I write with no hesitation.
No flickering of pen, no beads of sweat
And with no Indecision.
I leave with no ill will
Or, that is my Hope.
I leave unfinished Dreams
Eternally locked in their beautiful, wispy form.
Living is a choice
And today I have the Conviction to make one.
I choose the Adventure of death,
That mystery of pain or eternal rest.
Note: Pulled this one out of my poetry vault that gets new entries about every 3 years. Don’t worry, I’m not suicidal. Neither do I hope this encourages it in anyway. I suppose it came out because I like to explore dark psychic states sometimes. I published it because I wanted to get something in for National Poetry Month and I thought this was okayish poetically. Would love to know your thoughts!