Beachy Head Poem by Patrick Ladbrooke
Beachy Head
A place of beauty,
So it seemed,
But I shivered
I realised,
What happened here…
Dry withered flowers,
Tied to a fence,
Final pale tokens,
Life made no sense.
White cliff and lighthouse,
A desperate goal
An abyss of black,
No light for this soul.
No turning back,
From this last, lonely walk,
No one to help…
Blood on the chalk.
Monday, June 2, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: Suicide
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Approximately 30 persons per annum end their lives at Beachy Head, in spite of the actions of local people to try to stop them. A shocking statistic. Stand there and look over the cliff edge and you realise that this is no half-hearted attempt on their part, just to draw attention to their plight. This is definitely the end.
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10/9/2024 2:55:07 AM # 1.0.0
