A Liberated Sheep in a Post Shepherd World

A Liberated Sheep in a Post Shepherd World

In a room where silence fell like snow
She pinned the number on her dress
Hours before she jumped
That silent Sunday afternoon
Inches and miles away
From the white chalk farmland
Where a sea of darkness
And steering winds waited

They loved how they had broken her
Made her their own
Once more herding her back
Into the seven-fold flock
Where this liberated sheep
In her post shepherd world
Had once defied the master’s crook

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Suicide of a Poet

Suicide of a Poet

From the outside it looks as if I’m cutting my life short
but from the inside it looks very different.
From the moment I was born I knew I was old enough to die,
for death seems to be my very purpose.
Living in order to die, I am amazed at how much
life and death seem to complete each other.

As my individuality grows so does the idea of suicide,
for until I choose death I cannot choose life.
It takes courage, I found out, to choose the ordeal of life,
to continue life knowing what a horror it is!
Some choose life because they are afraid of death,
some choose death because they are afraid of life.

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