Questions for which there is only one answer

Was it the snide night wind
tapping me on the shoulder,
the circling hawk, its flight
luring me to the craggy site?
Was it the sting of my eyes
moon-burned in their sockets?
Could it have been no more
than my empty pockets?
Or was it just the hollow
in the bent-bowed cage
from which my heart has flown?
I am alone, too much alone
to fathom any future.
.
.

 

d’après Suicide’s Note By Langston Hughe

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