Murray Alfredson

Quietus thoughts

I’ve passed three score and ten;
many years I’ve harboured
thoughts of death.

I’ve dwelt on means:
by fire,
drinking fuel to make it surer,
by knife through radial artery,
by rope,
by poisons through the stomach, lungs or skin.

Once fear of death dropped from me,
no barrier remained.

Death-wish flared at times beyond
dark thoughts that friends and family
would be better off without me,
flared into
a lust compelling.

Two thoughts
stay my hand:

Dying early is a waste;
it throws to chance
my opportunity right here,
in touch with teachings,
to tread my way
towards nibbana.

Those left behind
would suffer searing pain,
false guilts
years long
surfacing again, again.