You

Suicide is one of the greatest plagues we have to face in twenty first century Ireland. It is at epidemic proportions among our youth, in particular young men. But I have been recently reminded in a sobering way that Suicide effects everyone.

You

You called by today my friend.

We talked for hours but still pretend

We know what not to say

Tell ourselves it fine that way.

 

But it troubles me to see you sad

I pray to God it’s not too bad

That piece inside you life has broken.

And yet, a coward, I  Let it pass unspoken

 

Its forty years since we played as boys

I have long put away those childish toys

I moved on you stood still

You remain part child  and you always will

 

I saw the pain then In gentle grey eyes

But I close my ears  to silent cries

I told myself again that you’re ok

Because it’s easier  for me that way.

 

I am silent now, I lost you mate

I should have listened, now it’s too late

Your pain was real, not in your head

I am still here. You are dead.

 

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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