I spoke to the boy today.
He still feels alone
I told him of love and happiness
and he nodded in agreement
I know he knows of it
but I don’t think he feels it.
I spoke to the boy today.
He was sitting by that
ever-alluring sea
hand buried in the cold sand
crying for home
somewhere he did not know.
I spoke to the boy today.
He still troubles himself
with problems not of his own
I asked him his feelings
and he told me of others
I asked him his dreams
he responded with silence.
I spoke to the boy today.
With his head down in
ink splattered pages
my voice rose his head
and with it a smile on his face
like a mask at a ball
pretending to have fun.
I spoke to the boy today
he told me his plan
he told me his solution
and showed me his note
words I had seen before
read before
words I wrote before.
When I spoke to the boy today
my tears ran
far more than that sea
my heart sank
far deeper than he would
my soul hurt
far more than he was
for I know what the boy could have
I know what the boy could feel
I know what the boy could be
if he would just go
another day.
I really hope that boy goes
another day.
© H. R. Sinclair 2025
Thank you for listening to my spoken word. This poem was originally published in Black Coffee Poetry’s Suicide Anthology: Part I.
Read this piece and 18 others in our collection.
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