To the Young Man Who Came to Beachy Head to Die

Photo by Kevin G. Imper

I do not know you.

I do not know your name.

I doubt that we will ever meet;

An ocean curls its waves between us, and then

There is that vast expanse of towering mountain beyond the plain

That stretches farther still,

Until you reach the edge of that far continent

Where I call home.

I am glad you did not die that day.

Not just because your death would stain my thoughts

Of those fair green-topped cliffs of chalk,

Of seabirds calling,

And turn it then into a dismal place.

No, not at all.

For I have felt the gnawing rim of that great maw, 

Though I did not go as far into the dark as you,

Some things I know, at my age:

That there are demons. They are real.

They grasp and tear, and bleed your mind and soul

Until you are a hairbreadth from a final fall,

As you found out upon the edge--just inches--

From that steep plunge onto the rocks below.

What gift, what hesitation, held you back?

I am glad you did not die that day.

Some things I know, at my age:

You cannot see the lives you touch.

We are like diatoms in that white cliff,

One life building on another,

An entire sea.

I am glad you did not die that day.

You have the chance of one more day.

And then another.

Some things I know, at my age:

That like the lighthouse on the shore

Showing light to ships at sea,

There is a beacon fire of hope.

You may not see it for the fog,

Swirling and rising, obscuring all.

But this--I promise--it is there.

And I am glad you did not die that day.

***
This entry is out of sequence. I have so many experiences yet to write about, so it will be a while before I can get to our visit to the south coast and Beachy Head. However, I could not stop thinking about the young man who was rescued from the clifftop the day we were there. I know this entry is unlike the lighter ones before and after, but I hope you will indulge me.