They say that suicide is painless
Forgotten like the days that are nameless,
They say that the pain it is never there
So, I wonder then, why should we really care.
I also question if that is what they really think
How badly they say that their life does stink,
But, no matter how much they say they suffered or bled
Isn't to live always much better than being dead.
They say that suicide is painless
But, it is never stainless,
For those who die they will always leave a mark
As though to others they are screaming, ‘Hark'!
To some they never say why they did die
And they never leave a reason, or the question why,
If they say there is never left a stain
There is always indeed left the pain.
They say that suicide is painless
Maybe it is, but it is always gainless,
The person who is dead and that is wept for
Are the same tears that we weep for the poor.
When any poor soul commits suicide
No longer can they runaway and or hide,
Like the coming of a winter's storm
Whenever there is a suicide, it is never the norm.
Randy L. McClave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How morbidly beautiful!