On Suicide

We all form, from seed to a tree,
At the end, from roots to become free,
Death is only natural, nothing of shame,
When life has run its course, as nature has set its aim.

Alas! Some saplings break premature in the wind,
Maybe they're weak, maybe a tough spot muzzles the mind,
Whatever be the whys, they end up doing sinned,
The trees around him lament, having lost one unique of their kind.

Only if he had the supports, to face the gale and keep on go,
What exactly did he need to live? No one now will ever know,
The one gone is forever gone, the ones left now rapidly sink,
Searching frantic for his shadows, on life and death's esoteric brink.

We all have someone beneath what is seen,
To see it some friends should always be keen,
Now be on your way, reader, if a withering plant you ever find,
Do give it the shoulder it needs, let this tale serve as remind.