue
whose stigmas need to end. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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