When We Pass, He Wants To Pass
A life, like a poem, takes emotion
by Josh Brabender
Most poets, they give to each one.
But I don’t much go for that notion.
I exclude my life from the fun.
And while people chuckle around,
I sit with my pad in a chair.
I write but don’t make a sound
Can’t they tell that I care?
People I want to talk to
But I manage to stay quiet
Oh how I wish that they knew
On the inside storms a riot.
If someone could have seen the way that I felt deep inside.
Never would I have written this poem which notes my suicide.