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The Plight of a Troubled Young Soul
Parts I and II are paraphrases of actual notes.
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I. Not Today
I know I’m ill; I am not well.
In truth, I want to end it all.
I want to toll my own death knell.
I wish I could escape this pall.
I recognize the reckless truth.
I’m still behind the dark eight ball;
I’m in this place and lacking couth.
I have no interest, no stake,
In fleeing its embrace. Forsooth,
How Satan rounds my bar; the Snake
Is waiting for my shield to sink,
Forbearing now until I quake!
Today I can’t imbibe his drink
And burn my people in my hell;
I’ll skate not in his fatal rink.
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II. The Note
I love you. Oh, I really do!
I thank you for your loving care.
My narcissism now I rue.
I failed to grant you entrance, where
My soul was locked, as you had wished.
I tried but never let you there.
For blame, perhaps, you may have fished;
The blame’s all mine—my dividends!
If I had filled my schedule, wished
Myself acquaintances and friends,
And ascertained significance,
Perchance there’d be less bitter ends.
But I did not and it’s my dance.
I can’t go on; it’s over now.
I wish I hadn’t struck this stance.
I had no other field to plow.
This final pain I’ve dealt to you—
I’ll heap no other, I avow!
I’m sorry I’m the girl you knew!
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III. I Couldn’t Do It
There wasn’t anything to grace
My life but pain and agony.
And nothing worthy of a chase.
The race be damned! Amid debris
I sat, secluded in my cell,
Devoid of friend or enemy.
My castle, my own citadel,
My dwelling that I called my home,
Became my horrid, homely hell.
I moved inside my dingy dome
But left a plethora of signs.
Tartarus tortured me. The gnome
With whom I corresponded wines
Me, gives his promises to keep
Me tangled in reclusive vines.
So here I am. I could not leap.
I could not act. A bold backlash
Undid resolve. Waist-deep
In wonder, here I sit in ash
And ask my gnome: Is this new place
A treasure or a stash of trash?
Why am I still the girl they knew?
What further pain must I accrue?
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Jeff Kemper has been a biology teacher, biblical studies instructor, editor, and painting contractor. He lives in York County, Pennsylvania.
These three poems just tear at our hearts. May God send his assistance to all who suffer so.
It’s the destruction of the family! God help us!
You captured the sadness of their existence in these three melancholy poems.
Thanks, Roy. I wish I had never had the occasion to write/rewrite these.
I may be totally off but I took this as a
single poem with a hopeful ending. Part III says, “So here I am. I could not leap.
I could not act.” And then, in the next stanza, “Is this new place A treasure or a stash of trash?” Sounds like there is possibility of salvation.
You are right. She is very troubled and wants to die but, fortunately, is afraid to commit. But she has a very long road ahead. It tears me apart and I pray for her countless times every day.
Self-destructive seclusion chosen by a troubled young soul. Good use of terza rima, with three different ending options, to show it. Contrasts with Monika Cooper’s “To Find A Waterfall” in the same form. Monika’s poem speaks of an adult soul moving deliberately out of herself in search of something, while yours, Jeff, seem to lack any direction necessary to grow and not die.
At present there is no discernable direction except that she’s afraid to die. We hope and we pray to God.
You have my prayers with yours. I come to SCP after morning prayer, and thus was in the most suitable frame of mind on seeing your reply.
Thank you so much, Margaret!
Really good, Jeff. though beyond sad. I would not want to have to write something like it.
Thanks, C.B. I wrote this in tears.
Thanks for these well crafted poems. Harrowing to think they are partly quotations from real suicide notes. May this poor girl find peace.
Thanks, C.B. I wrote this in tears.
Sporry, Dave, for the extraneous post. Thank you. She is an incredible girl but severely traumatized.