Black Dog - Poem by Gene Richards
Where did my feelings go
From this oh so empty head?
My life no longer seems to flow
And look the the future with dread
Where once there was a smile,
Now just a poker face
Laugh? I'd rather crawl a mile
On my hands and knees to a dark dark place
In that cave I could hide away
From those who would torment my soul.
Avoid the world's conlict and afray
And sneer at them from inside my hole.
Not much to make me happy there,
But not much to make me sad.
Just dull grey walls at which to stare,
No argument, no fight, no good, no bad.
I wonder if anyone would miss me,
I wonder who gives a jot,
About the silly fellow from across the sea
who has clearly lost the plot?
What would it be like to take my life?
Is there anything after this?
What's the point of all this strife?
Is God just taking the piss?
Would He be mad at me
For ending it before my time?
Would he send me to purgatory?
Would he regard it as a crime?
Does God even exist, after all?
Is death just the end of the trail?
Are we dust when the reaper comes to call?
Just here by a statistical tail?
Lo! My feelings have come back to me!
Just by writing this morbid poem.
Proven by the teardrops on my knee
From eyes that have decided to carry on...
...Living until my time has come.
Though the black dog may come for a walk
On some days, but no need for a gun.
I can shoo him away with a bit of a talk.
Topping one's self doesn't solve a thing,
Because there are those who are left behind.
There is something for me to bring,
Being there for them, in life's daily grind.
Especially for the one I love the most,
The one whom I treasure to this day.
I'm no use to her as a ghost;
I'll be there for her, until I'm old and grey.
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