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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Death · #1199701
On the suicide of a friend. Sometimes you can save everyone but yourself.
I lost a friend just the other night,
an anguished young man who took his own life.

The only thing he wanted was for everything to stop,
he could handle most problems, after all he was a cop.

He was kind and proud and brave,
but in the end it was his own life that he could not save.

At work, at home, his career and such,
in the end, I guess it was all too much.

We knew of his trouble, he told us his pain,
we tried to help him, his peace to help gain.

We thought he would make it, he seemed alright,
but only he knew his mind that cold December night.

He didn't call us, he didn't reach for a phone,
he reached for his pistol and he died all alone.

I've lost friends before, as heroes they were brave,
but he was the one I wish I could save.

He was buried with his badge, as the bagpipes played,
to the people that he served, his memory will soon fade.

But to those of us who'll love him until the day we die,
we'll carry on and spend our lives desperately wondering why.

We'll continue on without him, because that's what we do,
it's what people seem to expect of the thin line of blue.

I now go to work with a tear in my eye,
for a brave young man that didn't have to die.


© Copyright 2007 Aequitas (eric1977 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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