Suicide Aside

I am avid with my thoughts, words and tongue
I know rest can be in many rooms.
Not everyone holds doors by their handles
not every knob is used to pull a wall.
Only living letters leave for lust lines in life
while weariness wears wrappers made by fear.
For I know from far away, failure is free.

What then defines you that owns a breath?
I am answers, I know you have questions
What is a sycamore doing in a hacksaw ridge?
Here may be gold, I know golden.
So wear these words from you ear, draw a spear
fight me, spite me and I will give you light,
understanding to all, those knowledge under the Sun.

Ruddapoet