Philosophical

Bird songs echo like voices of the damned 
Unrecorded names fade like deeds unseen, 
Run into flowering fields for their grace 
Inside the church of pain, you are unclean. 
 
Lament your woes, deaf on empty prayers 
Wild noise of whispers hanging in the air, 
Beauties can die and yet be forgotten 
No colours can redeem the void with care. 
 
There is no more time, nor will be an end 
Silent tears form an endless phantom sea, 
Reunion with bitterness buried deep 
Scars, signals of your yearning to be free. 
 
But in this realm of those who made that choice 
Your actions crying louder than your voice, 
There is no redemption in sacrifice 
As though painful life is not given twice.

Unmarked grave of a suicide victim