On day one in my seventieth year
I load my pack.
My tent goes in,
My slumber bag,
Fine wine,
Bourbon,
Items for the purpose
I’ve kept.
I commence walking,
Through the woods,
Over hills,
Toward tall alps in the distance.
Soon I feel I am in another world,
An enchanted oasis,
With a tinkling stream,
Scattered cheerful song birds,
Enrapturing plants,
According to my nose
Heavy luscious scents of the belladonna rose!
A fine place to end it all!
On day two,
No more needing money I don’t have,
Paying horrendous tax I can’t pay,
Losing property I can never own,
Losing the roof over my head.
No more needing down payments
I can never save.
No more usurous doctor’s visits
I can’t avoid.
No more empty relationships.
No more broken dreams,
No more disappointments,
No more pain,
No more expectations,
No more unmotivated family rejections.
Inside I applaud
The end of mankind’s incessant torture
By necessity and desire.
On day three
I have yet to eat,
Blood grows thin,
The night cold sets in,
I drink wine,
I take bourbon,
I pop sleeping pills.
Six months later
A lone hiker finds my tent,
He spies my pallid face,
He marvels at my still yet ice blue eyes,
He wonders how I made it there.
He finds my note,
He opens the folded paper,
Thus my note reads:
I lived a fine life,
The best that any person ever could.
I sailed the seven seas,
I hunted the plains,
I done as I pleased,
I had my great gains,
I have nobody to blame,
Things can simply never again
Be the same.
I tired of giving,
Then I got tired of living;
Such be my final call.
Since my pain is now eternally through,
If you want to know the truth,
I cry for you!