A workaholics down time.

Rested finally. Bones picked clean.
My furious schedule finally lean.
All those wasted hours, of stress and of fear,
Minutes to hours, days to years.

When I sighed in contentment,
It was my last breath released.
When I laid my pen down,
It was because thought had now ceased.

When I gazed on the sunrise
It was because I could not move.
Not a pause for reflection
Just a mountain unmoved.

When my eyes misted over
It was not in bliss
When my loved ones caressed me
It was a 'last kiss'

When my body shut down,
When my mind would not stir,
It was because I was crippled
Not a choice. Rights deferred.

When I breathed a sigh of relief,
It was not because of rest
It was a sigh of release
As my soul left my chest.

As I watched them bury me,
Mourn my passing, shed a tear
It was because I'd been dead to them,
For many lost lonely years.

Now it's quiet, in my bed.
Of rotten satin, cold wet earth.
I am rested. In my death.
In a bed that I have earned.