Cowardice

The night is silent;

the crickets in a hushed quiet;

the wind holds its breath;

there’s an echo in the ebony air,

an echo of nothing,

an echo of everything.

I lay a tired hand

upon the sturdiest tree,

follow my eyes up the trunk.

A noose hangs from the lowest branch,

as silent as the night itself,

yet there’s an air of mystery

lurking around it,

the kind that gives you courage,

the kind that gives you fear.

I step up on the boulder,

look straight into the eye of the noose;

the air is strangely hazy,

as if there’s a different world

lying on the other side-

the one I so long to enter.

I pull the noose around my head,

slide the knot tight to the nape of my neck,

feeling the rope stretched taut against my skin.

I am fearless,

I am afraid.

I kick away the boulder,

let my body fall limp;

the rope seizes me,

snatching the breath from my lips,

and I scream,

and I thrash,

and I flail,

and the noose slips-

how lucky I am,

how unfortunate.

I fall back to the ground,

back to earth,

gasping,

crying,

cursing myself

for wanting to leave,

for wanting to stay.

This is bravery.

This is cowardice.