Hamlet Faces His Midpoint Poem by r james sterzinger

I look over the edge,
my legs start to totter
what's all this madness
against self-slaughter?

That I'm fifty-three
I am alone as a stone
there's a darkness over me
I am dead to the bone

I totter to the ledge
I stare to the eyes of
the black lady's daughter
what's all the madness
against self-slaughter?

the clouds are thick
they are heavy and dark
what's madding is
it's shining at the park

the young cuties are out
I'm a ghost to them
the only mistress that knows I'm about
wears a long dark hem.

I look to another day
I wonder what's the bother
why can't God decide
to agree to self slaughter?