suicide poetry

birds against the april wind
the body may confine
have you not heard
he'd even have his joke
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
if it
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
for these white arms about my neck
little park that i pass through
i have seen the proudest stars
from song and dream for ever gone
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
all within and all without me