Reflections

I wrote this a few years ago, reflecting on how at one point it my life, I was both the protagonist and antagonist of this poem. It could have gone either way. I often wonder how many others stood on that bridge and made the alternate choice.

This is for them, and the men I’ve known who chose likewise. PTSD presents itself in odd, tangential ways. Sixteen compatriots of mine were on a bridge of their making. If only…

Be well, be kind.

I Met a Young Man on the Road Today

I met a young man on the road today
He was silent, unsmiling and still
I rode past his visage, quickly I’d say
But something instilled such a chill

I looked in the mirror, still he just stared
At the water that flowed down below
I wondered in passing, if I had dared
To stop, and to ask, rather than go

I rode on to a coffee shop, and wrote
That something about him wasn’t right
Why didn’t I listen, or just take note
Of the man, as I rode out of sight

For later that evening I heard it said
That a man had just taken his life
And I knew in my heart filled with dread
That that man was the one filled with strife

One never knows of the demons that hide
In the minds of the sad and depressed
But taking the time to stop and confide
That you’ve noticed a person who’s stressed

May make the difference, so they can see
A future, some hope, a way through
So please, don’t ride by, take the time to be
Compassionate, helpful, caring, true

True to the fact that we all sometimes fail
In caring for others who we see
Are having a hard time living so frail
Emotionally wanting to flee

As I get older it’s obvious now
That loneliness can take such a toll
Without understanding, why or how
We continue to ride through it all

Now I stand by the rail near the water
And ponder the reflection I see
A young man looks back at the slaughter
Of those who he knew weren’t to be

Why is it so, that some never confide
In their sadness, their demons, their fears
When there are many who take life in stride
That wish they could help stem all their tears

For too little, too late, is what haunts me
If only I’d known, to be caring
Maybe just maybe, that man would still be
On that same bridge, thoughtfully, staring.