Photo by Michael Erickson

To die would be an act of selfishness,

One unforgiven by the living.

I am a member of those who keep the flame burning bright,

Staving off the darkness that will come.

I find myself holding hands with both,

Longing for one and loathing the other.

Yet my scale tips towards the dark,

Longing for the bitterness of life to end.

To end is a selfish act, but one we all will face.

This is one poem in a series of twelve poems showcasing an individual’s journey of finding self-worth between the trauma and shame of the past and a desire to find healing in the present. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.