Fatal Falls

The sun will fall to its death over there,
In the bluffs above the river Platte.
Pushed or jumped?, I want to ask,
But both turn out to be the same.
I jump, but why? Because I'm
Pushed. A piston made of sixty
Years moves toward me in my
Cylinder, and pops me from it
Thinking that this is the time
I choose to go. No, this is when
I have to go, the piston, forged
From scrap, successive failures,
Loss of hope, is rising. If it ever
Sinks, it won't be until I, a son
Who never learned to shine,
Have fallen to my death.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 60 times
Written on 2015-12-31 at 00:12

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