I used to write a poem every week
In a post timed for that Thursday
It would start with convicted words
Every week the same thing to say

“If you’re reading this; it means that I’m dead”

You can’t go wrong with a classic.
At least that’s what I knew
When he’s just bored of living
What’s a depressed boy to do?

I thought there’d be something better
Maybe not a land of pure bliss
But at least some light in a tunnel
Just something better than this

See, every Wednesday I’d delete it.
Somewhere I knew it was just a page
My story couldn’t end in collapse
It had to continue with rage

Rage for those silently at war
Plagued by petulant voices
Enduring unspeakable things
But making loving choices

Rage for those speaking up
Against their collar and chain
Throwing their grandest effort
To make heard their pain

Rage for the sick and alone
Crying at their ghosts on the wall
Begging for a chance to know
Some peace before their fall

Rage, for those who didn’t delete the note
Who couldn’t see to their next day
Crushed by the weight of the world
So much they couldn’t bear to stay

It is through luck that here I stand
With my broken brothers in the fields
As the weight of troubled past
Clamors hard against our shields

That battle will never end
It just gets driven by a reason
Mine to stand with you that suffers
So we can get through the season

Let’s put aside the land of milk and honey
And just stick to earth for awhile
I found that light I was looking for
It was at the end of your smile

Now I write a poem once a week
I try to post them on Friday
They always start with invisible words
Each week, the same thing to say

“If you’re reading this; it means that I’m alive”