In Late December: A Poem for the Mourning and Melancholy

(This poem was written with the goal of suicide prevention and mental health awareness; readers should be aware of references to the topic of suicidal ideation).

In late December, a raven cawed. It perched on the window on whose glass it clawed.

It wanted inside, it tried to get through, but failed for a while as the grandmother stewed.

She stewed in her sadness, her boredom, her loss. It was this sadness her mood put across.

Her family had known this and so had her friends, for all she would tell that she wanted the end.

She stewed in her grief, which came at a cost. For good doesn’t come to those stuck on the lost.

She knew what the raven was hoping to say, and the raven knew he need not wait many days. Then early one morn, she opened the glass and in flew the raven, successful at last.

It flew to her chair, where it perched very still. The grandmother pulled the glass back to the sill.

She then made her way back across to her chair and sat near the raven, who’d been waiting there. Upon sitting down, the raven did speak.

“It’s time now you know.”

“Good, I’m ready to go.”

“Why is it I wonder, you’re so very glad, when you were so blessed with all that you had?”

The grandmother grinned, while her eyes remained dim. “I just can’t accept that my love went with Grim.”

The raven then nodded; he knew what she meant. “I suppose it is time that we make our ascent.”

My grandmother nodded, a tear in her eye, for she knew that this meant that her body would die.

The black raven pondered the old woman’s face, then a flap of his wings left them gone with no trace.

It is true at some point, that all will feel sad. Some things in life feel consistently bad.

Should you ever choose to open the glass, be cautious that that act just might be your last

For once the black raven is welcomed inside, he won’t want to leave until something has died.

The name of the raven in black is “Grief”. To keep him away one must find core relief.

Once peace is found, the window will seal, and the raven will find other mourners to steal.

If this is accomplished, with peace and content, then that means the raven will make no ascent.

That means the raven will take none that died. Hence Grief’s denied, a new suicide.  

This poem is one which I wrote shortly after my grandmother took her life, right around Christmas several years ago. This was written at the time as a therapeutic outlet for my own grief, and I choose to share it in the hope that one of its readers might find relevance within.

If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, please ask for help.

Contact 800-273-8255, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline for help and support, with assistance available in various languages. We need you here, and so does the world.

For another original poem for suicide prevention, visit Enough is Enough, and please comment/share if you like my work!