The About Me section of my blog came from this poem by Gwendolyn Brooks. I chanced upon it while I was languishing in the depression phase of grief for the newly diagnosed. It serves as a reminder for me and hopefully for the readers of this blog that we, I, must stay and fight.
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To The Young Who Want To Die
Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.
The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.
Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.
I assure you death will wait. Death has
a lot of time. Death can
attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is
just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;
can meet you any moment.
You need not die today.
Stay here—through pout or pain or peskyness.
Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow.
Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.
