Requiem for a Cut Thread

Delightfully bitter poem, like a candy so sour it makes your lips retreat inside your skull to the point where they almost tear off. The headstrong idealism of the opening stanza is shattered by its successor's cruel realism. The effect reminds me of this early poem by Richard Brautigan, called "the south":

"Mommie,
how does God
keep His house warm?"

"He burns
the souls
of bad niggers."

Thanks for the read, Mike.

Thanks Jack, glad you liked it. I personally wasn't sure if it was novel enough of an idea.

I concur with our learned colleague above.

Just a query regarding the title choice, Mike.
I read it to ambiguously translate to...
The funeral hymn of a cutter*
As in some of these youngsters we see with blades in their wrists. Was I right or completely of the mark here?

Thank you for the wonderful write.

Blue Skies
Al

Well it's poetry, so it's whatever you make of it... Myself though, I had a more positive person in mind, an idealist young man very conscious of having his life to live still ahead of him, with nothing holding him back. Thanks for the comment.

I like your idea better, and now having read the piece over a few times, I see extactly what you had in mind. Thanks Mike. Well done here.

yeah, starts with a great title and the rest is pretty genius.
I  was able to instantly conjure a back story as I reckon you kind of leave an opening for this to the reader.

good stuff mike.

Thanks E, glad you liked it!