Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘suicide’

Do not despair when you are young and tender –
Though pierced by thorns, confused, and by thrown stones are bruised,
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

Time serves you and the answer it will render.
Though dark now is the night, the sunrise will be bright.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –

Though it may seem that hope of joy is slender,
The aged felt that way, in some past dismal day.
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

Till weak are strong, the world attempts to hinder.
A sapling blown by wind, a mighty oak will end.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –

Now isn’t all; it preens as a pretender
It fills the present space; confronts us face to face.
But aches will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

The sullen days are few; do not surrender
The prize goes to the few who see their troubles through.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.


———————————————-

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

……………Robin Williams
(written on his death, Aug.11, 2014)

The saddest news came forth today
That Robin Williams passed away.
It seems a false dichotomy
That laughter’s source should now grief’s be.
And sadder still that while we laughed
He felt depression’s windy draft.
For him, a most belov-ed clown,
His real face was his painted frown.
And worse than that, the worst of all:
His off-the-cuff, that waterfall,
That rapid ad lib none could match
That left us laughing, breath to catch –
That something else, with that gift prized
He
, ending, had not improvised.

—————————————————

 

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

 

 

Read Full Post »

…………………The Woman Who Talked Too Fast

She’d come up talking quickly and she’d never ever stop like a
rushing whirlwind keeps on spinning like a dusty whirling top and one sentence never ended with a breath or with a pause and all the topics joined with a swiftly uttered clause like one who’s dipping from the beans and slopping from the peas and dishes out the corn just as quickly as you please and moving down the line like a train that’s rushing home, like Visigoths a’ rushing just to get their hands on Rome and while you’re listening nicely, worn to a frazzle just to hear, it seems she never tires nor comes up for some air, and her voice is neither rising nor is falling like the tide, but carries on a monotone, like the calmest carney ride, that doesn’t thrill a soul except the tiny little tots who don’t know any better, that the thrill is in the spots where the coaster waggles one way and swiftly waggles back or it goes so high and then so down it’s nearly coming off the track until you fear for life and your heart is in your throat and you’ve lost all of your senses along with your hat and coat and even though you waited in a long line for the ride, you were praying, somehow, soon that the fearful feelings would subside –

……And so it was with her, with the one who talked too fast,
……She came down to a moment that, sadly, was her last;
……In her abusive home one day, she broke all that could break,
……Then put a bullet in her head; ending all she’d had to take –

………………………………………period.

——————————————————————————————-

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

Read Full Post »