And when death finds me

And when death finds me,

I hope it whispers,

“Come now,

the fight is done,”

and takes my hand gently,

like an old friend

who understands

why I’m so tired.

I hope it says,

“You've carried enough,

let me hold this weight for you.”

I hope it promises,

“Here there is quiet.

Here you can rest.”

Ticus Poetry