On The Cliffs

He stood on the cliffs, looking out to sea,
The skies were filled with joy and the sun with its blazing heat.
But inside, he was cold and dead, and alive is not what he wished to be,
Like salt to an open wound, the air smelled alive and too sweet.

The pain of suffering, too strong and sharp to bear,
Had brought him to this point of deathly gloom.
So this hour, he was going to do what he had dared not dare.
And people, he knew, would forever assume.

How could he live on?
How could he breathe and let his heart, pumping life into his body, continue to beat,
With his beloved dead and gone?
It would be quick, and in the end, loving and sweet.

He took his final step off the cliffs as he looked out to sea,
Death is what he wanted, so dead he would be.