Tired

I understand for the first time

Why old people say

They are ready to move on and

Rest in their graves.

I could not fathom a tired that

Would so motivate,

Or the fatigue in their bones that

Could cause such an ache.

But today, it made sense, when I

Thought back on our days,

Recalled dream's beginning and all

Things that must fade.

I'm so tired, my dear. I don't

Want more of this;

Life's feast, it has filled me, and I'm

Ready to quit.

I want to fold up my napkin,

Cross forks on my plate,

Push back from the table and

Just step away.

I don't believe in an after,

Or God who awaits.

I don't expect friends to greet me

With welcoming face.

I do not believe this would be

A slumber or peace,

Just a simple surrender to

The end of the feast.

I showed you a poem back when

We were first met,

A prosaic thing about all

My constant regrets.

It spoke of hellos, goodbyes and

My wandering thoughts,

Of empty in fullness and all

My feelings on loss.

I guess I'll add a line about

This short episode,

And perhaps one more weight to the

Smothering load.

But I'm tired, my dear, I don't want

To know more of this

Life that just takes and takes and takes...