Another writer falls to their death,
a silent bow is taken, by those who notice,
many pass through unaware of those who wept,
focused on their own writing bliss.
Another writer loses their way in the ever softening sand,
a hand or two may reach out to help them,
while others stand there with phones in their hand,
taking another self-centered photo for Instagram.
Another writer sits on the sidewalk tears flowing,
a comforting cuddle and conversation may be offered by some,
as others walk past in annoyance as this person is in the way of where they are going,
a figure that needs help and a minute, is not available, not one.
Another writer stands on a chair a noose tied around their neck,
the chair they stand on is about to be kicked out,
the note, posted on their blog, no-one will care so what the heck,
a lost soul ready to end this bout.
Another writer shows he cares,
he reaches out in a rush for reassurance
but it is too late for nobody was there,
now he sits wishing he had another chance.
Till next time, Keep smiling
The Stubborn Australian