They turn the key in the door, take out <br />their old, well-hidden letters, <br />read them quietly, then drag <br />their feet a final time. <br /> <br />Their life has been a tragedy, they say. <br />God! people's frightful laughter, <br />and the tears, the sweat, nostalgia <br />of the skies, the landscape's solitude. <br /> <br />They stand there by the window, gazing at <br />the trees, the children, all of nature, <br />at the marble-workers hammering away, <br />the sun that wants to set forever. <br /> <br />It's over. Here's the note -- <br />appropriately short, profound, and simple, <br />full of indifference and forgiveness <br />for whoever's going to weep and read it. <br /> <br />They look in the mirror, look at the time, <br />ask if it's madness maybe, a mistake. <br />'It's over now' they murmur; <br />deep down, of course, they're going to put it off.<br /><br />Kostas Karyotakis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/imaginary-suicides/
