Disputation*

I remember times when the inner disputation

was quiet fierce (to pursue the game or sign

a full stop to pain). The call was mine-

Or so it seemed. Each voice a singular temptation:

The beguiling cries of longed for rest,

The easeful quiet, the total peace

-what a boon!-finally to cease

The struggle; to know that nothingess is best.

But then, from the barely bubbling sieve

Of my active self, a tired but urgent call

To return to habit n duty; reluctantly to fall

Again into pain n heartache- n to live.

Oh soul! Thou then stood on an isthmus break

n heard, in separate ears, Aegean n ionian wave.

Which sea? To drown, or combers once again to brave?

The vital choice was solely mine to make

Have ever you felt like that poem? And yah, I am now.

(cited in book “The Suicidal Mind”)