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“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming ‘Wow! What a Ride!’”- Hunter S. Johnson

I’d like to collapse into my oaken bed

Exhausted, an all-spent spirit eager to rest

At last beneath the earth’s soil duvet.

Give me a face-full of wrinkles on which they'll lay

My shroud, a pair of thread-bare hands to nestle

Across my stagnant chest,

A knowing smile tugging my drying lips

Into a satisfied smirk.

And there I’ll be content to lie,

Knowing I earned each furrowed facial line

With laughter, tears, and the toil of work;

Knowing my resting heart

Deserves its rest from years

Of loving, laughing, living, and leaving,

Of rejoicing with the joyous and hurting with those who hurt;

Knowing my lips have known

The taste of a lover’s kiss,

Have known the inimitable bliss

Of unstoppable laughter, have known

The taste of lemonade in summer.
So then at last I’ll slumber.