Poem to a Suicide

This friend of mine
for whom I pine
whose rope took him before his time,
who could know
when ne'er he'd show
the despair within.

This ashen face
resides within a happier place
this loveless life and poor disgrace,
friend to all
fool! Please, stall
your hand from dire sin.

Such crimes committed against this boy
whose life had not matured,
who burned himself and cut himself,
whose kin had made impure.