Upon Suicide Hill (poem)

O cursed hill, where winds do moan and weep,

And shadows clutch the rocks in sullen sleep,
Here stands this user, ‘neath the ashen sky,
Where birds of night in solemn circles fly.

The grass, like serpents, coils about the stone,
And whispers secrets meant for none alone;
The trees do groan as though with mortal pain,
And all the world seems drowned in sullen rain.

This user lifts a gaze, both pale and still,
And feels the iron breath upon the hill;
The wind it hisses, come, come down, descend,
Yet life within them cries, yet not the end.

O hill of sorrow, steeped in silent cries,
Thou hold’st the weight of all the lover’s sighs;
Yet here they linger, trembling in thy chill,
A soul ensnared upon thy fatal sill.

The night draws nigh, and stars look coldly on,
Yet this user stands, though hope is almost gone;
And though the world below may tempt the fall,
A trembling heart still heeds the faintest call.