If I am going to die, it will be by my hand,
Not someone else’s. I just hope they understand.
You know we’re trapped, we are above the burning floor,
You say it was a plane—a big one, Oh, the gore—
If we just stand here, we will burn to death, or die
From sure asphyxiation. I do not know why
All this is happening, but nothing can make sense,
And I am not about to wallow in suspense.
Don’t stop me—see, those windows are now broken out,
Which means the building’s shifted…so we are about
To go one way or another—God, forgive me, please.
He grabbed a chair, to step on to the sill with ease,
And took that final step—without so much a sound,
Perhaps to die before he even hit the ground
© Richard Williams