The Last Breath

The breath in my lungs runs short
and I cannot but think
that this is the end.
How could it not be?
The excitement alone could kill me
and who am I to defy fate?
My feet move to some inner beat,
one that doesn’t require rhythm,
skill, or anything but energy.
My mind works with the sound
of a thousand drums, each
pounding to its own rhythm.

The breath in my lungs runs short
and I cannot think of anything
but the cool calm and pleasure of sleep.
The eternal peace and sleep
of death unending.

a poem by me