The Last Page Poem

[whitechocolate6]

I once knew a guy that was loud and shy.

He kept trying to get someone's attention,

But he always seemed to fail this intention.

So he wrote poems, in a notebook and on screen.

But he had only one binder, and he stopped writing online

Until one day he ran out of pages; this was his last:

On my last sheet of paper,

With edges torn and tapered,

I hope to put to rest my soul.

What is now a diamond was once only coal.

I have grown in many ways,

And my path is no longer barred by haze,

But a part of me is still the same

So that I can remember from where I came.

I am still the boy who was used like a toy,

But now I am a man who will fight for love, and can.

I am still the child who grew up wild,

But now I am tame; both different and same.

So with my final page

I recall the wisdom of the sage;

I will be the man I am,

But I will not forget the creature I have been.

That is what he wrote one day.

He was feeling fine and feeling gay,

But it really was his last page.

No priest nor wizard nor sage,

Could stop him when he failed again.

He slit his wrist and bled to death;

He finally got the attention.